Sycamore Row

trail.”
    “Oh come on.”
    “Not kidding. Said he might stop by this afternoon and poke around in Seth Hubbard’s dirty laundry.”
    “What’s dirty about it?” Jake asked as he took the slip.
    “Everything’s dirty to Doofus.”
    Dumas Lee wrote for
The Ford County Times
and was famous for screwing up the facts and barely dodging libel suits. While sloppy and easily avoidable, his errors were usually minor and harmless and had never risen to the level of outright defamation. He butchered dates and names and places but had never seriously embarrassed anyone. He had an ear for the street, an uncanny nose for picking up a story immediately after it happened, or while it was unfolding, and though he was too lazy for prolonged digging he could be counted on to stir things up. He preferred to cover the courthouse, primarily because it was across the street from the newspaper’s offices and many of its records were public.
    He strode into the law offices of Jake Brigance late Wednesday afternoon, took a chair near Roxy’s desk, and demanded to see the lawyer. “I know he’s here,” he said with a killer smile that Roxy ignored. He liked the ladies and labored under the permanent illusion that every woman was eyeing him.
    “He’s busy,” she said.
    “So am I.” He opened a magazine and began whistling softly. Ten minutes later, Roxy said, “He’ll see you now.”
    Jake and Dumas had known each other for years and never had aproblem. Jake was one of the few lawyers around the square who had never threatened to sue him, and Dumas appreciated it.
    “Tell me about Seth Hubbard,” he said, pulling out his notepad and uncapping his pen.
    “I assume you’ve seen the will,” Jake replied.
    “Got a copy. They’re everywhere. How much is he worth?”
    “Nothing. He’s dead.”
    “Ha-ha. His estate then.”
    “I can’t say anything, Dumas, at this time. I don’t know much and I can’t say anything.”
    “Okay, let’s go off the record.” With Dumas, nothing was off the record, and every lawyer, judge, and clerk knew it.
    “I’m not off the record. I’m not on the record. I’m not talking, Dumas. It’s that simple. Maybe later.”
    “When are you going to court?”
    “The funeral was yesterday, okay? There’s no rush.”
    “Oh really? No rush? Why did you file your petition twenty minutes after the funeral was over?”
    Jake paused, nailed, busted, great question. “Okay, maybe I had a reason to rush my petition.”
    “The old race to the courthouse, huh?” Dumas said with a goofy smirk as he scribbled something on his pad.
    “No comment.”
    “I can’t find Lettie Lang. Any idea where she is?”
    “No comment. And she will not talk to you, or any other reporter.”
    “We’ll see. I tracked down a guy in Atlanta, writes for a business magazine, said an LBO group bought a holding company owned by Mr. Seth Hubbard for fifty-five million. Happened late last year. Ring a bell?”
    “No comment, Dumas,” Jake said, impressed that the notoriously lazy reporter had been working the phones.
    “I’m not much when it comes to business, but you gotta figure the old guy had some debts, you know? No comment, right?” Jake nodded, yes, no comment. “But I can’t locate his banks. The more I dig, the less I learn about your client.”
    “Never met the man,” Jake said, then wished he hadn’t. Dumas wrote it down.
    “Do you know if he had any debts? Mr. Amburgh clammed up, then he hung up.”
    “No comment.”
    “So if I say that Mr. Hubbard sold out for fifty-five million and don’t mention any debts because I have no sources, then my readers will get the impression that his estate is worth a lot more than it really is, right?”
    Jake nodded. Dumas watched him, waited, then scribbled. Shifting gears, he asked, “So the great question, Jake, is, Why would a man who’s worth millions change his will the day before his suicide, screwing his family with the update and leaving everything to his housekeeper?”
    You got it, Dumas. That is the great question. Jake kept nodding but said nothing.
    “And perhaps number two might be, What did Seth and his little brother witness that left such an impression that Seth mentions it decades later? Right?”
    Jake replied, “That’s indeed a great question, but I’m not sure it’s number two.”
    “Fair enough. Any idea where Ancil Hubbard is these days?”
    “None whatsoever.”
    “I found a cousin in Tupelo who says the family has