Water's Edge

by Robert Whitlow

  “No.” Tom turned his head in surprise.

  “It would be a good thing to do it while you’re here. A heated baptismal pool in a church is fine, but the creek beside the Rocky River Church has a fine spot. It would be chilly this time of year, but you’re young enough to handle it. If you went swimming in the Ocoee, you can handle a dunking at the church.”

  “It wasn’t a swim. I was wearing a wet suit after I fell out of a raft.”

  “Lane would probably wear waders when he baptizes you,” Elias continued. “I know it’s old-fashioned to get baptized in a creek, but there’s something about flowing water that shows the symbolism of washing away sins in a powerful way.”

  Tom couldn’t imagine himself wading into a creek wearing a flimsy white gown.

  “I’m not sure I want to do that.”

  “Pray about it. Did you know Nathan Caldwell was baptized in the creek near the old church on Polk Road? The church burned down years ago and wasn’t rebuilt, but that’s where his family went. He was about sixteen at the time.”

  “I’ve never discussed baptism with Judge Caldwell.”

  “You should.” Elias smiled. “And it would be a good idea to invite him to come when you get baptized. It’s important that people you know hear your testimony.”

  “Testimony?”

  “A short version of what you told Lane. You’ll be surprised how much bolder you’ll be about sharing your faith after you’ve spoken about it in public.” Elias paused. “Another person you should invite is Rick Pelham. You’ve been friends for so long it might have a big impact on him.”

  Elias’s words about Rick pierced Tom’s heart in a sudden, unintended way. He was glad the darkening shadows hid the expression on his face. He got up from the chair and leaned against one of the supporting posts on the porch. Rick Pelham had never done anything to hurt Tom. He’d been a loyal, lifelong friend.

  In the cool of the evening Tom mentally stepped back from the hot fantasy he’d been entertaining about Tiffany. He looked down at the floor of the porch and lightly kicked the wooden post with his shoe. The post hadn’t moved since the porch was built. Rick Pelham had always been just as solid in his support for Tom.

  “It’s getting dark,” Elias said, slowly rising from the rocking chair. “I’m ready to go inside and eat a piece of coconut pie. Do you want one?”

  “Not right now. I’m going to stay out here and sort a few things out.”

  Elias opened the screen door. “You could also invite Arthur Pelham to your baptism,” the old man said. “There was a time when Arthur showed an interest in spiritual things, but then I think he decided he was smarter than God.”

  Tom grunted.

  “I think he’d come if you asked him.”

  Tom didn’t answer. Instead, he thought about Rick and Tiffany and shook his head at his selfish stupidity. He wasn’t any better than the minister who stole money from the offering plate so his wife could buy expensive shoes. In fact, Tom’s wrong was worse. In the house of his mind, he’d constructed a false vision of the future inhabited by a grotesque distortion of what was right. He’d deceived himself and believed the lies of his own making.

  In the honesty of the moment, he had to admit that nurturing a secret hope Rick and Tiffany’s marriage would split apart so he could step in was completely at odds with the changes Jesus Christ had been bringing to his life. Tom thought about the times he’d spent with God in his father’s office and felt anger mixed with shame—anger at himself for tacitly encouraging Tiffany’s feelings for him, shame that he’d been so stupid not to see his thoughts and actions as a sin.

  Tom put his hands on the railing that surrounded the porch. There really wasn’t much for him to sort out. He bowed his head and asked God to forgive him. He wasn’t sure if a short prayer was enough, but he knew it was a start. The tougher questions had to do with Tiffany—what he would say, when he should say it, and how she would react.

  chapter

  TWENTY-SIX

  The following day Tom sat in his office waiting to hear from Arthur. The longer it took the Pelham CEO to contact him, the greater Tom sensed the problems at the company might be. Tom pitied the older man’s no-win predicament. Shortly before noon, he received a message from Arthur’s private e-mail account.

  Please let me know a good time to call for a face-to-face conference.

