Cal gazed at the numbers on his pad of paper. Ever since he'd worked for the prosecutor's office he'd carried a pad of paper. His wife used to tease him about it. The habit had never died.
The notepad contained a number for a doctor and a number for an orphanage in South Jersey. Marsha's mother had provided as much information as she had.
The baby had been a little girl born in a South Jersey hospital. He had the birth date and what Marsha named her before giving her up for adoption.
A few phone calls netted him the name of the orphanage where she would most likely have been sent.
The cordless phone sat on his lap as he relined in his ratty chair. The one his wife had hated, but still let him keep.
“I wonder."
He couldn't decide which was more important right now. Should he get the
