The Father Hunt

in August there was plenty of room in the back at The Cooler, and we got the corner table where Lily and I had often had a snack. When the waitress had taken our order and left, I asked if she wanted to put off being personal until we had something inside.

She shook her head. 'I might as well…' She let it hang ten seconds and then blurted, 'I want you to find my father.'

I raised a brow. 'Have you lost him?'

'No. I haven't lost him… because I never had him.' She said it fast, as if someone was trying to stop her. 'I decided I had to tell somebody-that was a month ago- and then I got this job with Miss Rowan and I found out that she knows you, and I met you, and of course I know about you and Nero Wolfe. But I don't want Nero Wolfe to do it, I want you to.'

There were no dimples, and the quick brown eyes were fastened on me.

'That won't work,' I told her. 'I'm on full time with Mr. Wolfe, twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week when they're needed, and I don't take jobs on my own. But I have a loose hour'-I looked at my watch- 'and twenty minutes, and if you want a suggestion I might possibly have one. No charge.'

'But I need more than a suggestion.'

'You're not in a position to judge. You're too involved.'

'I'm involved all right.' The eyes stayed at me. 'I

couldn't tell this to anybody but you. Not anybody. When I met you last week, the first time, I felt it then, I knew it, that you were the one man in the world that I could trust to do it. I never had that feeling about a man before-or woman either.'

'That's just dandy,' I said, 'but save the soap. Did you say you never had your father?'

Her eyes darted away as the waitress came with the drinks and sandwiches. When we had been served and were alone again she tried to smile. 'That wasn't just figurative.' She kept her voice low and I needed my good ears. 'I meant that literally. I never had a father. I don't know who he was. Is. I don't know what my name is, what it should be. Nobody knows about it-nobody. Now you know. I don't think Denovo was my mother's real name. I don't think she was ever married. Do you know what Denovo means? Two Latin words, de novo?' 'Something about new. A nova is a new star.' 'It means 'anew.' 'Afresh.' She started anew, afresh, she started over, and she took the name Denovo. I wish I knew for sure.'

'Have you asked her?'

'No. I wanted to, I was going to, and now I can't. She's dead.'

'When did she die?'

'In May. Just two weeks before I graduated. By a car. A hit-and-run driver.' 'Did they get him?'

'No. They haven't found him. They are still looking; they say they are.'

'What about relatives? A sister, a brother…' 'There aren't any.'

'There must be. Everyone has relatives.' 'No. None. Of course there might be some under her real name.'

'Have you got any? Cousins, uncles, aunts…' 'No.'

It was getting messy. Or rather, it was getting too damn pure and simple. I knew people who liked to think of themselves as loners, but Amy Denovo really was one; with her it wasn't just thinking. I suggested that we might try the sandwiches, and she agreed and took one, and took

a bite. Naturally, when I am eating with someone, male or female, for the first time, I notice the details of his or her performance, since it tells a lot about the person, but that time I didn't because the way she took a bite, or chewed, or swallowed, or licked her lips, had no bearing on the fix she was in. I did observe that there was nothing wrong with her appetite, and she proved that she liked the egg-and-anchovy combo by taking her full share. She asked if it was on Nero Wolfe's list of favorites, and I said no, he would probably sneer at it. When the platter was empty she said she hadn't thought it would make her hungry, telling someone the secret she had kept bottled up so long, but it had. She gave me a little smile, the dimples coming, and said, 'We don't really know ourselves, do we?'

'It depends,' I said. 'Some of us know too much, and some not enough. I don't want to know why I get out of bed mornings in a fog, I might never sleep again. To hell with it, I always find my way out. As for you, you're not in a fog, you're under a spotlight that you turned on yourself. Why don't you just turn it off?'

'I did not turn it on myself. Other people did it, especially my mother. I can't turn it off.'

'Well, then. What's your biggest question? Your mother's real name and so on, or your father?'

'My father, of course. After all, I have lived with my mother all my life, and I suppose my wanting to know her real name and things about her is just… well, curiosity. But I must know about my father. Is he alive? Who is he? What is he? His genes made me!'

I nodded. 'Yeah, you went to Smith. You learned too much about genes. Mr. Wolfe said once that scientists should keep their findings strictly to themselves; by spilling it they just complicate things for other people. Would you like some coffee?'

'No, thanks.'

'They have good sweet things.'