I’d been swamped with calls since, folks hoping I could help them with their adoption issues, too. This had forced me to create two flyers-“Tips for Locating the Child You’ve Given Up for Adoption” and the other titled “So You Want to Find Your Birth Parents? The Beginning Steps.” I was stuffing envelopes an hour a day now. Most people with a little computer savvy can locate who they’re looking for without a private eye’s assistance, and this seemed the best way to let them in on those secrets.

“Abby, we’d like you to sign on as a consultant to our program,” Chelsea said. “Since we work somewhat like a documentary, I was hoping we could tape an initial interview later today-we will edit extensively, so don’t worry about running on and on, or-”

“Taping?” I cut in. “When you’ve told me next to nothing? I’m not so sure about that. What does my being a private investigator have to do with consulting on a TV show?”

“In the story we’re currently producing, plenty. Wait until you meet our makeover candidate and her family. In fact, let me show you.” She opened her binder and slipped two photos from a plastic sleeve.

I took them from her. One was a Wal-Mart special eight-by-ten, the colors faded to blurry siennas and dull pinks. A teenage girl stood in the center of three younger children. The other was a four-by-six glossy snapshot of the teenager, but in this newer photo she was a dark-haired, hazel-eyed woman in her twenties with flawless nutmeg-colored skin and an expression that puzzled me. Fear? Anger? Sadness? Maybe all three.

Chelsea pointed to the snapshot. “You’re looking at a real heroine. She’s been raising her brothers and sister since she was sixteen. Isn’t she Penélope Cruz all over again? The camera eats her up.”

Stu said, “The family’s nice… really a nice, deserving bunch of kids.”

I looked at him. Here was someone I could relate to-sun-weathered skin, laugh lines everywhere and brown eyes that could tell you the truth without accompanying words. Plus the man had set his empty water glass on a coaster-unlike his companion-and he was making friends with my cat.

“Tell me more,” I said, still wary.

“Reality Check receives referrals for the life makeovers we do on air-thousands and thousands of referrals, by the way-mostly via our Web site,” Chelsea explained. “This particular one, however, came in through the mail. Unusual, but what a riveting, American dream story. That’s why we’re in Texas. We have our hands on a fantastic, heartwarming tale of courage and perseverance. You won’t believe all that’s happened to Emma Lopez in her short life.”

“Why do you need my help?” And why do you sound like you’re rehearsing a script? But I suppose everything but getting up in the morning is easier with practice.

“Problems, that’s why we need help. We had everything set to go. Then we mentioned something to Emma about the referral letter and whamo! She’s backing off all of a sudden. We can’t have that. Not now.”

“You’ve lost me,” I said, shaking my head.

“This is Emma Lopez, our makeover girl.” Chelsea tapped the snapshot with a cherry-colored nail. “Put herself through college and is doing the same for her younger brother, Scott. Anyway, their house, the only thing they own, is set for demolition by the city. The city would give them money to rebuild, but not nearly enough for the kind of home they deserve. Plus, the other kids are getting to be college age-”

I held up a hand. Jeez. This one could talk the ears off a ceramic elephant. “You’re still not telling me what this has to do with adoption. I investigate adoption cases.”

Chelsea raised her pointy chin. “Don’t you think I know? Anyway, the referral letter mentioned a missing baby.”

“Missing baby? Emma gave up a baby for adoption?”

“No, not Emma. Her mother. And that’s why we need your help.”

“Okay, Emma’s mother gave up a child for adoption,” I said.

“We’re not exactly sure.” Chelsea gestured as if she were giving a speech, hands palms out to me. “And there’s the problemo, Abby. Emma got like, so whacked out when we mentioned her missing sister.”

Stu looked at me. “I told Chelsea that Emma must not have realized we had the info on the missing kid before she signed on for the show. She was taken off guard, and now she wants out of her contract.”

Chelsea flashed an angry glance at Stu. “She’s not getting out of anything.” She paused, took a deep breath, then smiled at me. “Production delays. Very frustrating. But Emma will have America in tears. She is amazing. Reality Check wants to pay her back for all the suffering she’s endured in her short life. We plan to make magic for Emma and her family, Abby. Magic for the world to see. That’s what we do. That’s who we are.” Broader smile, tooth veneers really gleaming now.

“Okay. You’ve got me as confused as Jennifer Lopez’s ring finger. Could we start over, maybe in chronological order?”

Chelsea laughed-an unattractive snorting laugh that gave me a perverse sense of satisfaction.

“You are so cute, Abby,” she said. “Everyone on the set will fall in love with you and that great Texas accent. I really hope you’ll let us get you on tape.”

Stu cleared his throat. “From what I hear about the referral letter, Emma’s missing sister would be about fifteen now.”

Thank goodness someone had taken their Ritalin today and knew how to stay on track. “And where’s Emma’s mother?” I looked back and forth between them.

“She disappeared in 1997,” Chelsea said. “As I said, Emma has been raising this family, been doing the most fantastic-”

“Ah. Two missing people. Did the mother take the girl with her?”

“No,” Chelsea said. “According to the letter, the child disappeared the day after she was born-in 1992. Our research people concluded the mother must have given her up for adoption. But they hit a roadblock. Did you know Texas won’t let you look at anything that has to do with adoption or foster care? I mean, like, nothing. That’s where you come in. You know the ropes here.” She giggled. “Hey, Stu. Ropes? Texas? Get it?”

He offered a tight smile.

Meanwhile, I sat back and took a deep breath, considering all this. I had to admit I was interested, but I might not have any better luck than the TV researchers. Texas keeps the safe securely locked when it comes to adoption. And the thought of working with Chelsea Burch was about as appealing as sticking my hand in a bucket of leeches. Hell, I probably would be sticking my hand in a bucket of leeches if I met her entire production crew.

I said, “I don’t think I can help you, Chelsea.”

“But I need you. You specialize in this kind of investigation.”

“Indeed, I do.”

Chelsea stared at me, her contact-blue eyes shiny with anger. “But you’re refusing to help me?”

“That’s right.”

She snatched up her notebook and shoved the pictures inside. Meanwhile, Stu stroked Diva one last time and picked up his camera.

“Come on, Stu,” Chelsea said, marching past me. “I knew Mr. Mayo’s idea was stupid.”

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Out the way we came in,” she said over her shoulder.

“Too bad. Because I need more information.”

She turned, her narrow jaw slack. She stared at me in confusion for a second. “But… I thought-”

“I won’t help you, but I sure do want to meet Emma. What happens after that is in her hands.”