“I can’t say for certain, Mr. Brigance. Just things I’ve heard over the years. As I said, Seth Hubbard loved his secrets.”

“Well, Mr. Amburgh, you as his executor and I as his lawyer have the job of tracking down all assets.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard. We’ll need access to his office.”

“And where is that?”

“At the lumber yard near Palmyra. That was his only office. There’s a secretary there, Arlene, who runs the show. I spoke to her Sunday night and suggested that she keep everything locked up until she hears from the lawyers.”

Jake took another sip of coffee and tried to digest it all. “Twenty million bucks, huh? I can’t think of anyone else in Ford County with that kinda money.”

“I can’t help you there, Mr. Brigance. I’ve never lived there. I assure you, though, there’s no one here in Milburn County worth even a fraction of that.”

“It’s the rural South.”

“Indeed it is. That’s the greatness of Seth’s story. He woke up one day at the age of sixty and said I’m broke, tired of being broke, and damned if I’m not gonna make something. He got lucky on his first two deals, then discovered the beauty of using other people’s money. He mortgaged his own house and land a dozen times. Talk about brass balls.”

The waitress delivered oatmeal for Mr. Amburgh and scrambled eggs for Jake. As they sprinkled salt and sugar, Amburgh asked, “Did he cut out his kids?”

“He did.”

A smile, a nod, no surprise.

“You expected this?” Jake asked.

“I expect nothing, Mr. Brigance, and nothing surprises me,” he replied smugly.

“I have a surprise for you,” Jake said. “He cut out both of his kids, both of his ex-wives, who, by the way, are not entitled to anything, and he cut out everybody else except for his long-lost brother, Ancil, who’s probably dead, but if not gets 5 percent, his church, also on board at 5, which leaves a grand total of 90 percent left to his black housekeeper of three years, one Lettie Lang.”

Amburgh stopped chewing as his jaws sagged and his eyes squinted. Deep wrinkles broke out across his forehead.

“Don’t tell me you’re not surprised,” Jake said, victorious, then tossed back a forkful of eggs.

Amburgh took a deep breath and reached out an empty hand. Jake pulled a copy of the will out of a pocket and gave it to him. The deep wrinkles hardened as both pages were read. He began to shake his head in disbelief. He read it a second time, then folded it and placed it aside.

“Did you by chance know Lettie Lang?” Jake asked.

“Never met her. I’ve never seen Seth’s home, Mr. Brigance. Never heard him say a word about it, really, or about anyone who worked there. Seth kept things in compartments, most of which were off-limits to everyone. Do you know this woman?”

“I met her yesterday for the first time. She’ll be in my office this afternoon.”

With his fingertips, Amburgh slowly pushed the platter and bowl away; breakfast was over, the appetite gone. “Why would he do this, Mr. Brigance?”

“I was thinking of asking you the same question.”

“Well, it obviously makes no sense, and that’s why this will is in serious trouble. He was out of his mind. You can’t make a valid will if you lack testamentary capacity.”

“Of course not, but little is clear right now. On the one hand, he seems to have planned his death in meticulous detail, as if he knew exactly what he was doing. On the other hand, leaving it all to his housekeeper is hard to figure.”

“Unless she influenced him.”

“I’m sure that’ll be argued.”

Amburgh reached for a pocket and said, “Mind if I smoke?”

“No.”

He lit a menthol and flicked ashes into his oatmeal. His mind was spinning, nothing made sense. Finally, he said, “I’m not sure I have the stomach for this, Mr. Brigance. I may be named as the executor, but that doesn’t mean I have to serve.”

“You said you were a lawyer once. You sound like it.”

“In the day, I was a small-town hack, same as a million others. Over in Alabama, but probate laws don’t vary much from state to state.”

“You’re right—you don’t have to serve as executor.”

“Who would want to get involved in this mess?”

Me, for one, thought Jake, but he bit his tongue. The waitress cleared the table and topped off the coffee cups. Amburgh read the will again and lit another cigarette. When he’d emptied his lungs, he said, “Okay, Mr. Brigance, allow me to think out loud. Seth mentions a prior will, one prepared last year by the Rush law firm in Tupelo. I know those guys and it’s safe to assume that will is much thicker, much smarter, and put together in such a way as to take advantage of proper estate tax planning, gift exclusions, generation-skipping transfers, the whole nine yards, okay, whatever is available to protect the estate and legally avoid as much in taxes as possible. Are you with me?”

“Yes.”

“Then, at the last minute, Seth prepares this crude document that revokes the proper will, leaves virtually everything to his black housekeeper, and guarantees that much of what he’s trying to give away will be eaten up in estate taxes. Still with me?”

“About 50 percent will go for taxes,” Jake said.

“Half, blown away just like that. Does that sound like a man who’s thinking clearly, Mr. Brigance?”

It did not, though Jake was not ready to yield an inch. He said, “I’m sure that argument will be made in court, Mr. Amburgh. My job is to probate the estate and pursue the wishes of my client.”

“Spoken like a true lawyer.”

“Thank you. Are you gonna serve as the executor?”

“Will I get paid?”

“Yes, there will be a fee, to be approved by the judge.”

“How much time will be involved?”

“Could be a lot. If there is a will contest, which seems likely, we could be in court for hours, for days. As executor, you’ll have to be there, listening to every witness.”

“But, Mr. Brigance, I don’t like this will. I don’t approve of what Seth did. I have not seen the other will, the thick one, but I’m pretty damned certain I like it better. Why should I be an advocate for this slipshod, last-minute, handwritten piece of crap that gives everything to an undeserving black housekeeper who probably had too much influence over the old boy. Know what I mean?”

Jake nodded slightly and frowned with great suspicion. After thirty minutes with this guy, he was fairly certain he didn’t want to spend the next year with him. Replacing an executor was generally no big deal, and Jake knew he could convince the judge that this guy needed to go. Amburgh glanced around again and said softly, “It makes no sense. Seth worked like a dog the last ten years of his life to build a fortune. He took enormous risks. He got lucky. And then, he dumps it all in the lap of some woman who didn’t have a damned thing to do with his success. Kinda makes me sick, Mr. Brigance. Sick and very suspicious.”

“Then don’t serve as executor, Mr. Amburgh. I’m sure the court can find someone else to do the job.” Jake picked up the will, creased the folds, and stuck it back into his pocket. “But sleep on it. There’s no rush.”