Water's Edge

by Robert Whitlow

  “How serious was the situation you talked to Harold Addington about?”

  “Serious enough to affect a lot of people. Harold Addington was a moral, upright man. I’m sorry he died prematurely.”

  “Do you suspect any foul play?”

  “No, no. Good people die in accidents leaving the rest of us to wonder why it happened. Most of those questions are unanswerable this side of heaven. But it doesn’t keep me from having regrets.” Conner took a deep breath. “May I ask you a question?”

  Tom nodded.

  “If we’re talking about the same serious situation, what are you going to do about it now that Harold and your father are gone?”

  “What do you think I should do?”

  “Finish it,” Conner replied as emphatically as he spoke when preaching a sermon. “Accidents happen, but I don’t think it’s an accident that you, like your father, are a lawyer. And from what I’ve heard, you have much more expertise in these areas than he did. The fact that you came here today so we could talk about Harold was an answer to prayer.”

  “How?”

  “I’ve been praying for you about this ever since we met at the church.”

  Tom was momentarily speechless. “Have you talked to anyone else? Especially Charlie Williams, the DA, or anyone else who works for the government?”

  “No, just Harold. That’s what he requested, and I honored it while he was alive and hope I still am. The fact that I know he confided in your father is the reason I brought it up to you at all. My guess is you know more than I do.”

  Tom stood up. “Thanks for taking time to meet with me.”

  “Come back any time,” Conner said, his voice more casual. “It was great hearing what God is doing in your life.”

  Tom drove slowly back to the office. His mind, on the other hand, was racing.

  chapter

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Bernice greeted him with a question: “Did Owen Harrelson get in touch with you?”

  “No.”

  Tom took out his cell phone to see if he’d missed a call and realized he’d turned the phone off before he went into Lane Conner’s office.

  “What did he want?”

  “To talk to you. He called three times while you were gone. Said it was important. Do you need his number?”

  “No, I have it.”

  Tom went into the office and closed the door. Each conversation with Harrelson was more contentious than the last. He placed the call.

  “Harrelson here,” the executive growled.

  “It’s Tom Crane.”

  “I got your e-mail. I see you were too scared to call me directly. I told you to schedule the hearing toward the beginning of the week.”

  Tom kept his voice level. “I took the first available slot on the judge’s calendar. If this week doesn’t work for you, we can try to reschedule early next week.”

  “Do that. Arranging a trip to Bethel toward the end of this week will create a scheduling nightmare.”

  “Okay, I’ll contact the judge’s office and let you know.”

  Since Harrelson was already mad at him, Tom decided to ask a question that had been bugging him since he made his PowerPoint presentation to Rose Addington.

  “Now that we have a couple of extra days, I’d like to supplement my file in case the judge has any reluctance in signing the order.”

  “What would you add?”

  “The identities and contact information for the European investors who dealt with Harold Addington. The names are blacked out in the information you sent me.”

  “Of course I removed the names. Our client lists are confidential.”

  “And it would remain confidential with me. All I want to do is confirm the dates the customers thought they were buying CDs in the Barbados bank. It won’t be necessary to tell them their money was diverted.”

  “I already gave you the dates.”

  “But I have no way to cross-check the amounts,” Tom persisted. “This would provide independent, corroborating evidence from a source outside Pelham.”

  The phone was silent for a moment. “Are you questioning the truth of the information I provided to you?”

  Tom had engaged in conversations like this before. Usually it happened when he was taking the deposition of an opposing party in a lawsuit.

  “No, but it might be important to the judge. One of the things I have to do is anticipate what he may want, and I don’t want you to waste a trip.”

  “You’re not getting the names of our clients. Drop it.”

  Tom wasn’t going to be put off. “What about additional records from the bank Addington used in the UK? I understand you used to work there. Do you have a contact who could provide specific deposit records from Addington that will match up with the amounts given to him by the depositors? That would be another way to provide independent verification of what occurred.”

  “No, and I think you’ve played lawyer long enough.” Harrelson raised his voice. “Your job is to get an order signed by the judge and put an end to this attempt to embezzle money. That’s what you need to be thinking about. I’m about to go into an important meeting. This conversation is over.”

  The phone clicked off. Tom stared at his cell phone. He wasn’t used to someone hanging up on him. He glanced again at the papers in the folder. Harrelson was hiding something. The Pelham executive had been very defensive about his security measures. Most likely it was a serious slipup by his department. But his adamant refusal to supplement the information furnished to Tom raised another possibility—Harrelson might be guilty of a wrong beyond negligent financial safeguards.

  Tom took out a legal pad and started making notes. He outlined three possible scenarios: Harrelson could be an incompetent employee, a knowing participant in an embezzlement scheme as Addington’s partner, or the person Harold Addington was trying to expose with John Crane’s help. Caught in the middle of Tom’s theories were the rope burns around Harold Addington’s neck and the faded check in the plastic bag. Tom tore off the sheets of paper on which he’d written his notes and slipped them into the growing Addington file.

  Tom and Bernice left the office together. He stopped to lock the front door.

