Water's Edge (21 page)

“Yes, sir. I think the judge should sign off on any action taken. Judge Caldwell is serving as interim probate judge.”

“He’s a good man. Would that create a public record?”

“I could request that the order be sealed because it involves an attorney trust account.”

“The money is in your father’s trust account?”

“Yes.” Tom inwardly kicked himself for slipping up. He’d probably confirmed what Arthur suspected. “Actually, it’s a designated trust account opened shortly before his death. That, along with some other factors, raised my suspicions and prompted me to contact you.”

“I’ve always said you were smart,” Arthur replied in a relaxed voice. “And I assume you apply the same analytical intuition to the rest of your practice.”

“I do my best.”

“That’s all anyone can ask. Listen, thanks for calling me so promptly. I’ll make sure you’re notified if we receive a subpoena. Otherwise, I’ll wait to hear from you on Wednesday.”

“Yes, sir.”

Even though Tom wasn’t representing Arthur Pelham, it felt like he was.

______

Before calling Rose Addington, Tom turned to Psalm 72:78 and prayed for skill and integrity. Rose didn’t answer, and he left a voice mail asking her to return the call. The phone on his desk buzzed.

“Hal Millsap is on the phone,” Bernice said.

“Put him through.”

“The press is here,” Hal said. “And they’re clamoring for a glimpse of the hero of the Ocoee.”

“The press?”

“Yep. Mr. Grayson Hill of the
Bethel Examiner
is sitting in one of our conference rooms. He’s writing an article and wants to add pictures. I think he wants you to play the role of the river guide who gave me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.”

“That’s not happening.”

“I told him you’d say that, and frankly, it’s a relief to me. If you have a few minutes, Grayson would like to ask you a few questions and take a photo of us together.”

“Okay. I’ll be right over.”

Tom stepped into the reception area. “Do you know Grayson Hill, a reporter for the paper?”

“Sonny Hill? He graduated from journalism school this past June. His mother used to work with Carl at the plant. I’ve known the family for years.”

“He’s writing an article about what happened on the river.”

“Help him out.”

“That’s what I’m going to do. I’m meeting him at Hal Millsap’s office.”

It was a five-minute drive to the Pelham Financial executive office building. The primary nerve center of the investment firm was in New York, but there was enough going on in Bethel to justify an impressive brick building surrounded by carefully landscaped grounds with a large marble fountain in front. A white sign with gold letters read “Pelham Financial—Bethel.”

Most of the Pelham employees in Bethel worked at a renovated textile mill that had been purchased by Arthur and transformed into a telephone marketing, customer assistance, data entry, mail processing, and bookkeeping center. That, too, was a model facility, which had been featured in newspaper and magazine articles about how a Southern town was brought back from manufacturing death to high-tech life.

Tom parked in a space reserved for visitors. In the far corner of the lot he saw Hal’s red truck. A brick walkway led to the main entrance. Inside there was a large open reception area. Two attractive young women sat behind identical desks to the right of the entrance. Tom approached the first desk. A brunette greeted him with a smile. Tom introduced himself.

“I’m here to see Hal Millsap and a reporter from the newspaper.”

“The reporter is already here, and I’ll let Mr. Millsap know you’ve arrived,” the woman answered with a strong Southern accent.

While the woman typed a message on her computer, Tom looked at the name tag she was wearing: Leanne Henderson.

“Are you related to Scotty Henderson?” Tom asked. “He was a classmate of mine in high school.”

“I’m his little sister,” the woman answered with a shy smile. “I doubt you remember me, but I went to all the football games and saw you play. I was in the eighth grade when you and Scotty graduated.”

Tom recalled a scrawny girl with frizzy dark hair and braces.

“You had braces,” he said.

The woman licked her straight white teeth. “Yes.”

“Sorry,” Tom said, catching himself staring. “Where’s Scotty these days?”

“About twenty miles west of Knoxville. He’s a veterinarian, married with two kids and a third on the way.”

The Henderson family owned a large herd of Black Angus cattle. The phone on the woman’s desk chirped. She picked it up, then scooted back her chair.

