Sycamore Row

counter where she was wiping pots for the last time. The Dafoes said a quick good-bye, but only because they really couldn’t leave without doing so. Ramona promised to keep in touch and so on. Lettie watched them get in the car without saying a word. It would be a long drive back to Jackson.
    At noon, Calvin arrived as planned, and at the kitchen table Herschel handed over a key to the new door locks. Calvin was to check on the house every other day, keep the grass cut, leaves blown, the usual.
    When Calvin was gone, Herschel said, “So, Lettie, I figure we owe you for eighteen hours, at five bucks each, right?”
    “Whatever you say.”
    He was writing a check as he stood by the counter. “Ninety dollars,” he mumbled with a frown, still wanting to gripe over her excessive pay. He signed it, tore it out, handed it over, and said, “There you are,” as if it were a gift.
    “Thank you.”
    “Thanks, Lettie, for taking care of Dad and the house and everything. I know this is not easy.”
    Firmly, she said, “I understand.”
    “The way things go, I’m sure we’ll never see you again, but I just want you to know how much we appreciate what you did for our dad.”
    Such a load of crap, Lettie thought, but she said, “Thank you.” Her eyes were watering as she folded the check.
    After an awkward pause, he said, “Well, Lettie, I’d like for you to leave now so I can lock up.”
    “Yes sir.”

10
    Three well-dressed lawyers from out of town strutting through the courthouse on a dull Wednesday morning were bound to attract attention, which didn’t seem to bother them at all. One lawyer could have easily performed the menial task, but three could charge triple for it. They ignored the local lawyers and the clerks and the courthouse regulars in the hallways and purposefully entered the office of the Chancery Clerk. There they were met by Sara, who’d been alerted by Jake Brigance, who’d been alerted by a surprise call from Lettie Lang, then still at Seth’s house, with the news that an entire pack of lawyers had just left and was headed for Clanton.
    Stillman Rush flashed a killer smile at Sara, who was slowly chewing gum and glaring at the men as if they were trespassers. “We’re from the Rush law firm in Tupelo,” he announced, and not one of the other three clerks looked up. The soft music from a radio failed to stop.
    “Congratulations,” Sara said. “Welcome to Clanton.”
    Lewis McGwyre had opened his fine briefcase and was removing papers. Stillman said, “Yes, well, we need to file a petition to probate an estate.” With a flurry, the paperwork landed on the counter in front of Sara, who, chewing, looked at it without touching it. “Who died?” she asked.
    “A man named Seth Hubbard,” Stillman said, an octave higher but still not loud enough to draw the attention of anyone in the office of the Ford County Chancery Clerk.
    “Never heard of him,” Sara deadpanned. “He lived in this county?”
    “He did, up near Palmyra.”
    She finally touched the papers, picked them up, and immediately began frowning. “When’d he die?” she asked.
    “Last Sunday.”
    “They buried him yet?”
    Stillman almost blurted, “Is that really any of your business?” but he caught himself. He was on foreign soil and alienating the underlings could only cause trouble. He swallowed, managed a smile, and said, “Yesterday.”
    Sara’s eyes rolled up the wall as if she were bothered by something. “Seth Hubbard? Seth Hubbard?” Over her shoulder she said, “Hey Eva, didn’t we get something already on Seth Hubbard?” From thirty feet away Eva replied, “Late yesterday. A new file in the rack over there.”
    Sara took a few steps, yanked out a file, and scanned it as the three lawyers froze and watched every move. Finally, she said, “Yep, got a petition to probate the last will and testament of Mr. Henry Seth Hubbard, filed at 4:55 yesterday afternoon.”
    Each of the three lawyers attempted to say something at once, but none could do so. Finally, Stillman managed a weak “What the hell?”
    “I didn’t file it,” Sara said. “I’m just a lowly clerk.”
    “Is that a public record?” Mr. McGwyre asked.
    “It is.” She slid the file onto the counter and all three heads grouped over it, ear to ear to ear. Sara turned around, winked at the other girls, and returned to her desk.

    Five minutes later, Roxy buzzed Jake on his phone intercom. “Mr. Brigance, there are some gentlemen