She nodded twice, then frowned. "Mr. Cole, let's be sure that you appreciate the complexities involved. Typically, the birth parents of a child given for adoption in the nineteen-fifties were young and unmarried, and great pains were taken to keep that birth secret. It's just as typical that, years later, those birth parents are leading lives in which their current friends and families know nothing of that earlier pregnancy and the fact that a child was born. Nothing must be said or done that could possibly give away their secret. It's as much your job to protect the birth parents' confidences as it is to uncover Jodi Taylor's medical history. Jodi wants it that way, and so do I."

I gave her my most winning smile. "I just look stupid, Ms. Chenier. I can actually spell the word 'discretion.'"

She stared at me for a surprised moment, and a trace of color crept onto her cheeks and neck. She was wearing a necklace of large silver shells and they stood out against her skin. "That did sound like a lecture, didn't it?"

I nodded.

"I'm sorry. You don't look stupid at all. Perhaps I should tell you that these issues are important to me. I'm an adopted child myself. That's why I practice this kind of law."

"No apologies are necessary. You just want to make sure I respect everyone's privacy."

She was nodding. "That's right."

I nodded back at her. "I guess that rules out the ad."

She cocked her head.

"Famous actress seeks birth mother! Huge reward."

The laugh lines reappeared at the corners of her mouth and the flush went away. "Perhaps we'd be better served with a more conservative approach."

"I could tell people that I'm investigating an alien visitation. Do you think that would work?"

"Perhaps in Arkansas." Regional humor.

We grinned at each other for a moment, then I said, "Would you join me for dinner?"

Lucy Chenier smiled wider, then stood and went to the door. "It's very nice of you to ask, but I have other plans."

"How about if I sing 'Dixie'? Will that soften you up?"

She opened the door and held it for me. She tried not to smile, but some of it got through. "There are several fine Cajun restaurants listed in the folder. I think you'll like the food."

I stood in the door. "I'm sure I'll be fine. Maybe Paul Prudhomme will see me for dinner."

"Not even if you sing 'Dixie.' Paul Prudhomme lives in New Orleans."

"That makes two fantasies you've destroyed."

"I don't think I'll ask."

"Good night, Ms. Chenier."

"Good night, Mr. Cole."

I walked out singing "The Battle Hymn of the Republic," and I could hear Lucy Chenier laughing even as I rode down in the elevator.

Chapter 3