“Follow me,” she said. “They’re in conference room four.”

Tom followed Leanne. They passed through a security door and down a hallway lined with conference rooms.

“Why so many conference rooms?” Tom asked.

“For meetings with customers who come in from out of town. Did you see the lodge?”

“No.”

“It’s only been open a couple of weeks. A hundred people can stay there. The plan is to host financial retreats in Bethel and bring in clients for investment seminars.”

Leanne stopped at the door to a rectangular conference room. Hal Millsap, wearing a suit and tie, was sitting at a table with a young man in blue jeans and a T-shirt. A camera bag rested on the table beside a laptop computer.

“Here’s the hero!” Hal said, jumping to his feet.

“Hero?” Leanne asked.

“You’ll read about it in the paper tomorrow, darling,” Hal said.

The reporter had swept-back spiked blond hair that made him appear to be standing in a perpetual wind tunnel.

“I’ve told Grayson everything that happened,” Hal said, “but he has to verify some of the facts with you. I didn’t know reporters still did that.”

Tom sat down and answered a few questions.

“See?” Hal said to the reporter. “I was telling the truth.”

Grayson turned his computer so Tom and Hal could see it. “I’ve downloaded stock photos of the river that are in the public domain, but I’d like a few shots of the two of you together. That’s important for a personal-interest article.”

“How about a picture of Tom pulling me out of the fountain in front of the building?” Hal asked.

“Let’s do some shots in here first.”

Grayson pulled a foam board with a diagram of the river on it from beneath the table. He asked Hal to hold it while Tom pointed to the place near Double Trouble rapids where they were thrown from the boat. Outside, Grayson took multiple photos in front of the fountain.

“How long is the article going to be?” Hal asked. “I’m sure my mother will want a bunch of copies.”

“As long as my editor will allow.”

Grayson and his wind-tunnel hair left.

“Do you have a minute to come up to my new office?” Hal asked. “I enjoy showing it off. Up until six months ago I was at the old Blackstock mill.”

“You got a promotion?”

“Yeah, but I’m at the bottom of the food chain at this place.”

Hal’s office was on the second floor. It reminded Tom of his work space at Barnes, McGraw, and Crowther. Through a single window Tom could see the lodge Leanne mentioned. It was built of the same brick as the office building and connected by a covered walkway. Hal closed the door. Tom sat down.

“Most of the big bosses are on the first floor,” Hal said. “Except Mr. Pelham. He has an office on this floor with its own conference room. It’s off-limits to worker bees like me.”

“But you’re friends with Rick.”

“That’s personal. His father is always Mr. Pelham to me, and I’ve never been invited over to the house when Mr. Pelham was there.”

Tom glanced around the office. A group photo of employees hung on the wall. Arthur was standing in front.

“Who’s in that picture?”

Hal followed Tom’s gaze and turned in his chair. “That’s the local management team.”

“Including Harold Addington?”

“Yes.”

Hal walked over to the picture and pointed to a man in the front row close to Arthur.

“There he is,” Hal said.

Tom could see the family resemblance between Addington and his daughter.

“Did you know him?” Tom asked.

“Barely.”

“What was his job?”

“Mr. Addington was in charge of developing the European market for our products, especially the high-yield certificates of deposit from the bank in Barbados.”

“Why was he working from here instead of New York or Boston?”

“I think he got in hot water in Boston, and they brought him to Bethel to rehabilitate him.”

“Rehabilitate? I thought you didn’t know much about him.”

“Because I work in human resources, I hear scuttlebutt about other employees.”

“Anything you can share with me?”

Hal lowered his voice. “Mr. Addington had access to highly sensitive proprietary information about Mr. Pelham’s investment strategies. The details about that sort of stuff are way above my pay grade, but every financial firm on the planet would like to know what Mr. Pelham is thinking about the markets. Arthur Pelham is a genius. There’s no other explanation for his ability to outperform ninety percent of the competition year after year.”

“Ninety percent?”

“Maybe I’m off a bit on the number, but the company has been on a phenomenal run, especially over the past fifteen years. Anyway, once someone has been on the inside, upper management tries hard to keep them around. It’s great for job security.”

