W is for Wasted (Kinsey Millhone 23)

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. I’d thought to reassure him, but I must have telegraphed something of my upset and confusion because his look changed from surprise to concern. He reached out and touched my arm. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. I’m fine. It’s been a hell of a day.”

“You look like you lost your best friend.”

“Worse. It’s much worse. I don’t even know where to begin.”

“I’ve got time.”

“No, really. You’re in the middle of something. I don’t want to interrupt.”

“Washing windows. I haven’t even started yet. What’s worse than losing a friend?”

“Someone left me half a million bucks. Give or take,” I added in the interest of being accurate.

“The bastard. That’s terrible!”

He expected me to laugh, but all I could do was moan. There have been occasions when his kindness has caused me to burst into tears. I couldn’t even manage that. He set the bucket and the newspaper on the walk and took me by the arm. He steered me toward the back patio, where he sat me down in an Adirondack chair. I propped my elbows on my knees and hung my head, wondering if I was going to throw up or faint.

He grabbed a lightweight aluminum lawn chair and swung it over close to mine. “What in the world is going on?”

I pressed my fingers against my eyes. “You won’t believe this. I don’t believe it.”

“I’m not sure I will either, but give it a try.”

“Remember the guy in the morgue with my name in his pocket?”

“Of course. The one who died on the beach.”

“Turns out we’re related—probably by way of my Grandmother Dace. He came here in hopes of finding a distant family member and it turns out I’m it. Not only that, but he was on the fritz with his kids so he left all his money to me, which means I’ll have to drive to Bakersfield and spring the news on them. Half a million bucks and I’d never even met the man.”

“Where’d he get the money? You said he was homeless.”

“Homeless, but not broke. Big difference. He spent twelve years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. Once he was exonerated, he sued the state.”

“For half a million dollars?”

“For twelve million. The settlement was six hundred thousand dollars. After a few minor withdrawals, there’s five hundred and ninety-five thousand, three hundred and fifty dollars left.”

“No strings attached?”

“Are you kidding me? It’s all strings. He also named me executor of the estate so I now gotta jump through legal hoops. And what am I supposed to do about a funeral? The guy has to have a decent burial. What if his kids won’t step up to the plate? I’ll have to take care of that on top of everything else. I don’t get it. How did I end up babysitting a dead guy?”

He slapped his knees decisively and got up. “I have the solution. You come with me. This calls for a pan of brownies.”

And that’s when I burst into tears.

•   •   •

As soon as the brownies were cool enough, I ate half the pan and then stayed through supper. Henry plied me with comfort foods: homemade chicken noodle soup and homemade dinner rolls slathered with butter and strawberry jam. Weeping deadens your sense of taste and smell, so I had to suck it up and compose myself. For dessert—as a reward for cleaning my plate—I had two more brownies, which left him with two. Through the meal, we argued about the trip, which I was now thoroughly opposed to. It felt good to focus on a plan over which I had some control.

Henry thought my original instinct was correct. “Dace’s children are probably already feeling put upon and betrayed,” he said. “What good could possibly come of their learning about his death through a notice in the paper or a letter in the mail?”

“Better than hearing it from me,” I said. “How am I going to explain they’ve been disinherited? If I show up on Ethan’s doorstep with that news, he’ll think I’m there to gloat.”

“You’ll do fine. You’re articulate. Open a dialogue. Tell them how you got caught up in this. You know about the last few months of Terrence Dace’s life. His children should have the information.”

“I don’t know anything about the last few months of his life. I’m only going on what I’ve been told.”

“Matters not. You said Dace made a point about the executor of his will delivering the news.”