Water's Edge (13 page)

“Tell me what you found,” the older woman said.

“Not much,” Tom began and then repeated what he’d told Rose. “Does that mean anything to you?”

“Is everything we discuss with you confidential?” Rose asked.

“Not necessarily. We’re talking about my father’s law practice, not mine, which means I’m not here as a lawyer but as executor of his estate.”

“Do you represent Arthur Pelham or his company?”

“No.”

“But you might in the future?”

“It’s possible.”

“If that happened, would you reveal what we discuss with you?”

Tom shifted nervously in his chair. “Not if you consider this conversation as a preliminary step to hiring me. Under the rules, that sort of exchange of information is protected from disclosure by the attorney-client privilege.”

“Even if we don’t ultimately hire you?”

“Yes. Please get to the point.”

Rose ignored him. “And I’m told you’re a close friend of the Pelham family.”

“That’s true.” Tom nodded. “Rick Pelham is a lifelong friend, and Mr. Pelham has reached out to me, especially since my father’s death.”

“Mum,” Rose said, glancing at her mother, “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“Your papa thought differently.”

Esther, who had her hands in her lap, placed a folded sheet of paper on the table.

“After Harold’s death, I found this in the nightstand on his side of the bed. I believe it may help.”

Tom picked up the sheet of paper and opened it. John Crane’s name and phone number were written at the top, followed by phrases that included “termination of employment agreement,” “disclosure to third parties in UK, US, and Barbados prohibited,” “confidential communication applies to financial transactions,” and “transfer of funds.” At the bottom of the sheet Addington had written “Tom Crane???” Tom looked up.

“Harold was concerned about his position at Pelham, and it’s likely he talked to your father about it,” Esther said.

“And when we saw your name at the bottom, it made us wonder if your father ever contacted you about Papa’s concerns,” Rose said.

Tom remembered the phone message he’d thrown away when he cleared out his office in Atlanta, and Arthur Pelham’s comment that he was disappointed in Harold Addington’s job performance. He handed the paper back to Esther.

“No, my father never mentioned any member of your family to me. But you believe your husband was worried he might lose his job?”

“Yes.” Esther nodded. “He was under enormous pressure at work but wouldn’t tell me exactly why. He felt it might cause problems for me later if I knew any specific details.”

Tom felt himself go cold on the inside. Men in the financial arena who shielded their wives from information occasionally did so to shield them from harm in anticipation of criminal charges.

“That’s the way he put it?”

“Yes, he knew I didn’t understand the technical aspects of his work.”

Tom stood. He wanted to end the conversation as soon as possible.

“I’m sorry I can’t shine any light on the situation. If I find out anything else, I’ll contact you immediately.”

“Thank you.” Esther sighed.

“Oh, one more thing,” Tom said. “I’m going to tell Charlie Williams, the district attorney, that I’ve not found any clear evidence of a professional relationship between my father and Mr. Addington.”

“From what we’ve talked about today, I’m not sure there wasn’t a ‘professional relationship,’ as you put it,” Rose responded. “You don’t know why there is an empty folder with the Addington name on it in your father’s office or the reason your father put a note in his financial records with the file number written on it. And we found a sheet of paper with notes apparently made during a conversation between them about business matters. Would I be missing something?”

“No,” Tom admitted.

“And why did the government’s barrister ask us questions? It really upset Mum when he came by the house with a detective in tow.”

“Two men died, and it’s his job to do a brief investigation,” Tom replied. “I wouldn’t read anything more into it than that.”

“Just the same, we’d ask you not to tell Mr. Williams anything until we have a bit more clarity,” Rose said.

Tom didn’t think Rose could legally muzzle him but didn’t tell her so. She led him to the door.

“Thanks for stopping by,” she said.

When Tom was in his car, he counted five exterior surveillance cameras, with an unknown number throughout the house. Now he had a reasonable suspicion why the district attorney was investigating the dead British man. And it had nothing to do with a boat tipping over at Austin’s Pond. If Addington was engaged in some form of criminal activity, the grave wouldn’t stop the investigation— especially if it involved fraud or theft committed against Arthur Pelham and Pelham Financial.

chapter
ELEVEN

R
eturning home, Tom found the front room empty and the study door closed. A scratching sound revealed Rover’s presence. A moment later both Elias and the dog emerged from the study.

