Swamped

You reach deep into your pockets and pull out a special pouch. Inside is your certificate of adoption.

"Matilda raised me after my dear mother died. Spent about a month miserable in an orphanage until she came by. Couldn't prove Mother was her daughter, so she just adopted me to save trouble."

The priest looks over the certificate skeptically.

"Have to say, that sounds less like old Matilda than if she'd swept in under the cover of night and taken you to a hut in the mountains," she mutters.

"Well, she was getting on in years," you shrug. "I was ten when she adopted me, and she died when I was fifteen. Maybe she didn't have the energy for it by then."

"And you just happened to keep this on you today?"

"The day Grandmother got me out of there was the most important day of my life," you reply. "That piece of paper is a link to that day. So I always keep it with me."

"Plus, you're in an acting troupe," Arlene interjects. "Not like you have a permanent place to keep important stuff anyways."

"Acting troupe," the priest mutters to herself. "Now it makes sense. There's been a show about Matilda going on, hasn't there?"

She glances back at the certificate, and starts pacing.

"I hadn't paid much attention, but it certainly seems to me that playing up one of Matilda's descendants being in the show might help to sell tickets. And maybe they have a nice adoption certificate to show off if anyone asks. If they have the right connections, would it be that hard to find a decent forger to make it, I wonder."

You don't think she actually doubts it. But you do think she's trying to make you uncomfortable. And it's working better than you'd like.

"Well, there's one more thing," you say reluctantly. "Take a look at the back of the certificate."