I heard the elevator doors open and looked up as a curly-haired adolescent boy emerged in bicycle shorts and running shoes. He had no helmet that I could see and I wondered if his mother knew. His shirt was plastered to his back with sweat and his blond hair was a mass of dripping ringlets. As he passed, he glanced at me. “Are you Kinsey?”
“That’s right.”
“Burke Benjamin,” she said. She wiped her right palm on her pants and then held it out. As soon as we shook hands, she moved on, saying, “Come with me.”
I set the magazine aside and followed. She held open her office door for me and then closed it behind me.
“Have a seat. I’ll be right with you.”
I chose one of her two leather-upholstered visitor’s chairs, thinking she’d excuse herself and retire to the ladies’ room to shower. Instead, she opened her bottom desk drawer and pulled out a dark red terry- cloth bath towel. She kicked off her running shoes, peeled off her gym socks, and crossed her arms so she could pull her soggy T-shirt over her head. Shirt dispensed with, she peeled out of her bra and bike shorts. “Hester says you’re a friend of Lonnie’s.”
“I am,” I said, eyes averted. She wore thong underpants. This is a sight that doesn’t inspire confidence when consulting an attorney in the matter of half a million bucks.
She was completely nonchalant as she toweled sweat from her neck and underarms. She wadded up the damp shirt and tossed it in her bottom desk drawer, simultaneously taking out a clean bra, which she hooked into place, followed by a white T-shirt that she slipped over her head. She removed a neat navy blue skirt from a hanger and zipped herself into it, then slipped on heels without hose. From another drawer, she pulled out a hair dryer that was apparently permanently plugged in. She bent from the waist and blew her hair dry with a protracted blast of hot air that riffled papers on her desk. By the time she returned the dryer to the drawer, she looked completely put together and her manner was properly professional, including the ringlets, which offset her no-nonsense air.
“What can I do for you?”
“I find myself in a peculiar situation and I need help.”
“Well, you came to the right place. What’s up?”
I removed Dace’s will from my shoulder bag and passed it across the desk to her.
The document was only four pages long. She took her time, leafing back and forth through the pages until she grasped the whole of it. She placed the document on the desk in front of her. “Nice. I take it the two of you were close.”
“We’re related, but I never met the man,” I said.
“Well, I guess that pretty much eliminates any claim by his three kids that you exercised ‘undue influence’ over dear old Dad,” she said. “What’s the nature of your relationship?”
“I’m guessing we’re second cousins, though I haven’t had that confirmed. I know my grandparents’ names, but aside from that I know nothing about my father’s side of the family. This has come as a complete surprise.”
I gave her an abbreviated version of the story, which sounded just as preposterous in summary as it would have if I’d stopped to spell it out. I gave her a thumbnail account of his conviction for felony murder and his subsequent exoneration, the $600,000 settlement, and his falling-out with his kids. Fortunately, Burke Benjamin was smart and she’d doubtless been exposed to stories just as bizarre. Toward the wrap-up, I said, “I don’t know what happened when Dace last saw his kids. According to Dandy, who was one of the three witnesses to the will, Dace showed up at Ethan’s door shortly after he got out of prison. He thought he could make amends, but he was stonewalled.”
“So he got his back up and disinherited all three of them?”
“That’s what he told Dandy. Again, I don’t know them and I have no idea what the family dynamic was.”
“He was a Santa Teresa resident?”
“As I understand it, yes. He lived in Bakersfield for years before he went to prison. After his aborted reunion with his kids, he headed to Santa Teresa in hopes of finding me. Apparently, he loved it here. He told Dandy this was it. He had no intention of living anywhere else.”
“Homeless though he was,” she said.
“Homeless though he was,” I said back to her with a smile.
“Which would make the Santa Teresa Courthouse the proper place of probate administration,” she said. She picked up the will again and glanced at the last two pages. “I see an address for Ethan Dace. What about the other two kids?”
“I don’t have contact numbers for them. I’ve been thinking I’d be smart to drive to Bakersfield to deliver the news in person. I’m hoping Ethan can put me in touch with Ellen and Anna.”
“I’d put that item at the top of the list. You’re required to give proper legal notice to the children. That’s essential. They can be served by mail or by personal delivery with the notice of hearing. In fact, I’d send the full package—the notice and the petition for probate with all attachments, including the will.”
“Even if I’m sole beneficiary?”
“Especially if you’re sole beneficiary. The will states he’s deliberately omitting his three kids, but that’s subject to challenge. The notice gives them the opportunity to attend the hearing and assert their rights, should they choose to do so. You’ll also have to publish the notice of petition to administer estate in the
Santa Teresa Dispatch
. That’s something you can mail to the legal publication department of the paper. Even though he states he has no debts, the notice of petition will advise any other interested parties that they can serve the representative of the estate with a written request of special notice when the inventory, appraisement, and petition for final distribution are filed.”
I held up a hand. “You mentioned a hearing.”
“Good point. Let me back up and talk you through this. Where’s the body currently?”
“The coroner’s office.”
“Have him moved to a mortuary and they’ll provide you with six to ten copies of the death certificate so you can wind up his affairs. You’ll also have to notify the Social Security Administration, but that’s not pressing at this point. You’ll want to go over to the superior court and pick up a couple of forms, the first of which is a petition, which asks two things: to have the will entered into probate and for a representative to be appointed. You, in this case, since that’s what Dace specified in his will.”
“The guy didn’t do me any favors,” I said. “What else are we talking here?”
She shrugged. “He says he has no other assets aside from the settlement money, but you’d be smart to verify that instead of taking his word for it. He might have community-property interest in stocks or bonds or some other item of value he’s forgotten about.”
“I’m assuming that was all divvied up when got his divorce. I know the house he owned in joint tenancy with his wife was quitclaimed over to her.”
“Take a look at the divorce agreement. For all you know, the decree could require Dace to provide for his three children in his estate plan. Better yet, you might call his divorce attorney, who’d be a particularly good source of information. Income tax returns are another good place to look.”
“Speaking of which, am I going to have to pay income taxes on this money?”
“Nope. You’re clear on that score. Federal estate tax exemption was raised to six hundred thousand dollars just last year. That’s one more reason to make sure he has no other assets that might boost the estate over the six-hundred-thousand-dollar threshold. California inheritance taxes were repealed in 1982 by voter initiative.”
“Well, hallelujah.”
“I’m not done yet,” she said. “You need to look for retirement accounts—IRAs and the like—and life insurance policies, though those proceeds, if any, would be paid to the beneficiaries identified in the policy itself.”
“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.”
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.