Sycamore Row

Jake said, “That’s a strange way to sell, Willie. If you don’t get your price, you keep raising it?”

“I’m not raising it again, Jake, unless some doctor comes along. It’s two fifty. That’s fair. You guys know it. Now let’s shake hands.”

Jake and Carla stared at each other for a moment, then she slowly reached over and shook Willie’s hand. “Atta girl,” Jake said. The deal was closed.

The only sound was the faint hum of a monitor, somewhere above and behind him. The only light was the red glow of digital numbers that recorded his vitals. His lower back was cramping and Lo

When awake, he could feel movement in the room—orderlies, housekeepers, doctors, lots of doctors. He occasionally heard them speak in low, grave voices, and Lo

A stranger appeared without a sound and touched the guardrail. “Ancil,” he said in a low but strong voice. “Ancil, are you there?”

Lo

Lo

“Your name’s not Lo

Though terrified, Lo

“What happened to Sylvester Rinds? You were eight years old, Ancil. What happened to Sylvester Rinds?”

Lo

He called the nurse.

38

Before his wife died, Judge and Mrs. Atlee once went eight consecutive years without missing Sunday worship at the First Presbyterian Church. Fifty-two Sundays in a row, for eight years. A flu virus halted the streak. Then she passed on, and the judge lost some focus and actually missed once or twice a year. But not often. He was such a presence in the church that his absence was always noted. He wasn’t there the Sunday before the trial began, and when Jake realized it he allowed his mind to wander during the sermon. Could the old guy be sick? If so, might the trial be postponed? How would this affect his strategy? A dozen questions and no answers.

After church, Jake and his girls returned to the Hocutt House where Willie was preparing a brunch on the back porch. He insisted on hosting the new owners, claiming he wanted to meet Ha

Willie moved the conversation away from the house and to the trial. Fluidly, he became a journalist again, probing and nibbling around the edges of sensitive material. Twice Carla shot warning glances at Jake, who realized what was happening. When Willie asked if they could expect any evidence that Seth Hubbard had been intimate with Lettie Lang, Jake politely said he couldn’t answer that question. The brunch became a little awkward as Jake grew quieter while his host kept chatting on about rumors he was chasing. Was it true Lettie had offered to split the money and settle the case? Jake replied firmly that he could not comment. There was so much gossip. When Willie pursued another question about “intimacy,” Carla said, “Please, Willie, there’s a seven-year-old present.”

“Yes, sorry.”

Ha

After an hour, Jake looked at his watch and said he had to get to the office. It would be a long afternoon and night. Willie poured some more coffee as they thanked him and placed their napkins on the table. It took fifteen minutes to gracefully say good-bye. As they drove away, Ha

“Soon, honey,” Carla said.

“Where’s Mr. Willie going to live?”

“Oh, he has several houses,” Jake said. “Don’t worry about him.”

“He’s such a nice man.”

“Yes, he is,” Carla said.

Lucien followed the detective into the room where Lo

“This is the guy I told you about, Lo

Lo

Lucien said, “We’re involved in some litigation that makes it imperative that we locate a man named Ancil Hubbard. Mr. Hubbard was born in Ford County, Mississippi, on August 1, 1922. His father was Cleon Hubbard, his mother was Sarah Belle Hubbard, and he had one brother, Seth, who was five years older. We’ve been searching high and low for Ancil Hubbard, and it’s come to our attention that there’s a chance you might know him or perhaps your paths have crossed in recent years.”

Lo

“Sure, but it’s no big deal. We have airplanes down there too. And we’ve covered the continent looking for Ancil.”

“What kind of litigation?” Lo

“Some pretty complicated stuff. Seth Hubbard died suddenly about six months ago and he left behind a mess. A lot of business interests and not much in the way of estate pla

Lo

As if he was either expecting this or not hearing it, Lucien went on, “Can you think of anyone in your past who might have known Ancil Hubbard, or mentioned his name? Help me here, Mr. Clark. Think back. It looks like you’ve moved around a lot, so you’ve known many people in many places. I know you got a sore head and all, but take your time, think real hard about this.”

Again, he said, “That name does not ring a bell.”