Sycamore Row - John Grisham

6
The parking lot of the Irish Road Christian Church was half-full when Ozzie’s relatively
unmarked car turned in to it at five minutes before four on Tuesday afternoon. There
were no words or numbers painted boldly on the car—Ozzie preferred a lower profile—
but one glance and you knew it was the high sheriff. A collection of antennas; a small
round blue light on the dash, partially hidden; a big brown Ford with four doors and
black wheels, same as virtually every other high sheriff in the state.
He parked it next to the red Saab, which was parked away from the other cars. Ozzie
got out as Jake was getting out and together they crossed the parking lot. “Anything
new?” Jake asked.
“Nothing,” Ozzie said. He was wearing a dark suit with black cowboy boots. Jake, the
same, minus the boots. “You?”
“Nothing. I guess the shit’ll hit the fan tomorrow.”
Ozzie laughed and said, “I can’t wait.”
The church, originally, was a redbrick chapel with a squatty steeple above a set of
double front doors. Over time, though, the congregation had added the obligatory metal
buildings—one beside the chapel that dwarfed it, and one behind it where the youth
played basketball. On a small knoll nearby there was a cemetery under shady trees, a
quiet and pretty place to be buried.
A few smokers were getting their last-minute drags, country men in old suits
reluctantly worn. They were quick to speak to the sheriff. They nodded politely to Jake.
Inside, there was a respectable crowd scattered throughout the dark-stained oak pews.
The lights were low. An organist softly played a mournful dirge, priming the crowd for
the sorrow to come. Seth’s closed casket was draped in flowers and situated below the
pulpit. His pallbearers sat grim-faced and shoulder to shoulder off to the left near the
piano.
Jake and Ozzie sat alone on a back row and began looking around. Grouped together
not far away were some black folks, five in total.
Ozzie nodded at them and whispered, “Green dress, that’s Lettie Lang.”
Jake nodded and whispered back, “Who are the others?”
Ozzie shook his head. “Can’t tell from here.”
Jake stared at the back of Lettie’s head and tried to imagine the adventures they were
about to share. He had yet to meet this woman, had never heard her name until the day
before, but they were about to become well acquainted.
Lettie sat unknowing, her hands folded in her lap. That morning she had worked for