Sycamore Row

sign that business was booming; folks had jobs, which were always scarce in this part of the country.
    Seth Hubbard lost the lumber yard in his second divorce, only to get it back a few years later. Harry Rex engineered the forced sale, for $200,000, and made off with the money, for his client, of course. Seth, true to form, waited patiently in the bushes until a downturn, then squeezed the desperate owner for a quick sale. No one knew where the name Berring came from. As Jake was learning, Seth pulled names randomly from the air and stuck them on his corporations. When he owned it the first time around, it was Palmyra Lumber. To confuse anyone who might be watching, he selected Berring for the second go.
    Berring was his home office, though he had others at various times. After he sold out, and after he was diagnosed with lung cancer, he consolidated his records and spent more time at Berring. The day afterhis death, Sheriff Ozzie Walls stopped by and had a friendly chat with the office employees. He strongly suggested that nothing be touched. The lawyers would soon follow and from there things would only get complicated.
    Jake had spoken twice on the phone with Arlene Trotter, Seth’s secretary. She had been pleasant enough, though certainly not eager to help. On Friday, almost two weeks after the suicide, Jake walked through the front door and into a reception area with a desk in the center of it. Behind the desk was a heavily made-up young lady with wild black hair, a tight sweater, and the unmistakable look of a woman who was fast and loose. A brass plate gave only her first name—Kamila—and Jake’s second or third impression was that the exotic name matched the person. She offered a comely smile and Jake was already thinking about the comment “Seth had zipper problems.”
    He introduced himself. She did not stand but gave a soft handshake. “Arlene’s waiting,” she cooed as she pushed a button to someone’s office.
    “I’m very sorry about your boss,” Jake said. He did not remember seeing Kamila at the funeral, and he was certain he would have remembered the face and figure had she been there.
    “It’s very sad,” she said.
    “How long have you worked here?”
    “Two years. Seth was a nice man, and a good boss.”
    “I never had the pleasure of meeting him.”
    Arlene Trotter appeared from a hallway and offered a hand. She was around fifty but completely gray; a little heavy but fighting it. Her matching pantsuit was a decade out of style. They chatted as they walked deeper into the hodgepodge of offices. “That’s his,” she said, pointing to a closed door. Her desk was right beside the door, literally guarding it. “His records are over there,” she added, pointing to another door. “Nothing has been touched. Russell Amburgh called me the night he died and said to secure everything. Then the sheriff stopped by the next day and said the same thing. It’s been very quiet around here.” Her voice cracked for a second.
    “I’m sorry.”
    “You’ll probably find his books in good order. Seth kept good records of everything, and as he got sicker he spent more time organizing everything.”
    “When did you last see him?”
    “The Friday before he died. He was not feeling well and he left around 3:00 p.m. Said he was going home to rest. I heard he wrote that last will here. Is that right?”
    “That appears to be correct. Did you know anything about it?”
    She paused for a moment and seemed unable, or unwilling, to answer. “Can I ask you a question, Mr. Brigance?”
    “Sure.”
    “Whose side are you on? Are we supposed to trust you, or do we need our own lawyers?”
    “Well, I don’t think more lawyers is a good idea. I am the attorney for the estate, chosen by Mr. Hubbard, and instructed by him to make sure his last will, the handwritten will, is honored and followed.”
    “And that’s the will that gives everything to his maid?”
    “Basically, yes.”
    “Okay, what’s our role in this?”
    “You don’t have a role in the administration of his estate. You might be called as a witness if the will is contested by his family.”
    “As in a trial, in a courtroom?” She took a step back and seemed frightened.
    “It’s possible, but it’s too early to worry about it. How many people here worked with Seth on a daily basis?”
    Arlene wrung her hands and collected her thoughts. She leaned back and situated herself on the corner of her desk. “Me, Kamila, and Dewayne.