I realized that “Dandy” was the shorthand version of Daniel D. Dan D. “I never heard their last names except Pearl’s, and I wasn’t sure that was correct. Dandy referred to her as Ms. Pearly White, but I thought it might have been a play on words.”

Aaron returned to the first page. “Not a word about the disposition of his remains, but his kids might expect to have a say in the matter. He’s got all three listed, but there’s only one address and that’s his son, Ethan’s. Nothing for the two girls, so maybe he didn’t know where they were living.”

He turned to the second page and I saw his gaze zigzag down the lines of print. His mouth turned down in an expression that suggested surprise. “The guy was frosted. Says here, ‘I have intentionally omitted to provide in this will for my son, Ethan, or for my daughters, Ellen and Anna, whose loathing and disdain are irreparable and who have repudiated our relationship and severed all ties.’”

I said, “Dandy told me about that. It must have been quite a blowup.”

“Well, this is helpful,” Aaron went on. “Says, ‘Be it known that I own no real property, have no debts, and have no assets other than the monies deposited in my savings account and the incidental personal effects in my safe deposit box. It is my desire that the executor of my estate should notify my children of my death and deliver the gifts I’ve set aside for them.’”

“If he’s disinherited his kids, does it mean his money goes right back to the state? That would be a pisser,” I said.

“Oh, no. He made sure he had all his ducks in a row. For starters, he’s set it up so the executor and sole beneficiary are the same.”

“Meaning what? Is that a good thing or bad?”

“It’s not a problem one way or the other. I think the tricky issue lies elsewhere.”

He pushed the document across the table and I leaned forward so I could read the name listed in two different places on the same page.

I said, “Oh.”

Because the name was mine.

11