After they sped away, Jake said, “I need a beer. Those people make me want to drink.” He was sprawled across a thatched picnic table at the edge of a stream.
“Sip your mango juice. Did we finish the conversation about Mack and his plans?”
“I think so. His plans are vague. He misses home and wants to see his mother and his girls.”
“Yes, we covered that.”
“You think Lisa will allow it?”
“I can’t predict. If she were healthy, she might be tougher to deal with. I can’t imagine what he wants to say to Margot and Helen.”
“Hey girls, I’m back? Miss me?”
“That might be a tough meeting. Let’s go cowboy. How’s your crotch?”
“The saddle on this bike is more uncomfortable than the one on the horse.”
“Oh, man up.”
They reached a peak, or some point up in the clouds where Jake finally quit, and they turned around and coasted down the trails, arriving at the lodge in time for a late lunch. It was followed by a long afternoon, their last, by the pool, with Ricardo keeping their drinks fresh.
Their last dinner was just like the others—outdoors on the veranda, with the pool nearby, a magnificent sunset, and the other guests in fine form.
Their week in paradise was over, and they fell asleep to the sounds of wicker ceiling fans and macaws squawking in the distance.
Ricardo woke them at six, the appointed time, and brought them food for the trip. He loaded their luggage onto his cart and they hustled down to the front reception where a van was waiting.
Jake said, “I’ll go check out.”
Ricardo said, “No, Mr. Jake, it’s taken care of.”
“But the food and drinks.”
“Everything is covered, Mr. Jake.”
Which was exactly what Jake was expecting, though he felt obliged to make an effort anyway. He tipped Ricardo generously, and they headed for San José.
（11）
Two months passed without a word. Harry Rex located Odell Grove, and, not surprisingly, found that little had changed in his world. He and his two sons ran a logging business in the western edge of Ford County and stayed to themselves. He owned five acres of scrub forest and lived in a trailer with his wife. His sons had their own trailers just down the road. Jerrol Baker was serving a ten-year sentence for cooking meth. Under the ruse of seeking information in an embezzlement case, Harry Rex contacted the FBI and was told that the agent he’d met after Mack vanished had been transferred to Pittsburgh. He cajoled another agent into checking around the office, and was eventually informed that there was no open file on anybody named J. McKinley Stafford, of Clanton.
Jake had lunch with Sheriff Ozzie Walls, at Claude’s, and managed to work Mack Stafford into the conversation. Ozzie said nobody had heard a word and his office had no open file. For some reason, he believed the rumors about Mack stealing a pile of money were not true.
Carla taught third grade at the elementary school, and her principal was friendly with Lisa Stafford. For the past ten years, Lisa had worked as an assistant principal at the high school. She was now on leave, for health reasons, and her condition was not improving. On the last day of classes in late May, her colleagues threw a small party in her honor in the faculty lounge. She was described as gaunt and pale, and she wore a pretty scarf over her bald head. They did not expect to see her back in the fall.
As the weeks passed, Jake and Harry Rex talked less and less about Mack. They did not correspond with him because there was nothing to report. And they agreed in private that it would be best if he stayed away. His presence back in Mississippi would only complicate their lives, not to mention his. They were convinced no one was looking for Mack, but a return might possibly set in motion events that neither he nor they could control.
The complications began around noon on a Thursday with a phone call to Jake’s office. Alicia took it and buzzed Jake upstairs. “It’s a Mr. Marco Larman, says you’re expecting a call. Never heard of him.”
“I’ll take it.”
Jake swallowed hard and stared at the blinking button on his phone. Then he smiled and said to himself, “What the hell. This might be fun.” He punched the button and said, “Jake Brigance.”
“Mr. Brigance, I’m Marco Larman,” Mack began stiffly, as if someone else might be listening.
“Hello, Marco. What can I do for you?”
“Could you and Mr. Vonner meet me for a drink tomorrow afternoon in Oxford?”
That would be Friday afternoon, and Jake didn’t bother to look at his schedule because he knew there was nothing on it. Friday afternoons in warm weather meant the legal business in Clanton would be shut down. Harry Rex would not be in court because there would not be a judge within fifty miles of the courthouse. And, if he had appointments, he would cancel them for the adventure.