“I thought you didn’t like company in there,” Tom said, scratching Rover’s head as the dog moaned softly.

“That dog is a blessing,” Elias replied.

“Huh?” Tom asked as a drop of drool dangled precariously from Rover’s mouth.

“Have you already forgotten about Balaam’s donkey?”

“No,” Tom answered, looking up. “But the day you tell me Rover is talking to you is the day I contact Dr. McMillan to discuss putting you in a place with locks on the doors and strong orderlies who will keep you from wandering off.”

“You don’t scare me.”

Tom looked toward the kitchen. “What’s for supper? I’m hungry.”

Fifteen minutes later two plates were on the table. While they ate, Elias talked about his day with Rover. Tom was glad the old man and the dog were doing so well together, but his thoughts kept drifting to his father’s federal tax liability.

“Did my father ever talk to you about his financial problems?” Tom asked during a lull in the conversation.

“I know he owed the government money. Will you have to pay it?”

“No.”

“Do you think you should anyway?”

“Is that what the Bible teaches?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Don’t spend any time trying to find out. I have enough problems in my life without adding to them.”

While they rinsed the dishes in the sink, Elias said, “What do you think about inviting some folks over for supper? I have an old charcoal grill in the garage. We could cook steaks.”

“It’s your house.”

“Good. I was praying this afternoon and believe we’re supposed to invite Esther and Rose Addington for a meal. We didn’t get the chance to talk much after church on Sunday and—”

“There’s no need,” Tom interrupted. “I went to their house on my way home from work and finished the conversation.” Tom put the soap in the dishwasher and closed the door. “God answered your prayer as soon as it left your lips.”

______

The following morning Tom fixed pancakes and link sausage for breakfast. He waited until Elias came into the kitchen to drop the pancake batter on the griddle.

“How did you sleep last night?” Tom asked.

“I was up for a while praying,” Elias responded with a yawn.

“If I get to sleep through the night without waking up, I’m going to take advantage of it. You don’t have to go anywhere during the day. Why don’t you pray then?”

“That’s not how it works. Before Jesus selected the twelve apostles, he spent the entire night in prayer.”

Tom flipped over a pancake. “Why did he have to pray? He knew everything.”

“He was showing how a man can walk with God. The Bible says Jesus only did what he saw his Father do.”

When the pancakes were ready, Tom put them on plates and took the sausage from the oven where he’d been keeping it warm. He’d already melted butter and warmed up pure maple syrup. Elias took a bite of pancake.

“Well?” Tom asked as the old man thoughtfully chewed and swallowed.

“As good or better than the ones your father made. He always liked to use a bit of almond extract in the pancake batter.”

“I found it in the cupboard. I’ve watched him make pancakes many times.”

“That’s good.” Elias smiled. “Keep doing what you saw your father do.”

______

Tom was enjoying the short commute from Elias’s house to the center of Bethel. Unlike Atlanta, none of the drivers he encountered on the road were struggling with coffee-deprived road rage.

The office was quiet. He checked the answering machine and retrieved a call from Bernice that she was going to spend another day at home recuperating. Instead of immediately getting to work, Tom thought about Elias’s comment at breakfast. What would John Crane do if he arrived early at the office and didn’t have to rush off to a court hearing? Tom knew the answer. His father would chat with Bernice for a few minutes, then go into his office and close the door. And commit the day’s activities to God.

When he visited the law office as a boy, Tom would sit wide-eyed as his father bowed his head and talked to God. A child who sees an adult pray other than before a meal or in church remembers it. John Crane’s prayers from behind his desk always contained a request that he represent his clients with skill and integrity. Tom remembered the specific words:
skill
and
integrity
. Wondering if they might be from a Bible verse, Tom pulled a well-worn Bible from the bookcase and located a concordance in the back. He looked up the word
skill
and found nothing that seemed right. He then checked the word
integrity
and scored a hit. He turned to Psalm 78:72, a passage about King David and the people of Israel. John Crane had underlined the verse with a red pen and drawn a blue star in the margin.

