He remembered when, not too long ago, Harry Rex threw one of his pig roasts at his hunting cabin in the woods south of town. He invited every lawyer and judge, even the ones he despised, and he invited Ozzie and his deputies and the local police from Clanton. Most of the courthouse gang was there, along with an assortment of investigators, runners, process servers, and even tow truck operators. There were kegs of cold beer and plenty of barbecue. A bluegrass band played on the porch. Harry Rex’s timing was perfect—there was nothing else happening in the county that day—and the crowd was huge. He wanted a full-blown redneck party and that’s what he got. Jake and Carla bumped into Mack and Lisa and tried to have a friendly chat. It was obvious that she was uncomfortable mixing with a lower-class crowd. The country club was far away. Later, Jake saw her sitting alone on the rear porch, sipping a diet soda and looking thoroughly out of place. He later heard the rumor that she left without telling Mack. He hitched a ride home with a friend.
It was common knowledge around town that the marriage was unhappy, primarily because Lisa had dreams bigger than anything Mack could deliver. As Stephanie and Dr. Pettigrew prospered and traded one home for one even larger, they left the Staffords behind in the dust.
His daydreaming was interrupted by the next unexpected phone call. It was Dumas Lee, the nosy and persistent chief reporter for The Ford County Times.
“What a surprise, Dumas,” Jake said.
“I hear Mack is back,” Dumas sang, as if on to something big. “What can you tell me?”
“Mack who?”
“Right. Look, a source tells me you’ve met with Mack, seen him live and in person.”
Dumas always claimed to have a source, whether one existed or not. “No comment.”
“Come on, Jake, you can do better than that.”
“No comment.”
“Okay, I’m going to ask you a simple question, one that requires a yes or no answer, and if you say ‘no comment,’ then it will be obvious that the answer is yes. Have you seen Mack Stafford in person in the past month?”
“No comment.”
“In other words, you have.”
“Whatever, Dumas. I’m not playing your game. What’s the big deal anyway? Mack is free to come and go. He’s not a wanted man.”
“Not a wanted man. I like that. Can I use it?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks, Jake.”
“Anytime.”
（16）
Mack’s fateful decision to take the money and run, to file for divorce, then for bankruptcy, to close his office, sign everything over to Lisa, say goodbye to her and the girls, and disappear, had been precipitated by a single phone call. A New York lawyer named Marty Rosenberg called during lunch one day and was willing to offer quick cash to settle some dusty old cases Mack had almost forgotten about. Mack answered the phone because Freda, his secretary, was not in. Had she been there, and had she known of the settlement talk, Mack’s life would not have taken such a dramatic twist. For five years Freda had handled the phones, typing, clients, books, everything that a secretary does in a small-town office.
Mack fired her that day and she left in a huff. He’d had a few beers and returned to the office nicely buzzed. She snapped at him because he had missed two appointments that afternoon. He didn’t care. They argued, said too much, and he fired her on the spot, gave her thirty minutes to clean out her desk and disappear. After dark, he left the office and went to a bar. When he finally went home, Lisa was waiting on the front porch in full combat mode. He slipped on some ice in the driveway, busted his head, and spent two days in the hospital. While he was laid up, Freda returned to the office and went through the books and files. She expected to find little and she was not disappointed. She knew his business better than he did. Mack, like most lawyers in town, often hustled clients in city and county courts for cash, fees that were conveniently kept off the books. One reason for going through his files was to make sure there were no unofficial records of fees paid in cash. That, plus she wanted to know if he had a bank account or two that perhaps Lisa knew nothing about, but there were no records of hidden money. Freda had always kept a ledger of his current files and she made a copy for herself. It was not an impressive lineup of pending cases. When Mack fled, she heard rumors that he had bilked some clients and embezzled funds. At the time, he was representing three guardianships, with a grand total of $22,000 in his trust account. His real estate escrow account had a balance of $350. These monies were untouched when Mack disappeared.