W Is for Wasted

12

I did as Burke Benjamin had suggested and stopped by the records department at the courthouse after I left her office. I paid the fee for the proper forms, which I would complete and return to the Superior Court Clerk’s office next door when I submitted the original of Dace’s will. I went back to my office and scrutinized the petition as though studying for a test. The format was straightforward, providing a number of boxes that could be marked with X’s or left blank according to the dictates of any given case. I flipped the page over and saw that there was another full set of questions on the back that I’d get to in due course. I rolled the first page into my typewriter and spent far more time than necessary making sure the paper was properly aligned.

When faced with a tedious questionnaire, which is essentially what this was, the only remedy is to tackle the job one line at a time. In the top box, I typed in my name and address. I typed in Dace’s full name. Put an X in the box indicating the petition was for Probate of Will and for Letters Testamentary. I could see now that this was closer to a multiple-choice test where the answers had to be debated one by one to decide which seemed closest to the facts. I’d been taught to tackle the easy answers first and then go back to the tougher ones. I patiently X’d my way down the page until I reached the question about the estimated value of the estate. I wasn’t sure what to say. I typed in the sum in Dace’s savings account. Under “real property,” I typed “none,” which might or might not be correct. When I reached the bottom of the page, I scarcely had the heart to plow on, but I forced myself to persevere. I did pause at the line that read, “Proposed executor is named in the will and consents to act.”

I thought, really, consents? I had a choice here? It hadn’t occurred to me that I could abdicate my responsibilities as representative of the estate, but there was actually a box I could mark if I decided to refuse. The idea was tempting, but what justification could I supply? There were no boxes to be marked declaring that I was insane, incompetent, or stupid. I couldn’t picture simply piping up in court, telling the probate judge I didn’t feel like doing it, but thanks so much. That half a million bucks was going to end up someplace and I had to accept the fact that it was my job to escort it through the system.

I completed the form, removed the document from the typewriter, made a copy, and then made four copies of Dace’s will on my handy-dandy copy machine. I then put the paperwork in a manila envelope, which I slid into my shoulder bag. A copy of the inventory form and copies of the papers that had been in the safe deposit box I tucked into a file folder, which I’d be taking with me. I was already thinking ahead to the trip, for which I’d have to allot two days. The drive was roughly two and a half hours. If I took care of clerical matters first thing in the morning, I could probably leave by nine. Once in Bakersfield, I’d track down Ethan at the address his father had noted in the will and hope he’d be willing to put me in touch with his sisters. I knew nothing of the family, but if Evelyn Dace still harbored hostile feelings about her ex, it would be smart to avoid her altogether. The provisions of the will wouldn’t affect her in any event, and I was praying she’d keep her distance.

I stowed my Smith-Corona in the trunk and then drove home, taking my emotional temperature, which was only slightly elevated in anticipation of events to come. I was certain my anxiety could be soothed if Henry offered me a batch of cinnamon rolls or an eight-by-eight pan of chocolate-chunk brownies. All in all, I felt good. I like having a mission. I like being on the move. The actual balance in Dace’s bank account was funny money as far as I was concerned. I wasn’t going to think about it until the details were sorted out.

I parked and I was making my way through the squeaky gate when I stopped in my tracks.

Was I out of my tiny mind? The implications of the situation descended like a hundred-pound weight. I had a brief vision of myself knocking on Ethan’s door. Hi, you don’t know me, but I’m a very, very, distant relative. Your father cut you out of his will and left everything to me.

This was not going to go well. Dace’s kids knew nothing of me and I knew precious little about them. In one stroke, Dace had relieved them of a sizable inheritance and placed the burden on me. Why would they be pleasant or courteous or even civil when I was delivering such bad news? They’d be pissed as hell. Maybe notifying Ethan by mail was a better approach. If he or his sisters wanted to contest the terms of the will, he could contact me through his attorney. That would save me driving 150 miles to get the shit kicked out of me. I didn’t want to deal with their rage or their indignation. If the three of them were indifferent to news of their father’s death, I didn’t want to deal with that either. Dace had made a mess of his life, but he’d tried to make amends. Drink and drugs aside, he’d been dealt a bad hand. It was time for someone to give the poor guy a break.

