Sycamore Row

father and son had engaged in long, heartfelt conversations about the smoking. Herschel quit when he was thirty, and he begged his father to quit also. In his final months, Herschel visited him as often as possible. And, yes, they talked about his estate. Seth was clear about his intentions. He might not have been too generous with Herschel and Ramona when they were younger, but he wanted them to have it all when he died. He assured them that he had prepared a proper will, one that would insulate them from financial worries and also secure the future for their children, Seth’s beloved grandchildren.
    Seth was not himself toward the end. They talked all the time by phone, and at first Herschel noticed his father’s memory was fading. He couldn’t remember the score of last night’s baseball game. He repeated himself constantly. He would ramble on about the World Series, though the Braves were not in the Series last year. But to Seth they were. The old guy was slipping away. It was so heartbreaking.
    Not surprisingly, Herschel was wary of Lettie Lang. She did a fine job cleaning the house, and cooking and caring for his father, but the longer she worked there, and the sicker Seth became, the more she seemed to protect him. She acted as though she didn’t want Herschel and Ramona in the house. Several times Herschel called his father, but she said he wasn’t feeling well and couldn’t come to the phone. She tried to keep him away from his family.
    Lettie glared at the witness, slowly shaking her head.
    It was quite a performance, and by the time it was over Jake was almost too stunned to think or move. Through skillful and no doubt exhaustive preparation, Wade Lanier had pieced together a fictional narrative that any father and son would envy.
    Jake walked to the podium and asked, “Mr. Hubbard, on these trips to watch the Braves play, what hotel did you and your father usually stay in?”
    Herschel squinted and his mouth opened but nothing came out. Hotels have records that can be checked. Finally, he recovered and said, “Uh, well, we stayed in different hotels.”
    “Did you go to Atlanta last year?”
    “No, Dad was too sick.”
    “The year before?”
    “I think so, yes.”
    “Okay, so you went in eighty-seven. Which hotel?”
    “I can’t remember.”
    “All right. Who did the Braves play?”
    Games and schedules are records that can be checked. “Well, gee, I’m not sure, you know. Maybe it was the Cubs.”
    Jake said, “We can check on that. What was the date?”
    “Oh, I’m terrible with dates.”
    “Okay, in eighty-six. Did ya’ll make it to Atlanta for a game or two?”
    “I think so, yes.”
    “Which hotel?”
    “Maybe the Hilton. Not sure.”
    “Who’d the Braves play?”
    “Well, let’s see. I can’t be sure, but I know we saw them play the Phillies one year.”
    “In eighty-six, who played third base for the Phillies?”
    Herschel swallowed hard and looked straight ahead, as if staring at headlights. His elbows were twitching and he kept glancing at the jurors. His lying had caught up with him. Lanier’s fictional masterpiece had holes in it.
    Finally, “Don’t know.”
    “You don’t recall Mike Schmidt, the greatest third baseman in the game. He’s still there and on his way to the Hall of Fame.”
    “Sorry, no.”
    “Who played center field for the Braves?”
    Another painful pause. It was obvious Herschel didn’t have a clue.
    “Ever hear of Dale Murphy?”
    “Sure, that’s him. Dale Murphy.”
    For the moment, Herschel gave every indication of being a liar, or at least a great embellisher. Jake could poke and prod around the rest of his testimony, but there was no guarantee he could score again. Instinctively, he decided to sit down.
    Ramona was next, and she was crying not long after she was sworn in. She still couldn’t believe her beloved “daddy” had been so lost and distraught that he took his own life. With time, though, Lanier settled her down and they plowed through their scripted testimony. She had always been Daddy’s girl and she just couldn’t get enough of the old guy. He adored her and her children and came to visit them often down in Jackson.
    Once again, Jake grudgingly admired Wade Lanier. He had prepared Ramona well for her deposition back in December and taught her the art of sandbagging. He knew that at trial there was no way Jake could rebut her testimony, so offer a few crumbs during the deposition, just enough to vaguely answer