“Yes, it does. She has a brother in California. He came in a few times, helped out some. She has a sister in Oyster Bay—who was apparently too busy to visit or help more than a couple times a month, if that.”

He handed Laurel her coffee, leaned back against his desk. He took out one of the cupcakes, studied it.

“Not everyone has a lot of love and dedication.”

“No, not everyone,” he murmured. “There was insurance, of course, but it doesn’t cover everything. What it didn’t my client paid for out of pocket until her mother found out, and insisted on putting her daughter’s name on her personal checking account.”

“Which takes love, and trust.”

“Yes.” He smiled a little. “It does.”

“It sounds like, even though it had to be a terrible thing to go through, they had something special.Your client and her mother.”

“Yes, you’re right. The leave of absence was a financial burden, but my client and her family dealt with it. Her husband and kids pitched in when they could. Do you know what it must be like to care for a dying parent, one who at the end is essentially bedridden, incontinent, who requires special food, constant care?”

Not just sad, she realized. Angry. Very angry. “I can only imagine. It must be a terrible strain, physically, emotionally.”

“Two years, with the last six months all but around the clock. She bathed her, changed her, did her laundry, fed her, took care of her finances, cleaned her house, sat with her, read to her. Her mother changed her will, left the house, its contents—but for some specifics—and the bulk of her estate to her daughter. Now that she’s gone, now that the client and her brother from California made all the funeral arrangements, the sister’s contesting the will. She’s accusing my client of unduly influencing their mother in her favor. She’s livid, and has privately accused her of stealing money, jewelry, household items, turning their dying mother against her.”

When Laurel said nothing, Del set his own coffee aside. “Initially my client wanted to give it to her, just let her have whatever she wanted. Between the grief and the stress, she didn’t think she could handle any more. But her husband and—to his credit—the brother wouldn’t have it.”

“So they came to you.”

“The sister hired a lawyer who fits her like a fucking glove. I’m going to kick their asses.”

“My money’s on you.”