“Any idea how Addington messed up?”

Hal shrugged. “The only way he could. He was a salesman who didn’t sell up to expectations. I think the problem may have been that Pelham Financial was new to the European market. It takes time to build trust with clients.”

“Yeah.”

“I can understand why you’re interested in the last man to see your father alive. You almost became that person to me.”

“I’m glad I wasn’t,” Tom answered.

“Me too.” Hal stepped back and leaned against his desk. “Can I ask your opinion about a personal matter?”

“Sure.”

“Do you think the article in the newspaper will help or hurt my chances of convincing Leanne Henderson to go out with me?”

“Help,” Tom answered immediately. “You came so close to death that it will make spending time with you seem extra special.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Put it to the test,” Tom said. “Give her a copy of the article, ask the name of her favorite restaurant, and offer to take her there this weekend to help you celebrate being alive.”

“Wow.” Hal nodded. “That’s awesome.”

“Of course, if she turns you down, it’s a strong signal that she wishes you were dead.”

Hal picked up a paperweight and cocked his arm as if preparing to throw it at Tom. “You need a knot on your head to go with the cut on your chin.”

On his way back to the office, Tom’s cell phone rang. He glanced down at the caller ID. It was Rose Addington. He pressed the Receive button.

chapter
EIGHTEEN

I
owe you an apology,” Rose said as soon as Tom answered. “Whatever happened between our fathers is no excuse for my going off on a rant directed at you. I’m sorry for the way I acted at your office.”

“We both have questions,” Tom answered evenly. “And I’m trying to find answers. If it turns out my father owes your family money, then I promise to make it good as soon as I can.”

“Mum and I aren’t greedy.”

“What I said stands because it’s the right thing to do.”

Tom turned into a parking space in front of the office but stayed in the car. He didn’t want Bernice to hear the conversation. He told Rose about the subpoena.

“You may want to have a lawyer in court to represent your father’s estate when I respond on Wednesday.”

“Do you have any idea why the government’s barrister thinks the scant bit of information you have is important?”

“If so, it’s not in the subpoena,” Tom said, dodging the question.

“Doesn’t he have to say what he’s looking for? Isn’t there something in your Constitution that you can point out to the judge?”

“An accused has the right to face his accusers, but no one is accused of anything. At least, not yet.”

“But it sounds to me like this subpoena is a first step to that happening.”

Once again, Tom was impressed with Rose’s insight. However, the accused in this case was most likely her father, a dead man.

“That would require the DA to either file what is called an accusation or present evidence to a grand jury for an indictment.”

“You seem rather calm about this.”

“I’m in court all the time, so this is my world. Of course, I’m usually representing someone else. I have no choice but to respond.”

“Do you think my mum and I should hire a barrister?”

“Like I said, that would be a good idea.”

Tom would much rather deal with a lawyer than Rose.

“Can you recommend someone?”

“No.”

Rose was silent for a moment. “Would that be because you and I might not see eye to eye about this matter?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“It’s coming clearer to me now. Thanks for speaking with me.”

The call ended. Tom put his phone in his pocket and got out of the car. Rose Addington was right. One way or the other, everything was soon going to become much clearer.

______

The
Bethel Examiner
was delivered midmorning the following day. The paperboy for the downtown route that included the Crane law office dropped off four extra copies at Bernice’s desk. Tom, who was in his father’s office with the door closed, heard her call out.

“Tom! Come see yourself !”

Tom opened the door. “You could use the intercom feature on the phone,” he said.

“Don’t get all professional on me. If I want to tell Carl something important, I use my voice.”

Bernice laid out the paper and opened it to the third-page headline: “Local Rafters Survive Close Call on Ocoee River.”

“That’s original,” Tom observed.

“Quit it,” Bernice said, shushing him. “Sonny is still a baby. And I’m reading the article. The paperboy dropped off extra copies. Get your own.”

Tom turned to the article in another copy and read it. There wasn’t much competing news in Bethel, and Grayson’s editor had been generous with space.