Sycamore Row

the backyard. Plus, he accumulated other assets that he kept out of the holding company. There’s a cabin in the mountains of North Carolina, and quite a few other assets. There’s probably an offshore bank account or two.”
    “Probably?”
    “I can’t say for certain, Mr. Brigance. Just things I’ve heard over the years. As I said, Seth Hubbard loved his secrets.”
    “Well, Mr. Amburgh, you as his executor and I as his lawyer have the job of tracking down all assets.”
    “Shouldn’t be too hard. We’ll need access to his office.”
    “And where is that?”
    “At the lumber yard near Palmyra. That was his only office. There’s a secretary there, Arlene, who runs the show. I spoke to her Sundaynight and suggested that she keep everything locked up until she hears from the lawyers.”
    Jake took another sip of coffee and tried to digest it all. “Twenty million bucks, huh? I can’t think of anyone else in Ford County with that kinda money.”
    “I can’t help you there, Mr. Brigance. I’ve never lived there. I assure you, though, there’s no one here in Milburn County worth even a fraction of that.”
    “It’s the rural South.”
    “Indeed it is. That’s the greatness of Seth’s story. He woke up one day at the age of sixty and said I’m broke, tired of being broke, and damned if I’m not gonna make something. He got lucky on his first two deals, then discovered the beauty of using other people’s money. He mortgaged his own house and land a dozen times. Talk about brass balls.”
    The waitress delivered oatmeal for Mr. Amburgh and scrambled eggs for Jake. As they sprinkled salt and sugar, Amburgh asked, “Did he cut out his kids?”
    “He did.”
    A smile, a nod, no surprise.
    “You expected this?” Jake asked.
    “I expect nothing, Mr. Brigance, and nothing surprises me,” he replied smugly.
    “I have a surprise for you,” Jake said. “He cut out both of his kids, both of his ex-wives, who, by the way, are not entitled to anything, and he cut out everybody else except for his long-lost brother, Ancil, who’s probably dead, but if not gets 5 percent, his church, also on board at 5, which leaves a grand total of 90 percent left to his black housekeeper of three years, one Lettie Lang.”
    Amburgh stopped chewing as his jaws sagged and his eyes squinted. Deep wrinkles broke out across his forehead.
    “Don’t tell me you’re not surprised,” Jake said, victorious, then tossed back a forkful of eggs.
    Amburgh took a deep breath and reached out an empty hand. Jake pulled a copy of the will out of a pocket and gave it to him. The deep wrinkles hardened as both pages were read. He began to shake his head in disbelief. He read it a second time, then folded it and placed it aside.
    “Did you by chance know Lettie Lang?” Jake asked.
    “Never met her. I’ve never seen Seth’s home, Mr. Brigance. Neverheard him say a word about it, really, or about anyone who worked there. Seth kept things in compartments, most of which were off-limits to everyone. Do you know this woman?”
    “I met her yesterday for the first time. She’ll be in my office this afternoon.”
    With his fingertips, Amburgh slowly pushed the platter and bowl away; breakfast was over, the appetite gone. “Why would he do this, Mr. Brigance?”
    “I was thinking of asking you the same question.”
    “Well, it obviously makes no sense, and that’s why this will is in serious trouble. He was out of his mind. You can’t make a valid will if you lack testamentary capacity.”
    “Of course not, but little is clear right now. On the one hand, he seems to have planned his death in meticulous detail, as if he knew exactly what he was doing. On the other hand, leaving it all to his housekeeper is hard to figure.”
    “Unless she influenced him.”
    “I’m sure that’ll be argued.”
    Amburgh reached for a pocket and said, “Mind if I smoke?”
    “No.”
    He lit a menthol and flicked ashes into his oatmeal. His mind was spinning, nothing made sense. Finally, he said, “I’m not sure I have the stomach for this, Mr. Brigance. I may be named as the executor, but that doesn’t mean I have to serve.”
    “You said you were a lawyer once. You sound like it.”
    “In the day, I was a small-town hack, same as a million others. Over in Alabama, but probate laws don’t vary much from state to state.”
    “You’re right—you don’t have to serve as executor.”
    “Who would want to get involved in this