“Yeah,” Nate says. “We’ll hang out on the benches.”
We sit, and Nate looks over at me with concern.
“What happened to you?” he asks, his fingers lightly touching my chin.
“I had a fight with my kitchen counter this morning,” I say. “I lost.”
“Does it hurt?”
“No, I’m fine, really. Didn’t even realize it had left a mark. My coffee mug broke, though. I’m pissed about that.”
“I’m sorry about your mug”—Nate grins and touches my chin again—“and your mug.”
“Very funny!” I roll my eyes at him, but I can’t stop my mouth from turning up at the bad joke.
He leans in, places his lips lightly on my chin, and then backs away again.
“Better now?”
“Almost.”
He looks into my eyes, then moves forward again, his mouth covering mine. I feel his hand move up my arm, and he pulls me closer. I’m very much aware of our touching thighs as his tongue slips between my lips, and he kisses me much harder than I anticipate. It feels hungry and desperate, or maybe that’s how I’m feeling.
He turns, breaking this kiss off momentarily before coming at me again from a different angle. My eyes open briefly, and in my peripheral vision, I see one of the office workers staring at us, and I quickly push Nate away, blushing.
“That’s probably enough PDA for now.”
“Not as far as I’m concerned,” Nate says darkly, “but as the lady wishes.” He takes my hand in his and holds it in his lap. “Is this all right?”
“Yes,” I say, blushing, “it’s fine.”
“Good.”
An hour later, Antony comes back, looking grim. He leads us to a small room furnished only with a table and chairs. Nate and I sit on one side, and Antony sits on the other. He places a legal-sized manila envelope on the table in front of us.
“What is it?” Nate asks.
“It’s kinda weird, boss.” Antony takes a square piece of paper from the folder and places it on the table. “This is the original birth certificate from the hospital. As you can see, it’s issued from the Cascade Falls Regional Hospital, and the name is clearly Cherice Marie Bay, but the parental identifying information has been blacked out.”
“How is that even possible?” I ask, staring at the black marks across a certificate I’ve never seen before. It doesn’t even look like the one I found in Aunt Ginny’s documents. “I mean, someone has to have a copy with the actual names on it. How else is it even legal?”
“Legal is a matter of perspective,” Antony says, grinning again. “Regardless of legality, it’s what we have. Someone went to a lot of trouble to completely black out the names. The ink used completely saturated the paper below it, so I don’t even think we can scan it and try to see what names are underneath. I’ll try, but I’m not hopeful there.”
“Is that your birthday, as far as you know?” Nate asks.
“December fifteenth, yes.”
“Just ten days after your birthday, cousin.” Antony grins at Nate.
Nate glances at me with a slight smile, and I feel myself blush. Something about having our birthdays close together is rather nice.
“See the date on the bottom?” Antony says. “The part that says, ‘date on which given name added’? It’s three days after the birth date.”
“That matches my adoption date.”
“Yes, it does.”
“So, does that mean Aunt Ginny named me?”
“Could be.”
“Thoughts?” Nate asks Antony.
“Cross-check for women being admitted into the hospital on that date. If we can find someone with a relationship to Virginia Bay, we might get our answer.”
Nate looks at me, and I nod.
“Let’s get on that, then.”
“It could take some time,” Antony says. “A lot of the hospital records from that far back aren’t digitized. I’ll have to look by hand, get the list of names, and then search for relationships.”
“Did you find anything on the adoption records?” I ask.
“What I found,” Antony says, “is their absence. Can I see your copy again?”
I hand it over, and Antony looks at it closely.
“Well?” Nate asks after a couple of minutes.
“I think this is the original,” Antony says. “The county of record is wrong, though. If it’s accurate, the adoption was done on the west side, not east. If I can get access to those—which ain’t easy—I have the feeling I’m going to find nothing. The question then is how did it end up in your aunt’s records and not at the county office? I see the names are blacked out in the same way as the birth certificate.”
“So the same person doctored up both of them.”
“Very possibly.”
“How do you get the original out of the county office?” I ask.
“There’s only one way to do that,” Antony says as he displays that crazy grin once more. “You’d have to steal it.”
“Someone broke into the clerk’s office to steal adoption records and black out a birth certificate?” Nate asks. “Not just here, but on the west side, too? That seems like going to a lot of trouble. Why?”
“I can’t answer you there, boss.”
I don’t miss the two of them exchanging glances, and I’m about to open my mouth and ask why the west side clerk wouldn’t even look at me, but Nate speaks first.
“Let me know what you find with the hospital records,” Nate finally says.
Antony nods, picks up the folder, and leaves the small room. Nate takes my hand and leads me out to my car. I still want to ask him about the town’s division but first things first.
“You have no idea how much this means to me,” I say softly. “I’ve been in this office three times, and no one would help me at all!”
“I’ve taken care of that,” Nate says. “I’m sure if you need to come back, they’ll be
