“That’s nice. What’s on your mind?”

“Just got off the phone with a Memphis lawyer named Booker Sistrunk. I believe you’ve met him. Seems to be a nice guy. Anyway, he’s associating me as Mississippi counsel in the Seth Hubbard case.”

“Why would he pick you, Rufus?” Jake asked impulsively as his shoulders sagged.

“Reputation, I guess.”

No, Sistrunk had done his homework and found the one lawyer in the entire state who hated Jake with a passion. Jake could only imagine the vile things Buckley had said about him.

“I’m not sure where you fit, Rufus.”

“We’re working on that. Booker wants you off the case to begin with so he can take over. He mentioned perhaps requesting a change of venue for the trial. He says Judge Atlee has an obvious bias against him, so he’ll ask the judge to step aside. These are just preliminary matters, Jake. As you know, Sistrunk is a high-powered litigator with plenty of resources. I suppose that’s why he wants me on his team.”

“Well, welcome aboard, Rufus. I doubt if Sistrunk told you the rest of the story, but he has already tried to get me kicked off. Didn’t work because Judge Atlee can read as well as anyone. The will specifically names me as the attorney for the estate. Atlee is not going to recuse himself, nor will he move the trial out of Clanton. You boys are pissing in the wind and pissing off every potential juror in the county. Pretty stupid, in my opinion, Rufus, and the stupidity is killing our chances.”

“We’ll see. You’re inexperienced, Jake, and you need to step aside. Oh sure, you’ve had a handful of nice verdicts in criminal cases, but this ain’t criminal, Jake. This is complicated, high-dollar civil litigation, and you’re already in over your head.”

Jake bit his tongue and reminded himself how much he despised the voice on the other end. Slowly, deliberately, he said, “You were a prosecutor, Rufus. When did you become an expert in civil litigation?”

“I’m a litigator. I live in the courtroom. In the past year I’ve tried nothing but civil cases. Plus, I’ve got Sistrunk at the table. He nailed the Memphis Police Department three times last year for more than a million dollars.”

“And they’re all on appeal. He hasn’t collected a dime.”

“But he will. The same way we’ll kick ass with the Hubbard matter.”

“What are you guys raking off the top, Rufus? Fifty percent?”

“Confidential, Jake. You know that.”

“It should be made public.”

“Don’t be envious, Jake.”

“Later, Rufus,” Jake said and hung up.

He took a deep breath, jumped to his feet, and walked downstairs. “Back in a minute,” he said to Roxy as he passed her desk. It was 10:30 and the Coffee Shop was empty. Dell was drying forks at the counter when Jake walked in and sat on a stool nearby. “A time-out?” she asked.

“Yes. Decaf coffee please.” Jake often appeared at odd hours, and it was usually in an effort to get away from the office and the phone. She poured him a cup and eased closer, still drying the flatware.

“What do you know?” Jake asked as he stirred in sugar. With Dell, there was a fine line between what she knew and what she’d heard. Most of her customers thought she would repeat anything, but Jake knew better. After twenty-five years at the Coffee Shop, she had heard enough false rumors and outright lies to know how damaging they could be; so, in spite of her reputation, she was generally careful.

“Well,” she began slowly, “I don’t believe Lettie helped herself by bringing in those black lawyers from Memphis.” Jake nodded and took a sip. She went on, “Why did she do that, Jake? I thought you were her lawyer.” She spoke of Lettie as if she’d known her a lifetime, though they’d never met. This was not unusual now in Clanton.

“No, I’m not her lawyer. I’m the lawyer for the estate, for the will. She and I are on the same side, but she couldn’t hire me.”

“Does she need a lawyer?”

“No. My job is to protect the will and follow its wishes. I do my job, and she gets her money. There’s no reason for her to hire a lawyer.”

“Did you explain this to her?”

“I did, and I thought she understood it.”

“What happened? Why are they involved?”

Jake took another sip and reminded himself to be careful. The two often swapped inside information, but delicate matters were still off-limits. “I don’t know, but I suspect somebody in Memphis heard about the will. Word filtered up to Booker Sistrunk. He smelled money, so he made the drive down, pulled up in front of her house in his black Rolls-Royce, and swooped her away. He promised her the moon, and in return he gets a piece.”

“How much?”

“Only they know. It’s a confidential matter that’s never revealed.”

“A black Rolls-Royce? Are you kidding, Jake?”

“Nope, they spotted him yesterday as he arrived in court; parked in front of Security Bank. He was driving, his co-counsel was riding shotgun. And Lettie was in the rear seat with a guy in a dark suit, probably a bodyguard of some variety. They’re putting on a show and Lettie’s fallen in with them.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Neither do I.”

“Prather was saying this morning that they might try and change venue. Move it to another county where they can get more black jurors. Any truth to it?”

“Just a rumor, I guess. You know Marshall. I swear I think he starts half the gossip in town. Any more rumors?”

“Oh yes, Jake. They’re buzzing everywhere. The guys lay off when you walk in, but as soon as you’re gone it’s all they talk about.” The door opened and two clerks from the tax collector’s office walked in and sat at a table nearby. Jake knew them and nodded politely. They were close enough to hear, and they would indeed absorb everything.

He leaned toward Dell and said softly, “Keep your ears open, okay?”

“Jake, honey, you know I miss nothing.”

“I know.” Jake left a dollar for the coffee and said good-bye.

Still unwilling to return to his desk, Jake strolled around the square and stopped at the office of Nick Norton, another sole practitioner who had graduated from the Ole Miss Law School the year Jake started. Nick had inherited the law office from his uncle and was, in all likelihood, somewhat busier than Jake. They referred clients back and forth across the square, and in ten years had managed to avoid any unpleasant disagreements.

Two years earlier, Nick had represented Marvis Lang when he pleaded guilty to drug trafficking and assault with a deadly weapon. The family had paid a fee of $5,000 in cash, less than what Nick wanted but more than what most of his clients could pay. Marvis had been dead guilty and there had been little wiggle room; plus, he had been unwilling to squeal on his co-defendants. Nick negotiated a twelve-year sentence. Four days earlier, over lunch, Nick had told Jake everything he could about the Lang family and Marvis.

He was with a client, but his secretary had pulled the file. Jake promised to copy what he wanted and return it soon. No rush, said the secretary. It’s been closed for some time.

Wade Lanier’s favorite lunch spot was Hal & Mal’s, an old Jackson haunt a few blocks from the state capitol and a ten-minute walk from his office on State Street. He took his favorite table, ordered a glass of tea, and waited impatiently for five minutes until Ian Dafoe walked through the door and joined him. They ordered sandwiches, covered the weather and football, and soon enough got down to business. “We’ll take the case to trial,” Lanier said gravely, his voice barely above a whisper, as if delivering an important secret.

Ian sort of nodded and shrugged and said, “That’s good to hear.” Anything to the contrary would have been a surprise. There weren’t too many jackpots in the state and lots of lawyers were circling around this one.