Inheritance

John's uncle Malaky died at 94, leaving his nephew a key to a storage space. John had little contact with the man over the years, but he was curious.
Shaking with anticipation, he opened the space. It was dark enough so that he used his flashlight. It smelled like decay.
The first thing he saw was a pile of typed paper, at least five feet high.
The second thing he noticed was a skeleton in the corner.
Could this be his Aunt Louise, who supposedly drowned in a boating accident years before? Was his uncle a murderer?
Was this a way for the man to confess?
What was on all those sheets of paper? Was his aunt secretly composing a diary describing mistreatment? Could there be hidden brilliance in her work, something John could market? He felt ashamed. This was disrespect.
He began reading. His expression changed. Recipes, all recipes. Hundreds of them.
Evidently Aunt Louise was a lousy cook. At least that was his uncle's conclusion. Especially her sauce.