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.”