The Girl with the Phony Name by Charles Mathes Page B

delicious,” she exclaimed.
    â€œYe should try the trout,” said MacAlpin with a smile. “I’m sairtain ye willna be disappointed.”
    â€œCan I have a shrimp cocktail, too?”

    â€œAbsolutely.”
    Lucy grinned. She had to admit that this Robert MacAlpin had a lot of style—for an insurance agent.
    â€œTwo trout, please,” said MacAlpin when the first young waiter returned. “And a shrimp cocktail for the lady to start.”
    â€œYou really didn’t have to go to all this trouble … .” Lucy began as the waiter departed, but the little Scot held up his hand.
    â€œWha’ man in his right mind would consider it trouble to have lunch wi’ a bonnie yoong lass, I ask ye?”
    â€œWell, I’m flattered,” said Lucy, flattered.
    MacAlpin pushed himself back from the table and studied her for a moment, grinning.
    â€œLucy MacAlpin Trelaine,” he said finally.
    â€œMr. MacAlpin,” Lucy replied, grinning right back. “So. Can you really tell me who I am?”
    â€œI hope so. You’ve brought your brooch like I asked?”
    Lucy nodded eagerly.
    â€œMay I see it?”
    Lucy took the monstrosity out of the pocket of her jacket—she hated to carry a purse—and put it on the table between them. MacAlpin picked it up as gently as one might pick up a robin’s egg and stared at it. When he turned it over and studied the inscriptions on the back, Lucy saw that his hands were trembling.
    Finally, as a silent man in a white coat delivered four of the most gigantic shrimp Lucy had ever seen, MacAlpin placed the brooch carefully back on the table between them.
    â€œWell?” said Lucy, practically jumping out of her skin.
    â€œI dinna want to say anything until I’m sure. Please now, go ahead and eat.”
    Lucy speared a shrimp and impatiently took a bite.
    â€œVery good,” she said, chewing. “When will you be sure? Sure about what?”
    â€œWell, I’ve asked someone to join us here if ye dinna mind. I think he’ll be able to tell us if your brooch is genuine.”

    â€œOh?”
    â€œYes. His name’s Fraser. He’s sairt of a low-life character, wha’ they call a ‘fence’ on the telly, actually, but an expert on this type of jewelry.”
    â€œYou have some peculiar friends,” said Lucy, putting down her fork, suddenly very uncomfortable.
    â€œIn the insurance business ye meet all kinds.” MacAlpin grinned. “He knows me by the name of ‘Scott’ by the way, so I’d like you to play along.”
    â€œWhy?” She didn’t like the sound of this at all.
    â€œI dinna want to get too involved with the man, if ye catch my meanin’. Nor should you.”
    â€œLook, Mr. MacAlpin,” said Lucy, feeling like a first-class chump, “I’m here because you said you could tell me something about my family. All of a sudden you want some … criminal … to look at my brooch. You want me to accept some phony name. Maybe I should just finish my appetizer and say adiós. ”
    â€œI do ha’ a good reason for askin’ this man here, Lucy,” said MacAlpin sincerely.
    â€œLike what, for instance?”
    â€œLike if the man says that the brooch is genuine, then I think I’m your faether.”
    Â 
    Lucy sipped her coffee and tried to think. The trout had looked wonderful, but Lucy couldn’t even remember what it tasted like.
    MacAlpin’s story had been simplicity itself. Thirty years ago back in Glasgow, he had been engaged to marry a girl named Bethoc Trelaine. Bethoc Trelaine worked at Glasgow’s Celtic Museum of Antiquities. One day Bethoc disappeared. So did a valuable brooch from the Celtic museum. MacAlpin never suspected that Bethoc might be pregnant, but when he thought about what Lucy had told him, suddenly it had all made sense.
    â€œDinna ye see, lass?” he was saying now in a