Sycamore Row - John Grisham

“Your uncle was a drunk,” Ramona said as she dried up.
“Yes he was, and he was drunk when he shot himself, but he still managed to plan it
all.”
“Let’s talk about something else, can we?” Herschel said. “No, Mona, there was no
foul play. Seth did it himself and left notes behind. I say we go through the house and
look for papers, bank statements, maybe the will, anything that we might need to find.
We’re the family and we’re in charge now. Nothing wrong with that, right?”
Ian and Ramona were nodding, yes.
Lettie was actually smiling. Mr. Seth had taken all his papers to his office and locked
them in a file cabinet. Over the last month, he had meticulously cleaned out his desk and
drawers and taken away everything of interest. And, he’d said to her, “Lettie, if
something happens to me, all the good stuff is in my office, locked up tight. The lawyers
will deal with it, not my kids.”
He’d also said, “And I’m leaving a little something for you.”