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trusted myself to move.
    All in all I felt lousy about the deal. Deep in my gut I knew Debra would’ve been a whole lot better off if I’d left her in Rude’s strip club.
     
     
    Chapter 4
     
    I knew Tom Morton and could’ve just given him a call and gotten what I needed. I didn’t bother though; I didn’t feel like owing him a favor. Instead, the next morning I met with a middle-aged paralegal at the office of Geary, Morton and Fuller.
    Mary’s adoption file sat in front of the paralegal, but she wouldn’t let me see it. She insisted she could only release it to Mary or the Williamses. I tried joking with her. Hell, I would’ve had better luck charming a block of ice.
    She let me use her phone so I could call Mary. We arranged to meet at the law office at four thirty. When I got up to leave, the paralegal twisted her chair sideways and picked up some paperwork from her desk, making sure I knew how much my existence meant to her.
    Of course I could’ve grabbed the folder from her. It would’ve been easy and there wouldn’t have been much she could’ve done to stop me. By the time she tried, I would’ve had what I needed. And I would’ve enjoyed seeing the expression on her face.
    I didn’t, though. Thinking back on it, I must’ve been looking for an excuse to see Mary again.
    * * * * *
    When I got back to my office I left a message for Jimmy Tobbler that Debra Singer had been found, and then chipped away at the work piling up on my desk. After a while I took out Mary’s picture and stared at it. It was a studio portrait taken after her high-school graduation. While most studio shots make the subject look like a stuffed animal, this one was different. You could see the light dancing in her eyes and the playfulness brightening her smile. Looking at it brought a lump to my throat. When I glanced at my watch, I was surprised to see it was already a quarter past four.
    Mary was waiting in front of the Statler building, all anxious and eager. When she saw me, she ran quickly to me and grabbed my arm.
    “ They know who my birth parents are?” she asked.
    “ They have your adoption records,” I said. There was a faint, pleasant smell of magnolia from her. Her hand felt nice on my arm. For a moment I was overwhelmed with the need to—well, forget it, it’s not even worth mentioning. Besides, I fought it back. I told her we’d better go inside.
    Mrs. Helen Wilson, the paralegal, extended a hand to Mary, and then as a matter of courtesy offered me the same cold, damp claw. She released her grip on contact.
    “ As I told Mr. Lane earlier, I’d be willing to release your file to you or your parents,” she said to Mary. Maybe because her lips barely moved when she talked, or maybe because her skin looked like it had been varnished, she reminded me of a cheap mannequin. She licked her lips and added, “I would first like to talk with you. Can I get you something to drink?”
    “ No thanks.” Mary sat stiffly in her chair, her expression attentive, serious. “What would you like to talk about?”
    “ About what you’re trying to do. We handle quite a few adoptions through our office and we get many young people searching for their birth parents. Usually they’re disappointed with what they find.”
    “ I see—”
    “ Please.” Helen Wilson held up a hand, her wooden expression intact. “I know you’ve made up your mind. I’ve seen the same look dozens of times. I would just like you to keep in mind that people who give up their babies for adoption move on in life. They have new families, new situations. Being confronted by their past can be extremely—”
    “ I’ll keep all that in mind,” Mary interrupted, her fingers drumming the desk. “I would like my file.”
    The paralegal regarded her briefly, then handed Mary a folder. “I hope things work out for you,” she said.
    Mary was too busy searching through the papers to hear her. She went through them once and then again, and then turned to