Stillman Rush added quickly, “And there is a provision in the law for partial distributions; that is, you might be allowed to take some of your share along the way, before the actual closing of the estate.”

“I like the sound of that,” Ramona said.

“Can we talk about taxes?” Ian insisted. “What’s the ballpark figure?”

Mr. McGwyre leaned back and confidently crossed his legs. Smiling and nodding, he said, “With an estate of this size, with no surviving spouse, the taxes would be brutal, slightly more than 50 percent. But, because of Mr. Hubbard’s foresight, and our expertise, we were able to arrive at a plan”—he lifted a copy of the will—“and by the use of some trusts and other devices we have reduced the effective tax rate to about 30 percent.”

Ian, the number cruncher, did not need a calculator. Twenty million and change in the net estate, minus 30 percent would knock it down to about $14 mill. Forty percent of that for his dear wife and their share would be around $5.6 million, give or take. And clean, no taxes since all of those nasties, state and federal, would be slapped onto the estate. At that moment, Ian and his various partners and companies owed a plethora of banks in excess of $4 million, about half of which was past due.

As Herschel’s internal calculator stuttered along, he caught himself humming under his breath. Seconds later, he too arrived at something around $5.5 million. He was so sick of living with his mother. And his kids—no more worries about tuition.

Ramona turned evil and cast a vicious smile at her husband. She said, “Twenty million, Ian, not too bad for, what did you like to call him, an uneducated logger.”

Herschel closed his eyes and exhaled while Ian said, “Come on, Ramona.” The lawyers were suddenly interested in their shoes.

She pressed on, “You won’t make twenty million in your entire life, and Daddy did it in ten years. And your family, with all the banks they once owned, never had that kind of money. Don’t you find that unbelievable, Ian?”

Ian’s mouth fell open and he could only stare at her. Alone, he would have certainly gone for her throat, but he was helpless. Be cool, he told himself as he fought his anger. Damn right you’d better be cool because that smirking bitch sitting five feet away is about to inherit several million, and though the money will probably blow up the marriage, there will be something for me.

Stillman Rush closed his briefcase and said, “Well, we need to be moving along. We’ll run by the courthouse and kick things off, and we’ll need to meet again very shortly, if that’s okay.” He was standing as he spoke, suddenly eager to leave the family behind. McGwyre and Larkin bounced up too, slapping closed their briefcases and making the same phony farewells. They insisted on showing themselves to the front, and were practically scrambling when they disappeared around the house.

After they left, there was a long, lethal vacuum of silence on the patio as all three avoided eye contact and wondered who would speak next. The wrong word could start another fight, or something worse. Finally, Ian, the angriest, asked his wife, “Why’d you say that in front of the lawyers?”

Herschel jumped in: “No, why did you say it, period?”

She ignored her brother and snarled at her husband, “Because I’ve been wanting to say it for a long time, Ian. You’ve always looked down on us, especially my father, and now, suddenly, you’re counting his money.”

“Aren’t we all?” Herschel asked.

“Shut up, Herschel,” she snapped.

She ignored him and didn’t take her eyes off Ian. “I’ll divorce you now, you know that.”

“Didn’t take long.”

“No, it didn’t.”

“Come on, guys,” Herschel pleaded. This was not the first divorce threat he’d witnessed. “Let’s go inside, finish packing, and get out of here.”

The men stood slowly and walked away. Ramona stared at the trees in the distance, beyond the backyard and into a forest where she played as a child. She had not felt such freedom in years.

Another cake arrived before noon and Lettie tried to decline it. She eventually sat it on the kitchen 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.