Sycamore Row - John Grisham

so make some fresh coffee. After that we’ll be leaving for home. I’m afraid we won’t be
needing you after that, Lettie. Sorry, but Dad’s death changes everything.”
She clenched her jaws and said, “I understand.”
“How often did he pay you?”
“Every Friday, for forty hours.”
“And he paid you last Friday?”
“That’s right.”
“So we owe you for Monday, Tuesday, and half of today, right?”
“I suppose.”
“At five bucks an hour.”
“Yes sir.”
“I still can’t believe he paid you that much,” Herschel said as he opened the door and
walked outside onto the patio.
Lettie was stripping the beds when the lawyers arrived. In spite of the dark suits and
serious faces, they might as well have been Santa Claus delivering sacks of toys to wellbehaved
children. In the moments before they pulled in to the driveway, Ramona, in
heels and pearls and a dress much prettier than the one she’d worn to the funeral,
peeked out the front window a dozen times. Ian, now in coat and tie, paced around the
den, checking his watch. Herschel, clean shaven for the first time since arriving, was in
and out of the kitchen door.
In the past three days, Lettie had overheard enough to know that expectations were
high. They did not know how much money old Seth had in the bank, but they were
perceptive enough to believe something was there. And it was all a windfall anyway,
right? The house and land alone were worth at least half a million, according to Ian’s
latest guess. How often are you lucky enough to split $500,000. And there was the
lumber yard, and who knew what else?
They gathered in the den. Three lawyers, three potential beneficiaries, all well dressed
with perfect manners and light moods. The servant, in her best white cotton dress,
served them coffee and cake and then retired into the shadows to listen.
Grave condolences were offered by the lawyers. They had known Seth for several
years and were great admirers. What a man. It was entirely possible the lawyers
thought more of Seth than did his own children, but at that moment this was not
contemplated. Herschel and Ramona performed well, even admirably, as the
conversation passed through its first phase. Ian seemed bored with the preliminaries and
ready to get down to business.
“I have an idea,” Herschel said. “There could be other ears listening right now. It’s a
lovely day, so let’s move outside to the patio where things are, shall I say, more
confidential.”
“Really, Herschel,” Ramona protested, but Ian was already standing. The group
moved en masse through the kitchen and onto the patio where they re-situated around