She found scan after scan of notes in her mother’s handwriting as well as what appeared to be age-yellowed documents. There was a ship’s manifest from 1888 with the name Colleen O’Rourke highlighted, and muster rolls from something labeled “Astor Battery” with the name Julio Harper marked. Another file contained a wealth of information about William Randolph Hearst.

There was also a printed report from one of those mail-away DNA tests. She was fascinated by the results. Predictably, her mother was of mostly Anglo-European descent. But the results also showed she was 7 percent Spanish; 12 percent African. Seriously?

Natalie gazed at her face in the wavy glass of the old barrister cabinet behind the counter. Dark curly hair like her mother’s. Pale skin and brown eyes—traits she shared with the man who had fathered her. What did the 12 percent mean? How did one determine one’s ethnicity? Who were her ancestors?

Oftentimes throughout her life, she’d felt like a stranger to herself. Had Mom felt the same way? Could this be the reason? Natalie burned with frustration over the questions she would never be able to ask her mother—What were you looking for? And why didn’t you share it with me?

She checked the banking and credit card accounts and shuddered with apprehension. There were enormous bills and care fees related to Grandy’s accident and broken hip—including many costs not covered by Medicare. Scariest of all—liens from the city, county, and state for unpaid taxes. Her mother’s own business expenses, taxes and fees, the utilities and upkeep on the shop. The amount took Natalie’s breath away. If the figures were accurate, her mom—and the shop—were drowning in debt and unpaid bills and had been for quite some time.

She found more bad news stuffed into a ripped envelope and tucked out of sight—a notice of foreclosure. From what she could piece together, a large property equity loan from a private lender had been taken out in Grandy’s name, and they were in default.

A snap of anger went off in Natalie. Really, Mom? Really?

It wasn’t something to deal with right now, thought Natalie. Not this precise moment. But the truth stared her in the face. The shop and all its contents would need to be sold, sooner rather than later.

She put away her coffee cup and checked the time. She and Cleo and Bertie planned to open the shop today. For the time being, in honor of her mother’s life’s work, they would carry on. Business as fucking usual.