Sycamore Row - John Grisham

enough. They drove to a fish shack overlooking Lake Chatulla, and enjoyed a long meal,
just the lawyers and their clients. After a few drinks their nerves were settled, and they
managed to relax. Like most trial lawyers, Wade Lanier was a gifted storyteller and he
regaled them with hilarious tales from his courtroom brawls. More than once, he said,
“We’re gonna win, folks. Just trust me.”
Lucien was in his hotel room, a Jack on the rocks on his nightstand, his nose stuck
deep into another impenetrable Faulkner novel, when the phone rang. A weak voice on
the other end said, “Is this Mr. Wilbanks?”
“It is,” Lucien said, gently closing the book and swinging his feet to the floor.
“This is Lonny Clark, Mr. Wilbanks.”
“Please call me Lucien, and I’ll call you Lonny, okay?”
“Okay.”
“How are you feeling tonight, Lonny?”
“Better, much better. You came to my room last night, didn’t you, Lucien? I know you
did. I thought I was dreaming last night when a stranger appeared in my room and said
something to me, but then when I met you today I recognized you and I recalled your
voice.”
“I’m afraid you were indeed dreaming, Lonny.”
“No, I wasn’t. Because you came the night before too. Friday night and Saturday
night, it was you. I know it was.”
“No one can get in your room, Lonny. There’s a cop at the door, around the clock I’m
told.”
Lonny paused as if he didn’t know this; or if he did, then how could a stranger sneak
into his room? Finally he said, “The stranger said something about Sylvester Rinds. Do
you know Sylvester Rinds, Lucien?”
“Where is he from?” Lucien asked, casually taking a sip.
“I’m asking you, Lucien. Do you know Sylvester Rinds?”
“I’ve lived in Ford County all my life, Lonny. I know everyone, black and white. But
something tells me Sylvester Rinds died before I was born. Did you know him?”
“I don’t know. It’s all so muddled now. And so long ago …” His voice faded as if he’d
dropped the phone.
Keep him talking, Lucien said to himself. “I’m much more interested in Ancil
Hubbard,” he said. “Any luck with that name, Lonny?”
Weakly, he said, “I might be onto something. Can you stop by tomorrow?”
“Of course. What time?”
“Come early. I’m not as tired in the mornings.”
“What time will the doctors be finished with their rounds?”
“I don’t know. Nine or so.”
“I’ll be there at nine thirty, Lonny.”