Just then, Henry came striding around the corner of the building with a bucket of water and a folded newspaper under one arm, narrowly avoiding bumping into me. I yelped as water sloshed out of the bucket and down the front of my all-purpose dress. I don’t know which of us was more surprised.

He put the bucket down. “Sorry. I’m so sorry, but I had no idea you’d be standing there.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. I’d thought to reassure him, but I must have telegraphed something of my upset and confusion because his look changed from surprise to concern. He reached out and touched my arm. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. I’m fine. It’s been a hell of a day.”

“You look like you lost your best friend.”

“Worse. It’s much worse. I don’t even know where to begin.”

“I’ve got time.”

“No, really. You’re in the middle of something. I don’t want to interrupt.”

“Washing windows. I haven’t even started yet. What’s worse than losing a friend?”

“Someone left me half a million bucks. Give or take,” I added in the interest of being accurate.

“The bastard. That’s terrible!”

He expected me to laugh, but all I could do was moan. There have been occasions when his kindness has caused me to burst into tears. I couldn’t even manage that. He set the bucket and the newspaper on the walk and took me by the arm. He steered me toward the back patio, where he sat me down in an Adirondack chair. I propped my elbows on my knees and hung my head, wondering if I was going to throw up or faint.

He grabbed a lightweight aluminum lawn chair and swung it over close to mine. “What in the world is going on?”

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.”

“You’ll do fine. You’re articulate. Open a dialogue. Tell them how you got caught up in this. You know about the last few months of Terrence Dace’s life. His children should have the information.”

“I don’t know anything about the last few months of his life. I’m only going on what I’ve been told.”

“Matters not. You said Dace made a point about the executor of his will delivering the news.”

I was shaking my head in despair. “I can’t do it. Truly. They’re bound to react badly. It’s like begging to be abused. First they find out he died and then they find out he’s screwed ’em over in death the way he screwed ’em in life.”

“You don’t know that for a fact.”

“What, that he screwed ’em over in life? Look at it from their perspective. God knows what they went through during his arrest, trial, and sentencing. They must have been mortified. After that, Mom divorces him and he goes to prison, presumably for life. He put them through the wringer.”

“But he didn’t commit a crime. He was falsely accused. The legal system was at fault. The judge, the lawyers, and police made a terrible mistake. You’d think his kids would be thrilled to find out he was telling the truth.”

“Not so. From what Dandy tells me, the visit was a bust.”

“Do you think he told his kids how much money he had?”

“Beats me. Dandy and Pearl suspected he had money, but apparently he never revealed how much. I don’t want to be the one who drops that bomb on them. Once the kids find out I’m sole beneficiary, no telling what they’ll do.”

Henry shook his head. “You’re just trying to save your own skin.”

“Of course I am! Wouldn’t you do the same?”

“That’s neither here nor there. Tell them what happened. Lay the whole story out the same way you told me. It’s not your fault they severed the relationship. It’s not your fault he named you in his will.”

“You think they’ll take such a charitable view?”

“Well, no, not likely, but it’s better if you take the high road and handle this one-on-one.”

I put my head down on the table and groaned.

“Kinsey, the money isn’t theirs. It was never theirs. Their father had the right to do anything he wanted with it.”

“What if they feel entitled to it? They’re his natural heirs. Why wouldn’t they feel they had a right to it?”

“In that case, it becomes a legal issue and they’ll have to hire an attorney.”

I thought about it briefly. “I guess if they raise a huge stink, I could offer to divide the money among the three of them.”

“In no way! Absolutely not. If he’d wanted them to have the money, he’d have set it up that way. He named you executor because he trusted you to carry out his wishes, which are plainly stated.”

I reached out and grabbed his arm. “I just had a great idea! You can come with me. You’re good at things like this. You’re diplomatic and I’m not. I’ll make a botch of it. If you’re with me, I’ll have an ally.”

“Nope. No can do. I’ve got William to contend with. Someone has to get him to his physical therapy appointments.”

