Sycamore Row - John Grisham

“I talked to Herschel Hubbard around five yesterday afternoon, broke the bad news.
He lives in Memphis, but I didn’t get much information. He said he would call his sister,
Ramona, and they would hustle on over. Seth left a sheet of paper with some
instructions on how he wanted to be handled. Funeral tomorrow at 4:00 p.m., at church,
then a burial.” Ozzie paused and reread the letter. “Seems kinda cruel, doesn’t it, Jake?
Seth wants his family to suffer through a proper mourning before they know he’s
screwed ’em in his will.”
Jake chuckled and said, “Oh, I think it’s beautiful. You wanna go to the funeral?”
“Only if you’ll go.”
“You’re on.”
They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the voices outside, to the ringing of the
phones, and they both knew they had things to do. But there were so many questions, so
much high drama just around the corner.
“I wonder what those boys saw,” Jake said. “Seth and his brother.”
Ozzie shook his head, no clue. He glanced at the will and said, “Ancil F. Hubbard. I
can try and find him if you want; run his name through the network; see if he’s got a
record anywhere.”
“Do that. Thanks.”
After another heavy pause, Ozzie said, “Jake, I have a lot on my plate this mornin’.”
Jake jumped to his feet and said, “Me too. Thanks. I’ll call later.”