does.”
Trish looked at him absently, her mind a million miles away.
“They’re giving this money to someone,” Rob explained, “so why not us?”
“It’s too crazy,” Trish repeated. “Isn’t it?”
“Maybe,” Callie said, putting on the headphones. “But the money—and the offer—are for real.”
Chapter 1
“And you, Mr. Creed,” she said.
I looked up from my mixing bowl. “Ma’am?”
“What do you do for a living?”
“Apart from making brownies? I’m with Homeland Security.”
Her name was Patty Feldson and she was conducting a home study as part of the adoption process. My significant other, Kathleen Gray, was hoping to adopt a six-year-old burn victim named Addie Dawes. Addie was the sole survivor of a home fire that claimed the lives of her parents and twin sister. Ms. Feldson had been watching Addie and Kathleen play dolls on the living room floor. Satisfied with the quality of their interaction, she turned her attention to me.
“Do you have a business card?” Patty said.
“I do.” I took my wallet from my hip pocket and removed a card that had been freshly printed for this very occasion. I handed it over.
Patty read aloud: “Donovan Creed, Special Agent, Homeland Security.” She smiled. “Well that doesn’t reveal much. But it certainly sounds mysterious and exciting. Do you travel much, Agent Creed?”
I wondered how well we’d get along if I told her I was a government assassin who occasionally performs free- lance hits for the mob and for an angry, homicidal midget named Victor.
“I do travel. But I’m afraid my job falls short of being mysterious or exciting. Mostly, I interview people.”
“Suspected terrorists?”
I layered the batter into Kathleen’s brownie pan with a silicone spatula and swirled Addie’s name on top before placing the pan in the oven.
“Apartment owners, business managers, that sort of thing.” I closed the oven door and set the timer for forty minutes.
“What’s in the brownies?” she said.
I felt like saying marijuana, but Kathleen had warned me not to joke with these people. She was in the home stretch of the adoption process and I intended to do all I could to help her.
“You remember the actress, Katharine Hepburn?” I said.
“Excuse me?”
“This is her recipe. I found it in an old issue of the Saturday Evening Post.”
“Oh,” she said. “I’d love to have it!”
“Then you shall.”
A home study is a series of meetings you have to go through as part of the approval process for adopting a child. Kathleen had provided all her personal documents, passed the criminal background check, made it through all the appointments and provided personal references. But at least one meeting is required to be in your home, and all who live there (Kathleen) or spend nights there (me) had to be in attendance.
Patty Feldson wasn’t here to do a “white glove” interview. She’d already made a positive determination about Kathleen’s ability to parent. All that remained was to see what sort of person the boyfriend was. She knew, for
