Sycamore Row - John Grisham

seen liquor in the house; Seth didn’t keep it. Once a month he brought home a few beers,
stuck them in the fridge, and then usually forgot about them.
The sink was full of dirty dishes—how could they possibly be expected to load the
dishwasher with a servant on the payroll? Lettie got busy with the cleaning, and
presently Mr. Dafoe stopped at the door and said, “I think I’ll get a shower now.
Ramona is not feeling well, probably caught a cold.”
Cold or vodka? Lettie thought. But she said, “I’m sorry. Can I do anything for her?”
“Not really. But some breakfast would be nice, eggs and bacon. Scrambled for me, not
sure about Herschel.”
“I’ll ask him.”
Since they were leaving, as was the servant, and since the house was about to be
locked up, then sold or somehow disposed of, Lettie decided to clean out the pantry and
refrigerator. She fried bacon and sausage, whipped up pancakes, scrambled eggs and
made omelets and cheese grits and warmed up store-bought biscuits, Seth’s favorite
brand. The table was covered with steaming bowls and platters when the three sat down
for breakfast, complaining the entire time about all the food and fuss. But they ate.
Ramona, puffy-eyed and red-faced and unwilling to say much, seemed to especially
crave the grease. Lettie hung around for a few minutes, properly serving them, and the
mood was tense. She suspected they’d had a rough night, drinking and arguing and
trying to survive one last night in a house they hated. She eased back into the bedrooms,
happy to see their bags were packed.
From the shadows, she heard Herschel and Ian discussing a visit by the lawyers. Ian
argued it was easier for the lawyers to come to Seth’s house than for the three of them to
troop over to Tupelo.
“Damned right they can come to us,” Ian said. “They’ll be here at ten.”
“Okay, okay,” Herschel conceded, then they lowered their voices.
After breakfast, as Lettie cleared the table and stacked the dishes, the three moved
outdoors again, to the patio where they settled around the picnic table and drank their
coffee in the morning sun. Ramona seemed to perk up. Lettie, who lived with a drunk,
figured that most mornings started slow for Mrs. Dafoe. There was laughter as they
momentarily shook off last night’s harsh words, whatever they were.
The doorbell rang; it was a locksmith from Clanton. Herschel showed him around and
explained loudly, for the benefit of Lettie, that they wanted new locks on the home’s
four exterior doors. As the man went to work, starting with the front door, Herschel
stopped in the kitchen and said, “We’re getting all new locks, Lettie, so the old keys
won’t work.”
“I’ve never had a key,” she said with an edge because she’d already said it once.
“Right,” Herschel replied, not believing. “We’ll leave one key with Calvin down the
road, and we’ll keep the others. I suspect I’ll be back from time to time to check on
things.”
Whatever, Lettie thought, but she said, “I’ll be happy to come over and clean the place
whenever you want. Calvin can let me in.”
“Won’t be necessary, but thanks. We’re meeting with the lawyers at ten o’clock, here,