“I spent two hours at the clerk’s office pulling docket numbers,” Arlene said, tapping her ballpoint pen on a column of blue dates.

“Look at line three.”

I leaned over my bowl of chicken noodle soup and read the small handwritten entry.

“November ninth.”

“Frank died at the hospice on November twelfth,” Arlene said quietly.

“Gene filed the preliminary petition to open probate three days before your stepfather actually passed.”

“Is that even legal?” I asked.

“It’s highly irregular,” Arlene said, sliding her glasses back down onto her nose.