  “You’ve been awfully quiet the past few days,” Bernice said.

  “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

  “And I’m here to help. I appreciate the paycheck, but I’ve never worked here primarily for the money.”

  “I know. You’re doing a lot already.”

  ______

  That night Tom couldn’t sleep. His conversations with Lane Conner and Owen Harrelson kept playing in his mind. Slipping out of bed, he went downstairs to the kitchen and ate a piece of apple pie. He checked to see if light was shining beneath the door to Elias’s study. All was dark. Glancing down the hall in the direction of the old man’s bedroom, Tom opened the study door.

  The pine-paneled room had a faded oval rug on the floor. To the left was a rolltop desk. Several books were stacked on the desk. Above the desk was a crude painting of the Crane family homeplace. Tom vaguely remembered the aunt who did it. In the middle of the room was a straight-backed chair with a decorative pillow on the floor in front of it. An open Bible rested on the seat of the chair. On the walls were several cross-stitched Bible verses in small frames. One verse caught Tom’s eye:

  Now it came to pass in those days that He went out to the mountain to pray, and continued all night in prayer to God.

  —Luke 6:12

  Tom picked up the Bible from the chair and read the passage. It was a night of decision for Jesus. The following morning he selected the twelve apostles. Tom, too, had some big decisions to make. He had to expose the deeds of darkness but wasn’t sure where to shine the light.

  He nudged the pillow with his foot. Elias probably used the pillow while he knelt in front of the chair to pray. Tom hadn’t knelt to pray since he was a little boy repeating a rote prayer before going to bed. Slipping out of the chair, he placed the Bi
ble on the seat, dropped to his knees on the pillow, bowed his head, and closed his eyes.

  Praying in the quiet of the night without pen and paper or a computer screen was new. Tom expected to be distracted. To his surprise, his mind cleared and calm flowed over him like a soothing balm. For the first time since he’d talked to Charlie Williams, he felt inner peace. What happened at Austin’s Pond was deeply troubling, but there was a place in the presence of God where that problem didn’t reign supreme. That was because the study was a thin place. He opened his eyes.

  Another verse on the wall read:

  My times are in your hands. —Psalm 31:15

  Tom suspected Elias didn’t stay in the room for a set amount of time but left when he knew he was finished. Tom bowed his head again. As he prayed about some of the thorny challenges in his path, he realized that what happened in the world outside the study didn’t trump what took place within it. When he finally stood up, he didn’t know all the future held, but he knew his next step.

  ______

  The following morning he phoned Rose Addington as soon as he got to the office. Her mother answered the phone.

  “What do you want?” Esther asked curtly.

  “To speak to Rose. There’s something I need to clear up with her.”

  “Just a minute. I’ll see if she’s available.”

  While he waited Tom had a change in strategy. He’d intended to talk to Rose on the phone.

  “Hello?” Rose said in a questioning voice.

  “I guess you didn’t expect to hear from me again.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Well, I’ve continued to pray about the situation we discussed, and I’d like to get together if you’re willing to.”

  “If it’s about the money, that’s not necessary. I signed the affidavit and won’t be changing my mind.”

  “I’m not trying to change your mind; I’d like to talk to you about the changes in mine.”

  “Hold on a bit.”

  The phone was silent for a moment. Tom could hear a muffled discussion.

  “All right. I’ve got to book a flight back to Europe and make a few international calls this morning related to the adoption agency. I can be at your office around noon.”

  “Let’s meet at the Chickamauga Diner.” Tom paused. “And please don’t schedule a flight until after we talk.”

  “Why not?”

  “That’s part of the discussion.”

  “Uh, okay.”

  When Tom came out of the office, Bernice had arrived.

  “You look better today,” she said after inspecting him for a moment.

  “I should. I’m going to have lunch with Rose Addington.”

  Bernice’s face fell. “Boy, that woman has bewitched you. I’ll be glad when she’s on a plane back to wherever she came from, with a big ocean separating the two of you.”

  “And I asked her not to book a flight until after we talked,” Tom said with a mischievous grin. “Did you know she likes collard greens with vinegar?”

  Bernice huffed and didn’t respond.

  Tom arrived at the diner before Rose. In his hand was the folder containing the information from the tackle box. The table where he and Rose had eaten their meal together was available, and he sat down to wait for her. Noon came and went. Five minutes passed. Tom finished a glass of tea and asked for a refill. Ten minutes passed. At that point Tom realized Rose might have changed her mind. He couldn’t blame her. At 12:15 Tom called the waitress over and asked for the check so he could pay for his drink. He left a generous tip for taking up a table during prime time and walked up to the cash register. After paying, he turned toward the door. Rose Addington was hurriedly coming inside.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said, flustered. “I had to finish a long telephone call and didn’t get away when I planned to. But I see you’re running a bit behind as well.”

  Tom motioned to Alex Giles, who gave him a puzzled look and pointed toward the table Tom had just left. Tom led Rose to the rear of the restaurant.

  “I must say your call caught my mum and me off guard,” she said.

