Yellow Rose Mysteries 02 - A Wedding to Die For by Leann Sweeney Read Free Book Online Page B

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