He kept his cool and said, “Well, I’ll have a talk with this lawyer and tell him to butt out.”

“What’s in the other will, the real one?” Dewayne asked.

“I haven’t seen it. It was prepared by some lawyers in Tupelo, and they have not yet been required to show it.”

“Do you think we’re in it?” Kamila asked without the slightest effort at subtlety.

“Don’t know.”

“Can we find out?” she asked.

“I doubt it.” Jake wanted to ask if such knowledge might affect their testimony, but he decided to say as little as possible.

Arlene said, “He asked a lot of questions about Seth and how he was acting that Friday. He wanted to know how he was feeling and all about his medications.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“Not much. To be honest, he was not the kind of person I wanted to talk to. He was shifty-eyed and—”

“A real fast talker,” Dewayne added. “Too fast. At times I couldn’t understand him and I kept thinking, This guy’s a lawyer? Hate to see him in court, in front of a jury.”

Kamila said, “He got pretty aggressive, too, almost demanding that we tell our stories a certain way. He really wanted us to say that Seth was unbalanced because of all the drugs.”

Dewayne, smoke pouring from his nostrils, said, “At one point he placed his briefcase on Arlene’s desk, upright, in an odd position, and made no effort to open it. He’s trying to tape this, I said to myself. He’s got a recorder in there.”

“No, he wasn’t too smooth,” Arlene said. “We believed him at first, you know. Guy comes in wearing a nice dark suit, says he’s a lawyer, hands over his card, and seems to know a lot about Seth Hubbard and his business. He insisted on talking to the three of us at the same time, and we didn’t know how to say no. So we talked, or, rather, he talked. We did most of the listening.”

“How would you describe this guy?” Jake asked. “Age, height, weight, so on.”

The three looked at each other with great reluctance, certain that there would be little agreement. “How old?” Arlene asked the others. “I’d say forty.”

Dewayne nodded and Kamila said, “Yes, maybe forty-five. Six feet, thick, I’d say two hundred pounds.”

“At least two hundred,” Dewayne said. “Dark hair, real dark, thick, kinda shaggy—”

“Needed a haircut,” Arlene said. “Thick mustache and sideburns. No glasses.”

“He smoked Camels,” Dewayne said. “Filters.”

“I’ll track him down and find out what he’s up to,” Jake said, though by then he was fairly certain there was no lawyer named Reed Maxey. Even the dumbest of lawyers would know that such a visit would lead to sure trouble and an ethics investigation. Nothing added up.

“Should we talk to a lawyer?” Kamila asked. “I mean, this is something new for me, for us. It’s kinda scary.”

“Not yet,” Jake said. He planned to get them one-on-one and hear their stories. A group talk might sway the narrative. “Perhaps later, but not now.”

“What’ll happen to this place?” Dewayne asked, then noisily filled his lungs.

Jake walked across the open space and roughly yanked open a window so he could breathe. “Why can’t you smoke outside?” Kamila hissed at the vice president. It was obvious the smoking issue had been roiling for some time. Their boss had been dying of lung cancer and his office suite smelled like burned charcoal. Of course smoking was permitted.

Jake walked back, stood before them, and said, “Mr. Hubbard, in his will, directed his executor to sell all of his assets for fair value and reduce everything to cash. This business will continue operating until someone buys it.”

“When will that happen?” Arlene asked.

“Whenever the right offer comes along. Now, or two years from now. Even if the estate gets bogged down in a will contest, Mr. Hubbard’s assets will be protected by the court. I’m sure word is out in these parts that this business will go on the block. We might get an offer in the near future. Until then, nothing changes. Assuming, of course, that the employees here can continue to run things.”

“Dewayne’s been running it for five years,” Arlene said graciously.

“We’ll carry on,” he said.

“Good. Now, if there’s nothing else, I need to get back into the records.” The three thanked him and left.

Thirty minutes later, as Arlene puttered at her desk, Jake walked over and said, “I’d like to see his office.” She waved her arm and said, “It’s unlocked.” Then she stood and opened the door for Jake. It was a long narrow room, with a desk and chairs at one end and a cheap conference table at the other. Not surprisingly, there was a lot of wood on display: heart-pine walls and flooring, stained to a bronze-like finish; darker oak bookshelves along the walls, many of them empty. There was no ego wall—no diplomas because Seth had earned none; no civic club awards; no photos with politicians. In fact, there was not a single photo anywhere in the office. The desk appeared to be a custom-made table with drawers, and the top of it was virtually bare. One stack of papers and three empty ashtrays.

On the one hand, it was what you would expect from a country boy who had managed to put together some assets in his later years. On the other hand, it was hard to believe that a man worth $20 million wouldn’t have a nicer office.

“Everything’s neat and tidy,” Jake said, almost to himself.

“Seth liked things in order,” Arlene said. They walked to the far end where Jake pulled a chair away from the conference table and said, “Got a minute?” She sat down too as if she had been expecting a conversation and was looking forward to it.

Jake pulled over a phone and said, “Let’s call this Reed Maxey guy, okay?”

“Okay. Whatever.” You’re the lawyer.

Jake dialed the number on the business card, and to his surprise got a receptionist, who announced the name of a large, well-known Jackson law firm. Jake asked for Mr. Reed Maxey, who evidently worked there because she said, “One moment please.” The next female voice said, “Mr. Maxey’s office.” Jake gave his name, and asked to speak to the lawyer. “Mr. Maxey is out of town and won’t be back until Monday,” she said. Turning on the charm, Jake explained the basics of what he was doing and, with a hint of gloom, said he was afraid someone might be impersonating Mr. Reed Maxey. “Was he in Ford County last Tuesday?” he asked.

“Oh, no. He’s been in Dallas on business since Monday.” Jake said he had a physical description of her boss, and proceeded to describe the impostor. At one point, the secretary chuckled and said, “No, no, there’s some mistake. The Reed Maxey I work for is sixty-two years old, bald, and is shorter than me and I’m five nine.”

“Do you know of another lawyer in Jackson named Reed Maxey?” he asked.

“No, sorry.”

Jake thanked her and promised to call her boss next week for a more in-depth discussion. When he hung up he said, “Just what I thought. The guy was lying. He was not a lawyer. He may be working for one, but he’s a fake.”

Poor Arlene just stared at him, unable to put words together. He went on, “I have no idea who the guy is and we’ll probably never see him again. I’ll try and find out, but we may never know. I suspect he was sent by someone involved in the case, but I can only speculate.”

“But why?” she managed to ask.

“To intimidate you, confuse you, frighten you. In all likelihood, the three of you, and perhaps others who work here, will be called to testify about Seth’s behavior in the days before he died. Was he of sound mind? Was he acting strange? Was he heavily medicated? If so, were the drugs affecting his judgment? These will be crucial questions down the road.”

She seemed to ponder them as Jake waited. After a long pause, he said, “So, Arlene, let’s have some answers. He wrote the will right here in this office on Saturday morning. He had to mail it before noon for me to receive it Monday. You saw him Friday, right?”