“Not a word. I’ve never been to his house, never met that woman, know nothing about her. I saw her picture in the paper this week, first time I’ve seen her face.”

“It’s rumored Seth liked the ladies.”

“I’ve heard those rumors, but he never touched me, never came on. If Seth Hubbard had five girlfriends, you’d never know it.”

“Were you aware of what he was doing with his businesses?”

“Most of it. A lot of stuff crossed my desk. It had to. He warned me many times about confidentiality. But I never knew it all; not sure anybody did. When he sold out last year, he gave me a bonus of $50,000. Dewayne and Kamila got bonuses too, but I have no idea how much. He paid us well. Seth was a fair man who expected his people to work hard and he didn’t mind paying them. And there’s something else you should know. Seth was not a bigot like most white people around here. We have eighty employees on this yard: half white, half black, all paid the same scale. I’ve heard all of his furniture factories and lumber yards work the same way. He wasn’t much for politics, but he despised the way black people have been treated in the South. He was just a fair man. I came to respect him a great deal.” Her voice cracked and she went for the tissue.

Jake glanced at his watch and was surprised to see it was almost noon. He’d been there for two and a half hours. He said he had to go, but would return early the following week with a Mr. Quince Lundy, the new court-appointed administrator. On the way out, he spoke to Dewayne and got a pleasant good-bye from Kamila.

As he drove back to Clanton, his mind spun with the possible scenarios that involved some thug posing as a big-firm Jackson lawyer and trying to intimidate potential witnesses; and doing so just days after the suicide and before the first court hearing. Whoever he was, he would never be seen again. More than likely, he worked for one of the lawyers representing Herschel or Ramona or their kids. Wade Lanier was Jake’s top suspect. He ran a ten-man litigation firm with a reputation for aggressive and creative tactics. Jake had spoken to a classmate who mixed it up often with the Lanier firm. The scouting report was impressive but also disheartening. When it came to ethics, the firm was notorious for breaking the rules, then running to the judge and pointing fingers at the other guys. “Don’t turn your back,” Jake’s friend had said.

For three years, Jake had carried a gun to protect himself from Klansmen and other crazies. Now, he was beginning to wonder if he needed protection from the sharks swimming after the Hubbard fortune.

15

Sleep was fleeting these nights as Lettie found herself yielding even more space to her family. Simeon had not left home in over a week, and he took up half the bed. Lettie shared the other half with her two grandchildren. Two nephews were sleeping on the floor.

She awoke as the sun was rising. She was on her side, looking at her husband wrapped in a blanket and snoring off last night’s beer. Without moving, she watched him for a while as her thoughts drifted unpleasantly. He was getting fat and gray, and his paychecks were shrinking as the years clicked along. Hey big boy, time for a road trip, huh? Time to disappear as only you can do and give me a break around here for a month or two. You’re good for nothing but sex, but who can do that with grandkids in the room?

Simeon, though, was not leaving. No one was leaving Lettie nowadays. She had to admit that his behavior had improved dramatically in the past couple of weeks, since, of course, Mr. Hubbard had passed and altered things. Simeon still drank every night, but not to excess, not like before. He was kind to Cypress, offering to run errands for her and refraining from his usual insulting manner. He was showing patience with the children. He had cooked twice on the grill and cleaned the kitchen, a first. Last Sunday, he went to church with the family. The most obvious change was his gentle and thoughtful nature when he was around his wife.

He hadn’t hit her in several years, but when you’ve been beaten you never forget it. The bruises go away but the scars remain, deep, hidden, raw. You stay beaten. It takes a real coward to beat a woman. Eventually, he had said he was sorry. She said she forgave him, but she did not. In her book some sins cannot be forgiven, and beating your wife is one of them. She had made a vow that she was still determined to keep—one day she would walk away and be free. It might be ten years or twenty, but she would find the courage to leave his sorry ass.

She was not sure if Mr. Hubbard had made a divorce more or less likely. On the one hand, it would be far more difficult to leave Simeon when he was fawning over her and following every command. On the other, the money would mean independence.

Or would it? Would it mean a better life in a bigger house with nicer things and fewer worries and perhaps freedom from a husband she did not like? Surely these were possible. But would it also lead to a lifetime of running from family and friends and strangers, all with their hands out? Already, Lettie was feeling the urge to run. She had felt trapped for years in her boxlike house with too many people and not enough beds, too few square feet. Now, though, the walls were really closing in.

Anthony, the five-year-old, shifted in his sleep down by her feet. Lettie quietly eased out of bed, picked up her bathrobe from the floor, put it on, and left the room without making a sound. The hall floor creaked under the worn and dirty carpet. Next door, Cypress was asleep in her bed, her mammoth body too big for the scrawny blanket. Her wheelchair sat folded next to the window. On the floor were two kids who belonged to a sister of Lettie’s. She peeked into the third bedroom where Clarice and Phedra slept together in a single bed, arms and legs dangling. Lettie’s sister had the other bed, and for almost a week now. Another kid lay knotted, knees to chest, on the floor. In the den, Kirk had the floor while an uncle snored on his sofa.

Bodies were everywhere, it seemed to Lettie as she turned on the kitchen light and stared at the mess from last night’s dinner. She would do the dishes later. She made coffee, and while it was brewing she checked the refrigerator and found what she was anticipating. Other than a few eggs and a pack of lunch meat, there was little in the way of food, certainly not enough to feed the masses. She would send her dear husband to the store as soon as he was up. And the groceries would be paid for not by wages earned by Simeon or her, nor by a government check, but by the generosity of their new hero, the Honorable Booker Sistrunk. Simeon had asked him for a loan of $5,000. (“A man drives a car like that ain’t worryin’ ’bout no five thousand bucks.”) It really wasn’t a loan, Simeon had said, but more like an advance. Booker said sure and they’d both signed the promissory note. Lettie kept the cash hidden in a saltine box in the pantry.

She put on sandals, tightened the bathrobe, and walked outside. It was October 15, and the air was chilly again. The leaves were turning and fluttering in the breeze. She sipped from her favorite cup and ambled across the grass to a small shed where they stored their lawn mower and other necessities. Behind the shed a swing hung by ropes from a hemlock, and Lettie sat down. She kicked off the sandals, shoved back with her feet, and began flowing through the air.

She had already been asked and the questions would return again and again. Why did Mr. Hubbard do what he did? And, did he discuss it with her? The latter was the easier—no, he never discussed anything with her. They would talk about the weather, repairs around his house, what to buy at the store and what to cook for dinner, but nothing important. That was her standard response, for the moment. The truth was that on two occasions he had casually and unexpectedly mentioned leaving something behind for her. He knew he was dying and that death was near. He was making plans for his exit and wanted to assure her that she would get something.