“Wow. I mean, Shelly thought five hundred thousand, and Jill said maybe a million; but two and a half million—” She tried a smile, but failed. “That’s a lot of money. I had no idea. When I saw how Margot was living, I mean, in that little apartment and running that little shop, and her car is a Volvo—what nationality is a Volvo anyhow?—I thought she wasn’t doing as well as it seemed from her letters. What was it, the stock market? Is that where the money was, I mean? That there’s so much of it?” She touched her lips with her fingertips to stem the flow of words.

“You, as the personal representative, will conduct a search to discover where and in what form the money presently is held,” replied Penberthy. “I know Margot kept good records, so there should be no trouble.”

“We’re already doing an inventory of the shop.” Ms. Devonshire nodded. “But I don’t know where to begin looking for anything more.”

“I can explain how, if you like. I understand Margot put everything onto her computer. Have you, er, ‘logged on’ to it as yet?” Penberthy was glad to let his secretary run his computer.

“No. But I guess that has to happen soon.”

“Do you know how to operate a computer?”

“Well, I used to own one, when I was living in San Diego, and I kept some records on it, and did my correspondence. I could even surf the net, and send E-mail. But I sold it before I came here.” She shivered and rubbed her upper arms with her hands. “This isn’t what I wanted to be doing right now,” she said. “I came to stay with my sister because I’ve been having a midlife crisis. I wanted to figure out what to do with the rest of my life, because I didn’t like where I was or what I was doing. Margot always had her life together and she seemed so content with herself that when she invited me to come I said yes, gladly. I gave up everything, threw my old life over, left San Diego shaking even the dust of the streets off the soles of my sandals.

“And then when I got here, I worried that Margot couldn’t afford to keep me very long, because her shop is just that little place, and her apartment was kind of small. And then she was murdered and I was scared I couldn’t even afford to bury her—oh!”

“Something wrong?”

“I was really rude to Mr. Huber at the funeral home. I think he tried to tell me that I didn’t have to pinch pennies but I wasn’t in a state to listen to him. I’m not sure what I can do about that.”

“I don’t think it would be a good idea to do the funeral over again.”