So he shepherded them according to the integrity of his heart, and guided them by the skillfulness of his hands.

Tom read the verse silently a couple of times. It was quiet in the room, but the stillness wasn’t stagnant. He looked up from the Bible for a moment, then softly read the verse out loud. As he spoke, the meaning of each word reverberated in a place inside him that Tom didn’t know existed. He read the verse again, and the sensation increased. Tom had studied great books and listened to eloquent speeches, but nothing he’d ever read or heard was more majestic and profound than a single verse of Scripture coming from his own mouth.

“What is going on?” he asked.

The answer to his simple question came to his mind before he had a chance to imagine one. And it didn’t come from his intellect. It came from a place not visible to the eye, in a voice that didn’t need sound waves to communicate. He intuitively knew what was happening to him.

God was speaking to him.

Tom sat up straight in the chair. He’d always thought conversation with the Almighty would follow a great debate in which God proved his existence by superior logic. No, God’s voice proceeded from his presence. Human theories, arguments, opinions, and ideas shrank to insignificance. The awareness of God’s reality shot through Tom like a lightning bolt. And if God was real, the most important thing in life was to know him. Tom was stunned.

“I’m sorry,” he said, realizing how proud and arrogant and independent he’d been.

Humility opened the door of his heart wider. He read the verse again, not with curious neutrality, but as a thirsty man drinks a cup of cold water: “So he shepherded them according to the integrity of his heart, and guided them by the skillfulness of his hands.” God’s description of David wasn’t limited to an ancient king in a faraway land. The words on the page were for today. Tom suddenly understood why his father prayed as he did. A dormant seed awakened. Desire rose up in him. Tom hesitated. Reason demanded he slow down and let his understanding catch up.

“No,” he said emphatically. “I want this to be true about me.”

Taking out a legal pad, Tom began to write down everything he was thinking and experiencing. Using the concordance, he flipped through the Bible. The relevance of the words in the book wasn’t limited to a single verse in Psalms. He found wisdom and insight wherever he turned. When he finally took a break, he looked up from the notes scribbled on the pages and remembered Judge Caldwell’s words from the day before.

Tom was beginning to share his father’s faith.

He spent the rest of the morning exploring the new world in the ancient book. The phone didn’t ring; no senior partner interrupted his thoughts. The room was as isolated as a monastery cell. He read several chapters in the book of John, who boldly claimed Jesus was the Son of God, the Light of the World, the Savior of mankind, the Way, the Truth, and the Life. For the first time in Tom’s existence, the claims made perfect beautiful sense.

He kept reading. Turning to Paul’s letters, he read verses he would have considered offensive and arbitrary twenty-four hours earlier. Now they revealed the goodness of God. Amazed at the change in his perspective, Tom discovered an answer in 1 Corinthians 2:14: “But the natural man does not receive the things of the Spirit of God, for they are foolishness to him; nor can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned.” That was it. He’d been a natural man. He was becoming a spiritual one. He marked the spot with a sticky note and closed the Bible.

It was lunchtime. Tom had spent the entire morning reading the Bible, making notes, and writing down his thoughts. He was hungry. Going outside, he blinked his eyes in the bright sunlight. He inhaled the fresh air. Walking up the hill to Main Street, he greeted several people he didn’t know as he passed by on the sidewalk.

Inside the restaurant, Alex Giles was scurrying around seating customers. Tom saw a solitary stool available at the end of the counter. He moved toward it.

“Hello there,” a female voice behind him said.

Tom turned around. It was Rose Addington. She was standing beside a group of four waiting for a table.

“Are you by yourself?” she asked.

“Yeah. And you?”

“Yes, I was in town for a bit and decided to drop in for an authentic American meal.”

“This is the perfect place. Enjoy your lunch.”