“He’s gone, Mara,” she said softly from the doorway.

I laid Frank’s hand on his chest and tucked the top edge of the yellow blanket over his shoulder.

“Yes,” I said, getting up and reaching for my coat.

“He is.”

I didn’t back away from his desk.

I picked up the paper copy of the thirty-thousand-dollar insurance payout, folded it into quarters, and tucked it into my coat pocket.

“The probate judge will want to know where that money went,” I said.