  Arthur

  Tom immediately responded.

  I’m available at your convenience.

  Tom

  Less than a minute after he sent his reply, a video call came through on his computer. Tom buzzed Bernice and asked her not to disturb him. Arthur’s face appeared on the screen. He looked more tired than he had the previous day. He managed a weak smile as he greeted Tom.

  “Rick says you’re going to have dinner with him and Tiffany tonight,” Arthur said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You won’t mention our discussions, will you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Did you talk to Harold Addington’s daughter?”

  “Yes, she knows about our call.”

  “What was her response?”

  “The same as mine. We’ve turned this matter over to you and trust you to handle it the best way possible.”

  “Are you sure that’s how she feels?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” Arthur nodded. “Our internal investigation took longer than expected because I didn’t want to increase the number of people working on it. It’s reasonably clear what happened. Owen Harrelson and a man he knows in the UK hatched a scheme to embezzle money shortly after we began doing business in Europe. The plan was simple. In fact, if you substitute Owen’s name for Addington’s, it outlines exactly what happened. The transactions were set up so Addington would get the blame if something went wrong. Most of the information in the memo to your father related to future activity, not something that had already occurred.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “No,” Arthur corrected, “it’s great news. The auditor interviewed several of our European clients who purchased CDs issued by our bank in Barbados and then followed leads furnished by them.”

  “Harrelson didn’t want me to talk to the clients.”

  “And I know why. The investors whose money was diverted had contact with both Addington’s and Owen’s UK connection, a man named George Nettles. He’s employed by the UK bank where Owen worked before joining us. Nettles held himself out to investors as a Pelham employee. He’s the one who furnished the customers with the phony CDs and set up the bank transfers to make it look like Addington was behind the scheme. At some point, Addington figured out there was something wrong with several of his accounts. I suspect it had to do with information he received from a client about Nettles. Addington did some investigation and discovered he’d been linked to illegal transactions. He stepped in and diverted the money before Owen, Nettles, and whoever else was working with them could withdraw it. When Addington died, Owen had no choice but to make it look like Addington was at fault. That’s when he reported the missing money to me. We didn’t know where the funds were located until after I met with you at the Parker-Baldwin house.”

  “Why would Addington want to put money in my father’s trust account?”

  “The way the scheme was structured, he had to be concerned that he would be blamed if it was exposed. He must have trusted your father, which is easy for me to believe, and hid the money in your father’s account.”

  “What was Addington going to do next?”

  “I’m not sure. We may never know.”

  “What is Harrelson’s status?”

  “On hold.”

  “Why?”

  “I could fire him immediately, but the current facts only establish criminal activity by Nettles in the UK. I’ve talked to the white-collar-crime office at the US Attorney’s Office here in New York City, and they’d like evidence that will justify an indictment against Owen. I want to give it to
them.”

  “What kind of evidence?”

  Arthur cleared his throat. “The kind you may be able to get for me.”

  “Me?” Tom asked in surprise.

  “Yes. You don’t have to agree to do anything, but are you at least willing to hear my proposal?”

  “Okay,” Tom answered slowly.

  “For the time being, Owen will be kept in the dark.” Arthur picked up a sheet of paper and referred to it while he talked. “You would tell him that although you realize you can’t talk to customers, you’d like to speak with the person who discovered the accounts Addington set up with the bank in the UK. Owen will protest and say it isn’t necessary. You’ll refuse to back down and tell him you’re going to delay a decision about turning over the money until he agrees. You might also threaten to go directly to me about it. I’m confident Owen desperately wants to get this matter closed to avoid further scrutiny. Whether he ultimately agrees to let you talk to Nettles or not isn’t the key point. The lawyer who’s working the case at the US Attorney’s Office believes Owen will contact Nettles because you’re putting pressure on him. She’s seeking a court order authorizing covert surveillance of Owen so they can listen in on his conversation with Nettles and record something incriminating. If they don’t talk, the British authorities can arrest Nettles and hope he’ll turn on Owen and testify against him.”

