A Wedding To Die For

bumbling around like I knew what I was doing. I have a new job.”

“Doing what?”

“I find people,” I replied, avoiding eye contact. I had a working person’s job now, not a token appointment from an inherited business. I was guessing she wouldn’t approve and for some stupid reason, her approval still seemed important. Old habits die hard.

But she surprised me by actually sounding interested. “So tell me more. Is this a computer job? Because despite your protestations, you’re very good with computers.”

“The job does involve plenty of Internet searches, but actually... I’m a private investigator specializing in adoption.”

She slowly nodded. “I see. And have you had much work?”

“A few cases so far, but I have to build my reputation and—”

“I could help. Give me some business cards and tell me where your office is. I have plenty of friends who would be more than—”

“That’s not necessary, Aunt Caroline. In Texas, you have to—how do I put it?—apprentice with a licensed investigator.”

“So you’re an intern? You’re not even getting paid?” Ah, the old Aunt Caroline hadn’t completely disappeared after all.

“I do get paid,” I snapped.

She held up both hands. “Sorry. I’m being judgmental and I vowed not to do that. Do you work downtown?”

“Angel’s allowed me to work out of my home with my own little branch of his agency. It’s called Yellow Rose Investigations, though technically I’m employed by him. He’s sent me a few clients and I’m advertising on my own as well.”

She looked around. “You work here?”

“I have an office in the front of the house in what was supposed to be the formal living room. I’m done with formal anything, Aunt Caroline. This is what I want.” I spread my arms and nodded around the room, hoping she understood this was a warning. I didn’t want any of her snooty society friends sending me business.

“This place is, well, very like you,” she said, nodding again. “But if you plan to redecorate, remember the traditional look never goes out of style.”

“I’ll remember.” This visit was dragging on way too long.

“And if you’re at peace with this new lifestyle, that’s wonderful.”

At peace? I wondered if I’d ever be at peace with her, but running away wouldn’t solve that problem. I’d accept her back into my life if only to quit running from the past. But that didn’t mean I’d ever forget how she’d betrayed Kate and me.

Angel Molina mopped a hefty bite of blueberry pancakes through the puddle of syrup on his plate. I’d finished my omelet and was nursing a mug of coffee while he worked on his second stack. Angel’s a strapping, soft-spoken man with steel-colored hair pulled straight back into a ponytail. He usually wore white shirts that looked fresh from the dry cleaner and today was no exception. A longtime Texas Ranger who went private, he took me under his wing after Jeff arranged for us to discuss my future as a PI.

“Now, fill me in on this case,” Angel said after swallowing a mouthful of pancakes. “The client’s that sweet little girl I sent to you, right?”

“Yes. Megan Beadford.” I explained what had happened yesterday, then said, “I thought she’d forget the whole mother hunt after her adoptive father was murdered, but she wants me to keep looking. Trouble is, I’ve got next to nothing to go on.”

Angel dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a paper napkin and checked the pristine shirt for traces of breakfast. Satisfied he hadn’t spilled anything, he said, “You brought the file?”

I handed a thin folder across the table. We were sitting in a back booth of Angel’s favorite twenty-four-hour restaurant. Sunday’s after-church crowd, replete with screeching, whining children, filled every table. Another throng of adults and toddlers swelled out the door waiting for their turn at breakfast mania.

Angel thumbed through the meager pages of Megan’s file and stopped at one sheet. “No match at the Central Adoption Registry. Too bad.” He looked up. “But I see no court filing to open the adoption file. That’s the next logical step.”

“Megan nixed that suggestion. She believed a court case would be hard to hide from her family.”

He shook his head, tight lipped. “Secrets. Everybody with their damn secrets. Keeps us working, though, huh?”

I smiled. “Sure does. That’s why I couldn’t contact the lawyer who handled the adoption. I have a name— Caleb Moore—but since he was hired by James Beadford he would have been obligated to notify Megan’s father before talking to me.”

“That’s true. So now you’ve learned something about the PI business if nothing else. It’s about pulling rabbits out of sombreros.” He continued thumbing through the file. “What’s this?” He held up Kate’s psychological profile of Megan and the summary of their counseling session.

I told him about partnering up with Kate and my reasons for doing so.

“Smart girl. But that doesn’t help you find people, especially those who don’t want to be found. And I see that in this case you’ve got the birth certificate and little else. Pretty challenging.”

Our waitress passed by, slipping a new carafe of coffee onto the table and nodding when Angel pointed at his empty plate to indicate he wanted another stack.

I poured more coffee. Bad coffee. Weak and ineffective, like I felt.

Meanwhile, Angel took a lipstick mirror from his shirt pocket and removed a molecule of blueberry from between his front teeth.

A lipstick mirror? Who said Vanity, thy name is woman? “Did you just have those teeth bleached?” I asked.

He grinned. “Friday. Do I look good?”

“You smile like that again and I might need to put on my sunglasses.”

He held the mirror eye level and bared his teeth. “So it’s a bad job? Too fake?”

I laughed. “You’re good-looking enough to make a glass eye blink.”

“Wiseass.” He tucked the mirror back in his pocket and returned to the folder, this time pulling out my copy of the birth certificate. He studied it for several seconds. “At least you got the hospital name, but where is Kingston Bay?”

“Right across from NASA, a town with only about a dozen streets. There’s a good-sized medical facility, though. St. Mary’s. It serves the astronauts and the Clear Lake area.”

“You went there, I assume?”

“Sure. But the administrator I spoke with said their birth records only go back twenty years.”

Angel huffed a sarcastic laugh. “Really? Hospitals do not destroy birth or death records, my friend, so I suggest you return and find someone else to talk to.”

“But why would that man...” I didn’t finish the question because I knew the answer. Why does anyone lie? Because it creates less problems for them than the truth.

Angel nodded sadly, reading my expression. “You see? Everybody lies. But as I tell my son, the truth is worth hunting down. Each nugget you find is like a treasure from God. Our job is to collect those tiny pieces and pass them on to the client. Sometimes those little nuggets turn out to be priceless jewels.”

I smiled. “You have a way with words, señor.”

“One more thing. The birth certificate is a lousy copy. Have you had a good look at the client’s state-issued document?”

Texas does not issue original birth certificates but rather certified copies with the state seal. The last time I saw it was when I scanned Megan’s copy for my files. “No. I thought since all I needed was the hospital and city of birth, then—”

“Get another look at hers.” He stared at me with an intensity that made his velvet brown irises seem almost black. “A good look.”

“Okay. But did I miss something?”

“We all miss things.” He tapped a manicured finger to his temple. “To see the answers you need a clear