The usual nod, then a smile. “Seem like he did. Believe so.”

“Did you and your family ever live on his land?”

He scratched his forehead. “Believe so. Yes, when I was a little boy. I remember it now, pickin’ cotton on my uncle’s land. Remember now. And there was a fight over payin’ us for the cotton.” He rubbed his lips and mumbled something.

“So there was a disagreement, and what happened?” Lettie asked gently.

“We left there and went to another farm, don’t know where. We worked so many.”

“Do you remember if Sylvester had any children?”

“Ever’body had kids.”

“Do you remember any of Sylvester’s?”

Boaz scratched and thought so hard he eventually nodded off. When they realized he was napping, Lettie gently shook his arm and said, “Boaz, do you remember any of Sylvester’s kids?”

“Push me over there, in the sun,” he said, pointing to a spot on the deck that wasn’t shaded. They rolled him over and rearranged their lawn chairs. He sat as straight as possible, looked up at the sun, and closed his eyes. They waited. Finally, he said, “Don’t know ’bout that. Benson.”

“Who was Benson?”

“The man who beat us.”

“Do you remember a little girl named Lois? Lois Rinds?”

He jerked his head toward Lettie and said, quickly and clearly, “I do. Now I remember her. She was Sylvester’s little girl, and they owned the land. Lois. Little Lois. It won’t common, you know, for colored folk to own land, but I remember now. At first it was good, then they had a fight.”

Lettie said, “I think Lois was my mother.”

“You don’t know?”

“No, I don’t. She died when I was three and somebody else adopted me. But I’m a Rinds.”

“Me too. Always have been,” he said, and they laughed. Then he looked sad and said, “Not much of a family now. Ever’body’s so scattered.”

“What happened to Sylvester?” Lettie asked.

He grimaced and shifted weight as if in great pain. He breathed heavily for a few minutes and seemed to forget the question. He looked at the two women as if he’d never seen them before, and wiped his nose on a sleeve. Then he returned to the moment and said, “We left. Don’t know. Heard later that somethin’ bad happened.”

“Any idea what?” Portia’s pen was not moving.

“They killed him.”

“Who killed him?”

“White men.”

“Why did they kill him?”

Another drifting away as if the question had not been heard. Then, “Don’t know. We were gone. I remember Lois now. A sweet little girl. Benson was the man who beat us.”

Portia was wondering if they could believe anything at this point. His eyes were closed and his ears were twitching as if gripped by a seizure. He repeated, “Benson, Benson.”

“And Benson married your mother?” Lettie asked gently.

“All we heard was some white men got him.”

34

Jake was in the middle of a fairly productive morning when he heard the unmistakable sound of Harry Rex’s size 13s clomping up his already battered wooden staircase. He took a deep breath, waited, then watched as the door burst open without the slightest trace of a polite knock. “Good morning, Harry Rex,” he said.

“You ever heard of the Whiteside clan from over by the lake?” he asked, huffing as he fell into a chair.

“Distantly. Why do—”

“Craziest bunch of lunatics I’ve ever run across. Last weekend Mr. Whiteside caught his wife in bed with one of their sons-in-law, so that makes two divorces all of a sudden. Before that, one of their daughters had filed and I got that one. So now I got—”

“Harry Rex, please, I really don’t care.” Jake knew the stories could go on forever.

“Well, excuse me. I’m here because they’re all in my office right now, kicking and scratching, and we just had to call the law. I’m so sick of my clients, all of them.” He wiped his forehead with a sleeve. “You got a Bud Light?”

“No. I have some coffee.”

“The last thing I need. I talked to the insurance company this morning and they’re offering one thirty-five. Take it, okay? Now.”

Jake thought he was joking and almost laughed. The insurance company had been stuck on $100,000 for two years. “You’re serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious dear client. Take the money. My secretary is typing the settlement agreement now. She’ll bring it over by noon. Take it and get Carla to sign it and hustle the damned thing back to my office. Okay?”

“Okay. How’d you do it?”

“Jake, my boy, here’s where you screwed up. You filed the case in Circuit Court and demanded a jury because after the Hailey trial you let your ego get carried away and you figured any insurance company would be terrified of facing you, the great Jake Brigance, in front of a jury in Ford County. I saw it. Others saw it. You sued for punitive damages and you figured you’d get a big verdict, make some real money, and knock a home run on the civil side. I know you and I know that’s what you were thinking, deny it or not. When the insurance company didn’t blink, the two sides settled into the trenches, things got personal, and the years went by. The case needed a fresh set of eyes, and it also needed someone like me who knows how insurance companies think. Plus, I told them I’d non-suit the case in Circuit Court, dismiss it, and then refile in Chancery Court where I pretty much control the docket and everything else. The idea of facing me in Chancery Court, in this county, is not something other lawyers like to think about. So we pushed and shoved and bitched a little, and I finally got ’em up to one thirty-five. You’ll clear about forty, no fee for me because that was the deal, and you’re back on your feet. I’ll call Willie and tell him you and Carla will pay two twenty-five for the Hocutt place.”

“Not so fast, Harry Rex. I’m hardly rich with forty grand in my pocket.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Jake. You’re clipping the estate for thirty thousand a month.”

“Not quite, and the rest of my practice is disappearing in the process. It’ll take me a year to get over this case. Same as Hailey.”

“But at least you’re getting paid on this one.”

“I am, and I appreciate you using your amazing skills to settle my fire claim. Thank you, Harry Rex. I’ll get the paperwork signed by this afternoon. And, I’d feel better if you would take a fee. A modest one.”

“Not for a friend, Jake, and not a modest one. If it were a fat fee I’d say screw the friendship. Besides, I can’t take any more income this quarter. Money’s piling up so fast I can’t stuff any more in the mattress. I don’t want the IRS becoming alarmed and sending in their goons again. It’s on me. What do I tell Willie?”

“Tell him to keep cutting the price.”

“He’s in town this weekend, throwing another gin-and-tonic party Saturday afternoon. He told me to invite you and Carla. Ya’ll in?”

“I’ll have to ask the boss.”