Derek frowns at me. “I got a key to the house. Unless you think they won’t let me stay there?”
“Who’s they?”
With a shrug, he says, “I don’t know, the police?”
I would laugh, but I can tell he’s serious. “It isn’t a crime scene. Your mother had a stroke. I’m sure no one will get upset if you stay at her house.”
“Good.” Relief flickers across his face and he visibly relaxes into the chair. “I guess I should start going through all her stuff. I’m sure she had a will, or something. Do you handle that, too?”
“I’m not a lawyer,” I remind him. “I just do the funeral and burial. Sorry.”