Little Miss Matchmaker. Dana Corbit

birth records?” He lowered his briefcase to the floor at his feet.

      “I read about it in the newspaper.” Tried to get it out of his mind was a more accurate statement, but both were true.

      “Then you know that two sets of doctored documents have been uncovered—the first behind a false wall at the agency office and a second group at the Harcourt mansion.” He waited for Alex’s nod before he continued. “Are you also aware that you were adopted through the agency during the period in question?”

      “Yes, I am.” Alex didn’t want to say the words, knew that speaking them would open a can of worms, but he did it anyway. “You’re here because my records were found with this newest batch, right?”

      “That’s right,” Ross told him.

      Alex pulled his hand from his pocket and braced it against the truck, not caring if he marred the shine. He felt numb. Why did having his suspicions confirmed feel like another affront? More lies piling upon earlier lies. No, that wasn’t right. These came first, before his parents’ lies of omission, though those were the ones that had hurt the most.

      “Now you understand that we don’t know for sure which, if either, set of birth records is authentic,” Ross continued. “But the fact that Barnaby Harcourt built a secret room in his home to hide these makes a strong statement of guilt.”

      “Sure sounds like it.”

      Ross stopped and studied him, his gaze narrowing. “Aren’t you going to ask me what we’ve discovered in the records?”

      “Why would I?”

      “Don’t you want to know who your birth parents are? Or at least your birth mother?”

      Clearly, the guy didn’t get it, so Alex repeated himself. “Why would I want to know? Did you see any requests in my original file to know about my birth parents or even to learn about their medical histories?” He waited for Ross to shake his head before he continued. “Why would I feel any differently about these new files?”

      Because Van Zandt probably hadn’t even considered that he wouldn’t want the information, Alex tried to explain. “You assume that every adopted child is just dying to know who brought him into the world. To know those people who have no more connection to him than sharing a species and some DNA.”

      Ross tilted his head and studied him, as if considering the idea for the first time. Alex couldn’t blame him. Until a year ago, he probably would have thought some of the same things. Now he knew differently, but he realized it wasn’t this guy’s fault.

      “Look…” Alex paused, holding his hands wide. “I really appreciate your making the effort to find me. If I were some guy searching for his birth parents, then all your research would have been a gift.”

      “You just don’t happen to be that guy.”

      “’Fraid not. But I’m also not your average adoptive child, either.”

      Ross raised an eyebrow and waited.

      “Let’s just say I had a rude awakening with that news, but not until after my adoptive parents died.”

      “You didn’t know you were adopted? Oh, sorry, man.”

      The look of pity in Ross’s eyes was the exact reason he hadn’t shared that information with many people until now. “Anyway, if I were that guy, what were you offering to do for him?”

      “I would help him track down a woman who might be his birth mother—the woman whose name is written in a file right in here.” Ross glanced at the bag at his feet.

      The impulse to reach for that bag took Alex by surprise. He didn’t want to know about his biological parents, did he? He’d never wasted any thoughts on those people who didn’t care enough about him to keep him.

      “You’re sure you don’t want to know?”

      Ross lifted the briefcase that possibly held a piece of the puzzle that had become Alex’s life. A puzzle he hadn’t asked for. Didn’t deserve. But there it was.

      “Look, why don’t you think about it?” Ross offered. “In the meantime, I have plenty of other files to work through. If you decide you want the answers, just give me the word, and I’ll use my resources to help you find them.”

      “Thanks. I’ll think about it.” Alex looked up from the briefcase that still tempted him with its information. “I’m sure you could work on some of the other cases for people who’ll appreciate your effort a lot more than I would.”

      “Wouldn’t take much for that.” Ross chuckled. “Hey, you’re one of Eli Cavanaugh’s football buddies, aren’t you? Have you heard anything about Eli’s brother, Ben? He found his birth family not long ago.”

      “I didn’t know, but I’m glad for him, if that’s what he wanted.”

      “It had to be bittersweet for him. Ben found his half siblings, but his biological mother had already passed away.”

      Ross didn’t say more, but his suggestion that Alex shouldn’t wait too long hung in the air between them. Would Alex feel even more betrayed if he finally decided to search for his birth mother only to find her name printed on a headstone? Who would answer his questions then?

      Ross crossed to the fire engine and walked along its length, admiring it. “You know, there might not be anyone who needs to know the truth more than you do.”

      “Maybe not.”

      The topic closed for now, Alex led Ross to the back entrance that faced the parking lot. The two men shook hands once more at the door.

      “Thanks again,” Alex said. “You know you caught me off guard when you said you were a P.I. The minute I saw you, I thought cop. In my line of work I have to trust my instincts, but lately…”

      “Trust those instincts, man. I used to be on the force back in New York.”

      Alex nodded, sensing that kinship that civil servants share. The private investigator left then, closing the door behind him.

      Even after Alex’s explanation, it was clear that Ross still didn’t understand why he would turn his back on the answers when they were right in front of him. Alex didn’t know why he’d even promised to think about letting the P.I. investigate further. Probably just to humor the guy.

      Through the window, Alex watched Ross as he headed to his car. Ross waved before he climbed in and closed the door. Alex didn’t bother waving back. The other guy probably thought he would eventually get in touch with him, his curiosity growing until he had to know the answers. Alex could tell him right now he wouldn’t be calling.

      “Who’s up for foosball?”

      Dinah glanced around the Chestnut Grove Youth Center for any takers, but no one could hear her over the chatter and laughter in the room. Tyler and Dylan just continued capturing enemies in their board game, Tiffany and Gina sat mesmerized by the animated movie they probably knew by heart and Jeremy and Billy wrestled on the couch.

      With all the chaos, Dinah didn’t hear her mother’s approach until Naomi Fraser touched her on the arm, startling her.

      “Here, try this.” The redhead pressed a child’s-style, wireless microphone into her daughter’s hand, mischief shining in her vivid blue eyes. “I would give you a whistle, but the power might be too much for you.”

      “Gee, thanks, Mom.” But her frown softened. Flipping on the switch, she tapped her hand a few times on the microphone’s head, sending out a crackly, pounding sound. To her surprise, the room fell silent.

      She covered the mike with her hand. “Wow, Dad sure has this group trained.”

      “Haven’t you noticed that when your father uses the microphone, he’s usually saying grace before he hands out snacks?” Naomi winked.

      “I