  Tom made notes while Arthur talked. “What if I actually talk to Nettles?”

  “Treat it as you would if you were investigating a case. Just remember that everything you say is being recorded.” Arthur paused. “You’re not recording our conversation, are you?”

  “No, there’s an ethical prohibition against a lawyer recording a conversation with a client absent permission. Technically you’re not a client, but I’m taking notes, not recording us. Anyway, I don’t have that capability in this office.”

  “I’ll be a client someday whether you agree to give this a try or not.” Arthur put down the paper he’d been holding. “My biggest relief is that the scope of the criminal activity is small. They’d barely gotten started. I’m sorry Harold Addington died, but his death stopped Owen’s scheme better than anything he could have done if he’d lived. The company will weather this storm. Our employees won’t lose their jobs. Our customers won’t lose any money. Are you willing to help with the investigation?”

  “Yes,” Tom said immediately. “When should I contact Harrelson?”

  “Wait until the US Attorney’s Office confirms that the surveillance order has been signed.”

  “Should I contact the attorney directly?”

  “If you want to, but she’s going to let me know when to proceed. I told her I was going to discuss the situation with you today. It was her idea to approach Harrelson about Nettles.”

  “What’s the prosecutor’s name?”

  “It’s almost unpronounceable. I think it’s Slavic. Good English names like Pelham and Crane aren’t as common in New York City as they are in Etowah County. I’ll send you her contact information later.”

  “Nettles and Harrelson are good English names too.”

  “But not all Englishmen are honorable. Thanks for doing this.”

  “You’re welcome. And speaking of honorable, it’s the right thing for me to finish what my father wanted to do for Harold Addington.”

  “Yes, it is.” Arthur glanced at his watch. “Are you going to tell his widow and daughter about this?”

  “I’d like to tell Rose the part about her father being exonerated and nothing more. That would obviously be very important to the family.”

  “Let’s keep it to that. They’ll find out soon enough what’s going on. I don’t want any media attention at this stage. Once the indictments are issued, that won’t be possible. The publicity will be bad, but I believe we’ll weather the storm.”

  ______

  Late that afternoon Tom pulled up to the Addington house to pick up Rose for dinner. He parked in front of the lions that guarded the door. The surveillance cameras caught him from every angle. A few seconds after he rang the chime, Rose opened the door. Tom’s eyes widened. He’d seen Rose at church but never wearing evening clothes. She had on a sleek dark-blue dress. Her auburn hair was styled, and she’d added an extra touch of makeup that made her eyes glisten.

  “You look great,” he said. “But it’s not going to be a dressy dinner. Rick may show up in a T-shirt and blue jeans.”

  “No, he won’t,” Rose replied, smiling. “I called Tiffany, and we decided to make it a fancy occasion.”

  Tom looked down at himself. He was wearing khaki pants and an open-collared shirt. “Should we go back to Elias’s house so I can change?”

  “No, Tiffany said there was no way Rick would wear a sport coat and tie. You’re fine.”

  Tom held the car door open for Rose.

  “Did you hear from Arthur Pelham?” she asked as soon as he was seated.

  “Yes, and the internal investigation completely cleared your father of any wrongdoing.”

  Rose closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the seat for a moment.

  “Thank you, Lord,” she said. “And you. This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t insisted on continuing to dig through the information. Let me call my mum and let her know.”

  Tom listened as Rose relayed the information to her mother.

  “I won’t be too late.” Rose ended the call and returned her phone to her purse. “What else did he say?”

  Tom knew he had to give Rose at least a tidbit more. “Circumstantial evidence implicates Owen Harrelson, which makes sense. As internal affairs officer for the company, he was the fox guarding the henhouse.”

  “Is he going to be arrested?”

  “Not yet, the government is still investigating the case.”

