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white?”
    “Black.”
    Jake suspected this and was not at all surprised, nor disappointed; rather, at that moment, he began to feel the early rumblings of excitement. A white man and his money, a last-minute will leaving it all to a black woman he was obviously quite fond of. A bitter will dispute played out before a jury, with Jake in the middle of it all.
    “How well do you know her?” Jake asked. It was well known that Ozzie knew every black person in Ford County: those registered to vote and those still lagging; those who owned land and those who were on welfare; those who had jobs and those who avoided work; those who saved money and those who broke into houses; those who went to church every Sunday and those who lived in honky-tonks.
    “I know her,” he said, careful as always. “She lives out from Box Hill in an area called Little Delta.”
    Jake nodded, said, “I’ve driven through it.”
    “In the boondocks, all black. She’s married to a man named Simeon Lang, pretty much of a deadbeat who comes and goes, off and on the wagon.”
    “I’ve never met any Langs.”
    “You don’t want to meet this one. When he’s sober, I think he drives a truck and runs a bulldozer. I know he worked offshore once or twice. Unstable. Four or five kids, one boy in prison, I think there’s a girl in the Army. Lettie’s about forty-five, I’d guess. She’s a Tayber, and there aren’t many of them around. He’s a Lang, and the woods are full of Langs, unfortunately. I did not know she was workin’ for Seth Hubbard.”
    “Did you know Hubbard?”
    “Somewhat. He gave me $25,000 under the table, cash, for both of my campaigns; wanted nothin’ in return; in fact, he almost avoided me my first four years. I saw him last summer when I was up for reelection and he gave me another envelope.”
    “You took the cash?”
    “I don’t like your tone, Jake,” Ozzie said with a smile. “Yes, I took the cash because I wanted to win. Plus, my opponents were takin’ cash. Politics is a tough business around here.”
    “Fine with me. How much money did the old man have?”
    “Well, he says it’s substantial. Personally, I don’t know. It’s always been a mystery. The rumor has been that he lost everything in a baddivorce—Harry Rex cleaned him out—and because of that he’s kept his business buried under a rock.”
    “Smart man.”
    “He owns some land and has always dabbled in timber. Beyond that, I don’t know.”
    “What about his two adult children?”
    “I talked to Herschel Hubbard around five yesterday afternoon, broke the bad news. He lives in Memphis, but I didn’t get much information. He said he would call his sister, Ramona, and they would hustle on over. Seth left a sheet of paper with some instructions on how he wanted to be handled. Funeral tomorrow at 4:00 p.m., at church, then a burial.” Ozzie paused and reread the letter. “Seems kinda cruel, doesn’t it, Jake? Seth wants his family to suffer through a proper mourning before they know he’s screwed ’em in his will.”
    Jake chuckled and said, “Oh, I think it’s beautiful. You wanna go to the funeral?”
    “Only if you’ll go.”
    “You’re on.”
    They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the voices outside, to the ringing of the phones, and they both knew they had things to do. But there were so many questions, so much high drama just around the corner.
    “I wonder what those boys saw,” Jake said. “Seth and his brother.”
    Ozzie shook his head, no clue. He glanced at the will and said, “Ancil F. Hubbard. I can try and find him if you want; run his name through the network; see if he’s got a record anywhere.”
    “Do that. Thanks.”
    After another heavy pause, Ozzie said, “Jake, I have a lot on my plate this mornin’.”
    Jake jumped to his feet and said, “Me too. Thanks. I’ll call later.”

4
    The drive from central Memphis to Ford County was only an hour, but for Herschel Hubbard it was always a lonesome