“He can take a cab. He’s already said he would.”

“You’re forgetting Ed. I can’t very well go off and leave the little guy. We’re in the bonding process. He’d feel betrayed.”

“You think a cat can feel betrayed?”

“Of course. Why would he not? He might not understand the concept as such, but he’d certainly be crushed if I abandoned him after finally winning his trust.”

“William could look after him, couldn’t he? He’s just as much a part of Ed’s life as you are.”

“He most certainly is not!”

“Well, nearly. I mean, Ed knows William. It’s not like you’d be leaving a stranger in charge.”

“Why don’t you look at it another way? There’s a big chunk of your history buried in Bakersfield. You’re actually related to these people. I’m not sure how, but that’s a question worth pursuing. Think of yourself as a diplomat. You’re a delegate from your branch of the family reaching out to theirs. I grant you the introductions might be awkward, but as long as you’re going, you can fill in some gaps in your family tree. Actually, Dace did you a good turn. This is a rare opportunity, a chance to integrate. Forget the emotional content and play it straight.”

I stared at the floor. “I wish I had your confidence.”

“You’ll be fine.”

• • •

I left Henry’s at 9:00 that night and made a quick trip to the nearest service station to put gas in the car. On the way home, I stopped by the bank and pulled cash from an ATM. I was in bed by ten. I didn’t sleep well, but then I didn’t expect to sleep well. I woke at 2:30 and again at 4:00. The next time I opened my eyes it was 5:15 and I decided to call it quits. I got up, made the bed, and pulled on my sweats. I started a load of laundry and left it to churn while I did my three-mile jog. The run was the last thing in the world I wanted to do, but I knew it was the right stress-busting move. When I returned thirty minutes later, I shifted the damp clothes into the dryer and then took my shower.

By the time I’d dressed and eaten my cereal, I was feeling better. Talking through the problem with Henry had helped me put it in perspective. I was making things too complicated. The trip to Bakersfield was a necessary element in my responsibilities as executor of Dace’s estate. It was a mistake to overthink the task. I had no clue what kind of reception I’d get. The best tack was to go with an open heart and deal with whatever came to pass. Looking back, I can’t believe I was able to say this to myself with a straight face.

My clothes were still warm from the dryer as I packed my duffel. I was eager to hit the road, but I had matters to tend to first. When the Santa Teresa County Clerk-Recorder’s Office opened at 8:00, Burke Benjamin and I were the only two people in line. I presented myself, paperwork in hand, paid the fees, filed the petition for probate, and submitted the original of Dace’s will. I could have strung out the process, waiting to file until I returned from Bakersfield, but I knew I’d reached the point of no return and I liked the sense that forward motion was inevitable. The clerk assigned a case number and gave me a court date that fell in the middle of December, which meant I had ample time to take care of the busywork. Burke made sure I had certified copies of all the necessary documents. At her suggestion, I picked up forms to fill out for the notice I’d need to have published in the Santa Teresa Dispatch. Burke said she’d cover anything that came up in my absence.

I made a quick stop at the office to pick up the mail that had come in the day before. I sat down at my desk and took care of a detail or two. Mostly, I tidied up so if I ran off the road and died, my survivors would think my desk was always neat. At 9:00, I put in a call to Mr. Sharonson at Wynington-Blake Mortuary, asking him to retrieve R. T. Dace’s body from the coroner’s office and move him to the funeral home. I could tell Mr. Sharonson was on the verge of rolling out condolences, but I pretended I had another call coming in on my one-line phone and thus made short work of it.

Before I hit the road, I stopped at the house to let Henry know I was on my way. He was out somewhere, but he’d left a hinged wicker picnic basket on my doorstep. I lifted the flap and saw that he’d packed me a sandwich, an apple, some potato chips, and six chocolate chip cookies. He’d also tucked in a map of Bakersfield. Ed, the cat, had contributed a parting gift as well. He’d caught and killed a mole, graciously leaving me the head, which he’d licked clean of fur right down to the bone. I was on the road by 9:30.

The die, as they say, was cast.