  “That’s understandable. As I told you on the phone, I’ve continued to pray and realized last night I’ve approached this situation with assumptions instead of an open mind seeking the truth. Every lawyer knows that’s a mistake. I tried to make everything else fit what I thought.”

  “What does that mean at this point?” Rose asked. “I thought this was over.”

  The waitress came to take their orders. Once again, Rose included collard greens as one of her vegetables.

  “Before I answer, I need to show you something I found in one of my father’s tackle boxes in Elias’s garage. I had this information the other day when you brought the affidavit to the office but didn’t mention it. That was wrong, and you have a right to see it.”

  Tom handed her the sheets and watched her face as she read them. Her eyes widened.

  “I knew Papa didn’t embezzle any money,” she said when he finished. “Why did you hide this from me?”

  “For the reasons I gave you a minute ago, and because these are just notes of a conversation, not evidence that proves anything. I still think it’s likely the money in the designated trust account belongs to Pelham Financial, but it’s also possible your father didn’t intend to keep it for himself. He may have been trying to prevent someone else from getting it. If he and my father had some sort of plan in place to do that, we need to figure out what it was and whether there’s anything we can do to finish it.”

  “We?”

  “Yes, that’s why I asked you not to buy an airplane ticket.”

  Tom told her about his conversation with Lane Conner. “That was the wake-up call that made me realize I may have misjudged your father.”

  “I didn’t misjudge your father.”

  Tom winced. He didn’t know how Rose would react if she knew the details about the cause of her father’s death. The waitress arrived with their food.

  “I’ll ask the blessing this time,” Tom said.

  Rose bowed her head and closed her eyes. Tom kept his open and leaned forward. He said a short prayer of thanks for the food.

  “And help us do what’s right about all this confusing information,” Rose continued. “May you expose the deeds of darkness. Amen.”

  Tom raised his eyebrows. “I read that verse in the Bible the other day when I was wondering what to do.”

  “Ephesians chapter 5.”

  “Yeah, that’s it.”

  “Good. We already agree about one thing.”

  While they ate, Tom explained the different theories he’d come up with about where the money came from and why it had ended up in the designated trust account. He quickly dismissed the idea that Harold Addington and Owen Harrelson were working together to embezzle funds. Rose ate and listened.

  “You need to eat,” she said when Tom paused. “Your fried chicken is going to get cold. Let me think about what you’ve said while we finish.”

  Tom bit into a crunchy piece of chicken. They ate in silence for several minutes. Rose Addington was very deliberate in all her actions, even the way she approached a plate of food. She ate a final bite and placed her fork and knife in the middle of the plate.

  “Who do you trust at Pelham Financial?” she asked. “And I mean trust without question.”

  Tom knew acquaintances from the past and recent contacts like Hal Millsap, but only one person had been around Tom since he was a little boy.

  “Arthur Pelham,” he answered.

  “Are you sure?” Rose asked doubtfully. “Didn’t he believe my father embezzled money?”

  “During our conversation at the Parker-Baldwin house, we didn’t talk specifics. I believe Arthur formed a wrong opinion based on bad information given to him by Owen Harrelson.” Tom remembered a detail he’d left out earlier. “Mr. Pelham’s cell phone number was written beside my phone number at the bottom of the page of notes I found. That would indicate
my father intended at some point to talk to him. That would make sense because Arthur has the authority to deal with any wrong that occurred.”

  “Maybe.” Rose nodded. “There’s a simple way to find out how he’ll react.”

  Tom thought for a moment. “Tell him now. Show him what we’ve found and ask him what he’s going to do about it.”

  “Exactly. If he gets defensive like Harrelson did when you asked for more information, then the rottenness may go to the core.”

  In his heart Tom didn’t believe that was likely. Arthur Pelham was a brilliant man. He didn’t need to do anything illegal to be fabulously wealthy and successful.

  “I need to talk to Arthur before the hearing next week in front of Judge Caldwell, but I don’t know where he is. He could be out of the country.”

  “All you can do is try.”

  After Tom paid for the meal, they stood on the sidewalk outside the restaurant.

  “I want you to be in the room when I talk on the phone to Arthur,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Because even though I trust Arthur, I don’t trust myself. I’m so close to him and his family that it might affect how I interpret what he says.”

  “Would you tell him I was listening?”

  “No, because he might not be willing to open up. He hasn’t had a chance to get to know you like I have.”

  Rose gave Tom a puzzled look. “Is that a compliment?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right. Just let me know when.”

  “Tom!” a female voice called out.

  Tom turned and saw Tiffany on the other side of the street. She was alone with a shopping bag in her hand.

  “That’s Tiffany Pelham,” Tom said to Rose. “Rick Pelham’s wife.”

  Tiffany crossed the street. She was wearing casual slacks and a light-blue top. She came up to Tom and gave him a quick kiss on the right check that came within a fraction of an inch of his lips.

  “What are you up to?” she asked.

  “Uh, finishing lunch,” Tom answered. “Tiffany, this is Rose Addington. Harold Addington was her father.”

  Tiffany turned to Rose. “Oh, I’m sorry about your dad. How is your mother doing?”