Sycamore Row - John Grisham

Aw, the old icebreaker, at least with black folks. “I did,” Jake said modestly.
“I thought so. Good job. Great job.”
“Thanks. Look, I’m actually here on business, and, well, I need to speak with Lettie
here in private. No offense or anything, but I have to tell her something confidential.”
“What is it?” she asked, confused.
“Why is it private?” Simeon asked.
“Because the law says it is,” Jake replied, fudging a bit. The law had nothing to do
with this situation. In fact, as he muddled through this encounter he began to realize
that his big news perhaps wasn’t so confidential after all. There was no doubt Lettie
would tell her husband everything before Jake pulled out of the driveway. The last will
and testament of Seth Hubbard was now a public record and would be scrutinized by
every lawyer in town within twenty-four hours. Where was the privacy, the
confidentiality?
Simeon angrily tossed a beer can against the tree, sending a line of foam across the
trunk. He bolted to his feet, growling, “All right, all right,” as he kicked the milk crate.
He reached into the cooler, grabbed another beer, and stomped away, mumbling and
cursing under his breath. The shadows consumed him as he moved deeper into the trees,
no doubt watching and listening.
Lettie, almost whispering, said, “Very sorry about that, Mr. Brigance.”
“No problem. Look, Ms. Lang, there is a very important matter we need to discuss as
soon as possible, preferably tomorrow in my office. It’s about Mr. Hubbard and his last
will and testament.”
Lettie bit her bottom lip as she stared wild-eyed at Jake. Tell me more.
Jake continued: “The day before he died, he made a new will, one that he dropped in
the mail so I would receive it after his death. It appears to be a valid will, but I’m sure it
will be contested by his family.”
“Am I in his will?”
“You certainly are. In fact, he left a sizable portion of his estate to you.”
“Oh God.”
“Yes. He wants me to be the lawyer for his estate, and I’m sure that will be contested
too. That’s why we need to talk.”
Her right hand covered her mouth as she mumbled, “Oh my Lord.”
Jake looked at the house where the light from its windows cut through the darkness. A
shadow moved beyond it, probably Simeon circling around. Jake had the sudden desire
to hop in the old Saab and cut a trail quickly back to civilization.
She asked, nodding, “Should I tell him?”
“That’s up to you. I would have included him but I’ve heard stories about his drinking.
Didn’t know what shape he’s in right now. But, to be honest, Ms. Lang, he’s your
husband and he should come with you tomorrow. That is, if he’s in good shape.”
“He’ll be in good shape, I promise.”
Jake handed her a business card and said, “Anytime tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be in my
office waiting.”
“We’ll be there, Mr. Brigance. And thank you for comin’ here.”