The Summons by John Grisham Read Free Book Online Page A

driveway, saw nothing, then raced back to the study where he balanced seven Blake & Son boxes in one stack and took them to the broom closet. Back to the dining room window, nobody out there, back to the study where the Judge was growing colder by the moment. Two more trips to the broom closet and the job was finished. Twenty-seven boxes in total, all safely stored where no one would find them.
    It was almost 6 P.M . when Ray went to his car and removed his overnight bag. He needed a dry shirt and clean pants. The house was filled with dust and dirt and everything he touched left a smudge. He washed and dried himself with a towel in the only downstairs bathroom. Then he tidied up the study, moved the sofa back in place, and went from room to room looking for more cabinets.
    He was on the second floor, in the Judge’s bedroom with the windows up, going through his closets, when he heard a car in the street. He ran downstairs and managed to slip into the swing on the porch just as Forrest parked behind his Audi. Ray took deep breaths and tried to calm himself.
    The shock of a dead father was enough for one day. The shock of the money had left him shaking.
    Forrest crept up the steps, as slowly as possible, hands stuck deep in his white painter’s pants. Shiny black combat boots with bright green laces. Always different.
    “Forrest,” Ray said softly, and his brother turned to see him.
    “Hey, Bro.”
    “He’s dead.”
    Forrest stopped and for a moment studied him, then he gazed at the street. He was wearing an old brown blazer over a red tee shirt, an ensemble no one but Forrest would attempt to pull off. And no one but Forrest could get by with it. As Clanton’s first self-proclaimed free spirit, he had always worked to be cool, offbeat, avant-garde, hip.
    He was a little heavier and was carrying the weight well. His long sandy hair was turning gray much quicker than Ray’s. He wore a battered Cubs baseball cap.
    “Where is he?” Forrest asked.
    “In there.”
    Forrest pulled open the screen and Ray followed him inside. He stopped in the door of the study and seemed uncertain as to what to do next. As Forrest stared at his father his head fell slightly to one side, and Ray thought for a second he might collapse. As tough as he tried to act, Forrest’s emotions were always just under the surface. He mumbled, “Oh my God,” then moved awkwardly to the wicker chair where he sat and looked in disbelief at the Judge.
    “Is he really dead?” he managed to say with his jaws clenched.
    “Yes, Forrest.”
    He swallowed hard and fought back tears and finally said, “When did you get here?”
    Ray sat on a stool and turned it to face his brother. “About five, I guess. I walked in, thought he was napping, then realized he was dead.”
    “I’m sorry you had to find him,” Forrest said, wiping the corners of his eyes.
    “Somebody had to.”
    “What do we do now?”
    “Call the funeral home.”
    Forrest nodded as if he knew that was exactly what you’re supposed to do. He stood slowly and unsteadily and walked to the sofa. He touched his father’s hands. “How long has he been dead?” he mumbled. His voice was hoarse and strained.
    “I don’t know. Couple of hours.”
    “What’s that?”
    “A morphine pack.”
    “You think he cranked it up a little too much?”
    “I hope so,” Ray said.
    “I guess we should’ve been here.”
    “Let’s not start that.”
    Forrest looked around the room as if he’d never been there before. He walked to the rolltop and looked at the typewriter. “I guess he won’t need a new ribbon after all,” he said.
    “I guess not,” Ray said, glancing at the cabinet behind the sofa. “There’s a will there if you want to read it. Signed yesterday.”
    “What does it say?”
    “We split everything. I’m the executor.”
    “Of course you’re the executor.” He walked behind the mahogany desk and gave a quick look at the piles of papers covering it. “Nine years since I