“You think his kids will come after me?”

“Are you kidding? Why wouldn’t they? Not only did he disinherit them, but he left all his money to someone he never met. Plus, he was homeless in the last stage of his life, which suggests instability. Those kids have nothing to lose. There’s no bequest to them—at least not as far as I can see—so any no-contest clause would be out the window. Then you have the witnesses . . .”

I said, “Oh, man. Will they have to show up in court? I should warn you, the three aren’t exemplary citizens.”

“You know them?”

“I do. They’re currently residents of Harbor House and at least one of them has an issue with alcohol.”

“All we need are two witnesses anyway, which gives us a one-drunk margin. The will is self-proving. When the witnesses signed, not only did they declare Dace was of sound mind and memory and not acting under duress, menace, fraud, or undue influence, but that the facts were true and correct under penalty of perjury. It helps that this was signed, sealed, and delivered, so to speak, before you were pulled into the equation.”

“This already sounds too complicated,” I said. “Can’t I hire you to take care of it?”

“Absolutely. The clerical work isn’t the issue here. Where you’re going to need representation is in the event that these kids show up in court with a phalanx of attorneys. Now, that would be fun.” She opened a desk drawer and took out two printed sheets stapled together in one corner. “Here’s a couple of pages of instructions you can keep for ready reference. It’s a lot to take in and you’ve probably blanked out half of what I’ve said.”

I glanced at the pages she gave me, but all of it seemed to be gibberish. “I must be having a mental breakdown. None of this makes sense.”

She stood and peered across the desk. “Oh. That’s the Spanish version.”

She held out a hand and I returned the pages. She substituted the English-language version, which I couldn’t bring myself to read.

“How soon will you be driving to Bakersfield?” she asked.

“I’d like to go tomorrow morning.”

“Why don’t I meet you at the Superior Court Clerk’s office at eight o’clock? We can get this process under way and then you can hit the road.”

“Great. That sounds good,” I said. “Do I pay as we go or will you bill me?”

She waved the issue aside. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll bill you. You’re a friend of Lonnie’s and that’s good enough for me.”

12