“You’re overwhelmed with grief right now, so you ought to let experienced relatives deal with these practical matters,” he pressed.

I looked past his tailored suit to the back kitchen window, where Lucas’s tarp shelter stood under the gray sky.

“Funny you’d say that, Patrick, because Mom warned me about how helpful you are before she died,” I said coolly.

Patrick’s manicured fingers froze over the flap of a taped cardboard box.

“What ridiculous nonsense did Joanne tell you at the end?” he demanded, his voice dropping to a harsh pitch.

“She said if you came snooping around the house, I should keep you far away from the navy tin,” I said boldly.