  Rose seemed satisfied. They left the neighborhood and turned toward Bethel. Rick and Tiffany’s house was on the other side of town. Rose settled back in the seat.

  “Tell me about Rick and Tiffany. Being the fourth person with a group of three people who’ve known each other for a long time can be awkward. Not that I mind. I’m sure I’ll enjoy listening to you reminisce. It will give me another window into America.”

  “I’m not sure you’ll glean much sociological insight from listening to Rick and me talk. He’s a country boy at heart who’d rather be tramping through the woods than sitting around a dinner table.”

  “What about Tiffany?”

  Rose’s question made Tom feel anxious. “Uh, I’ve not known her as long as I have Rick. We met when we were in high school.”

  They rode in silence for a few minutes.

  “Did you date Tiffany?”

  “Yeah, for a few months. But we’ve both changed a lot. I mean, she married Rick, and I—” Tom stopped.

  “Never married?” Rose completed his sentence.

  “No. I was going to say that I’ve had a few girlfriends, none of whom ever seemed like the right one to marry. What about you?” Tom asked, trying to divert the conversation away from Tiffany and him. “Why haven’t you met the right guy?”

  “I did meet him. We were engaged, and he was killed in an auto accident in Devonshire. Hit by a drunken driver.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It happened five years ago last month.”

  As they drew closer to Rick and Tiffany’s driveway, the embarrassment and shame Tom had felt the previous night on the porch returned. What lay ahead at the top of the hill was unknown. He took a deep breath and sighed. Rose didn’t seem to notice.

  “Impressive place,” she said as they drove up the driveway.

  “There’s the horse barn,” Tom said as he pointed. “I’m not sure Tiffany will want to take you there if she’s wearing a nice dress and shoes.”

  They parked in front of the house. Bosco was lying down near the door. He hopped up when Tom stopped the car and trotted over with a soggy yellow tennis ball in his mouth.

  “Tell your master to buy
you a new ball,” Tom said as he hurled the ball across the yard and down the hill.

  The dog took off. Tom rang the doorbell with the hand that hadn’t handled the tennis ball. Tiffany opened the door. She looked stunning in a low-cut dress with an expensive-looking necklace around her neck.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said.

  Tiffany threw her arms around Tom’s neck and pressed herself against him. He held his hand that was wet with dog slobber away from her body. Tiffany released him and gave Rose a quick hug.

  “Come in,” she said. “Rick is upstairs getting ready. He wasn’t excited when I told him we were going to dress up, but he came around in the end. Tom, do you want a cigar?”

  “Not now,” he answered. “Maybe after supper.”

  Tiffany took Rose by the arm. “You look beautiful. I’m surprised Tom didn’t drive past the house so he could spend more time alone with you. Let me show you around.” Tiffany glanced over her shoulder. “Tom, you might want to wait for Rick in the den.”

  Tiffany’s voice faded as she and Rose continued down the hallway. The resolve Tom had on the porch wavered when he saw Tiffany in person. He went into a downstairs bathroom to wash his hands. As he looked in the mirror, his eyes accused him of cowardice. He closed his eyes and asked for help. Coming out of the bathroom, he ran into Rick, who was wearing gray slacks and a starched shirt.

  “Rick. Is that you?” he asked.

  “Shut up,” Rick answered.

  “The voice is familiar, but I didn’t recognize you underneath all that starch.”

  Rick ran his fingers down the front of his shirt. “I feel like a little kid whose big sister made him play dressup with her.”

  They entered the den.

  “Tiffany said you were bringing Harold Addington’s daughter. Are you dating her?”

  “No, we’ve spent time together wrapping up a business matter that had to do with my father’s estate. Soon she’ll go back to Europe, and I’ll be heading down to Atlanta.”

  “I’m not giving up on keeping you in Bethel. If you hadn’t been with us on the rafting trip, Hal Millsap wouldn’t be doing his part to support the chewing tobacco industry.”