Sycamore Row - John Grisham

Russell Amburgh was standing ten feet away, lighting a cigarette, and he heard Jake’s
inquiry. The two shook hands grimly and gave their names. Jake said, “Could I have a
moment alone?”
Mr. Amburgh half shrugged and said softly, “Sure, what’s up?”
The crowd was drifting slowly in the general direction of the cemetery. Jake had no
plans to watch the burial; he was on another mission. When he and Amburgh were far
enough away not to be heard, he said, “I’m a lawyer in Clanton, never met Mr.
Hubbard, but I received a letter from him yesterday. A letter, along with his last will and
testament in which he names you as his executor. It is imperative that we talk as soon as
possible.”
Amburgh stopped cold and jammed the cigarette into a corner of his mouth. He glared
at Jake, then glanced around to make sure they were alone. “What kinda will?” he said,
exhaling smoke.
“Handwritten, last Saturday. He was clearly contemplating his death.”
“Then he was probably out of his mind,” Amburgh said, sneering, the first rattle of a
saber in the coming war.
Jake had not expected this. “We’ll see. I guess that will be determined later.”
“I was a lawyer once, Mr. Brigance, a long time ago before I found honest work. I
know the game.”
Jake kicked a rock and looked around. The first mourners were nearing the front
entrance of the cemetery. “Can we talk?”
“What’s in the will?”
“I can’t tell you now but I can tell you tomorrow.”
Amburgh cocked his head back and glared down along his nose. “How much do you
know about Seth’s business?”
“Let’s say nothing. In his will he writes that you have a good knowledge of his assets
and liabilities.”
Another draw, another sneer. “There are no liabilities, Mr. Brigance. Only assets, and
plenty.”
“Please, let’s meet and have a chat. All secrets are about to be revealed, Mr. Amburgh,
I just need to know where it’s going. Under the terms of his will, you’re the executor and
I’m the lawyer for the estate.”
“That doesn’t sound right. Seth hated the lawyers in Clanton.”
“Yes, he made that very clear. If we can meet in the morning, I’ll be happy to show
you a copy of his will and shed some light.”
Amburgh started walking again and Jake tagged along, for a few steps anyway. As
they approached the cemetery, Ozzie was waiting by the gate. Amburgh stopped again
and said, “I live in Temple. There’s a café on Highway 52, west of town. Meet me there
at 7:30 in the morning.”
“Okay. What’s the name of the café?”
“The Café.”
“Got it.”
Amburgh disappeared without another word. Jake looked at Ozzie, shook his head in