G Is for Gumshoe

seconds later, we were out on the porch.
    "What'd you do that for?" Dietz said as we headed down the steps.
    "It just seemed like a good idea, I said.

22
    I asked him to pull around the corner and park in an alleyway. We sat there in the dappled shade of an overhanging oak while I sorted through the contents of the Gershes' "Vital Documents" file. Nothing looked that vital to me. There was a copy of the will, which I handed to Dietz. "See if this tells us anything astonishing."
    He took the stapled pages, reaching automatically toward his shirt pocket. I thought he was looking for a cigarette, but it turned out to be a pair of reading glasses with half-rims that he'd tucked there instead. He put them on and then looked over at me.
    "What?" he said.
    I nodded judiciously. "The glasses are good. Make you look like a serious adult."
    "You think so?" He craned so he could see himself in the rearview mirror. He crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out, just to show how adult he could look.
    He began leafing through the will while I glanced at insurance policies, the title to the house, a copy of the emission inspection information for a vehicle they owned, an American Express flight insurance policy. "God, this is boring," I said.
    "So's this."
    I looked over at him. I could see his gaze skimming down the lines of print. I returned to my pile of papers. I picked up Irene's birth certificate and squinted at it in the light.
    "What's that?"
    "Irene's birth certificate." I told him the story she'd told me about the autobiography for her senior English class. "Something about it bothers me, but I can't figure out what it is."
    "It's a photocopy," he said.
    "Yeah, but what's the big whoopee-do about that?"
    "Let me take a look." He placed it up against the windshield, letting the light shine through. The heading read: state of california department of health VITAL STATISTICS, STANDARD CERTIFICATE OF BIRTH. The form thereafter was comprised of a series of two-line boxes into which the data had been typed. He held it close to his face, like a man whose eyesight is failing rapidly. "Lot of these lines are broken and the type itself isn't very crisp. We ought to check with Sacramento and track down the original."
    "You think it's been tampered with?"
    "It's possible. Dab some kind of correction fluid on the original. Type over the blanks and then make a copy. It couldn't be used for much, but it'd be sufficient for a school project. Maybe that's why it took Agnes a day to produce the damn thing. The point of certified copies is that they're certified, right?" He gave me that crooked smile, gray eyes clear.
    "Wow, what a concept," I said. "Wonder what she had to hide?"
    Dietz shrugged. "Maybe Irene was illegitimate."
    "Right," I said. "Can you think of anyone we can contact in Sacramento?"
    "Department of Health? Not right offhand. Why not check with the county recorder here and have them call?"
    "You think they'd do that?"
    "Sure, why not?"
    "Well, it's worth a try," I said. "Besides, if we do the research now, Irene will pay for it. Wait two weeks and she'll forget she ever gave a damn."
    "Let's give it a shot, then," he said. "You want me to look at any other documents?"
    "Nope. That's it."
    "Great." He handed me the will and the birth certificate, both of which I tucked back into the file. He started the car and headed out to the street.
    "Where to?" I asked.
    "Let's hit the office first and call Rochelle Messinger."
    We parked in the back lot and went up the exterior stairs. Dietz was, as usual, paranoid about everyone within range. He kept a hand on my elbow, his gaze scanning the area, until we were safely in the building. The second-floor corridor was empty. As we passed the rest rooms, I said, "I need to pop into the ladies' room. You want the office keys?"
    "Sure. I'll see you in a few minutes." Dietz started to check out the ladies' room and was greeted by a shriek of outrage. He moved on down the corridor while I went into the John.
    Darcy was standing at one of the sinks, splashing water on her face. From her pasty complexion and the eyes pinched with pain, I gathered she was still hung over from the banquet the night before. She stared at herself in the mirror, hair mashed flat in two places. "You know you're really in trouble when your hair goes out on you," she remarked, more to herself than to me.
    "What time did you get in?" I asked.
    "It wasn't that late, but I'd been drinking anisette and I was wrecked. I