Mountain Top

by Robert Whitlow

“Bobby didn’t offer an explanation. He just wanted us to know what happened.”

  “There’s more to it than that. In Sam’s dream, the church burned to the ground, which wouldn’t happen unless something at the church was going to be totally destroyed.”

  “I just hope the dream is figurative, not real.”

  “It’s not literal.” Mike sniffed the air in the room. “But if we don’t eat soon, our supper may be in flames.”

  After they finished supper, Mike pushed away his empty plate.

  “No wonder Sam Miller is round enough to play Santa Claus,” he said. “It would take a lot of miles behind a lawn mower to work off a meal like that.”

  “If you ate like this every night, you could play Santa Claus by Christmas.”

  “And you could be a pregnant Mrs. Claus.”

  Peg started toward the sink.

  “Stop,” Mike said. “I’ll take care of the cleanup.”

  Peg returned to her chair. “Make sure you save the leftovers,” she said. “We’ll need them.”

  Mike cleared the table.

  “After I finish in here, I’m going to write an e-mail to every member of the session, notifying them of my decision to continue defending Sam and thanking them for the sabbatical to help take care of you.”

  “And that’s it?”

  “Don’t you agree?”

  Peg sighed. “Yes, I just wonder how we’ll feel in four months when there’s no more salary.”

  “Maybe I can work for Sam. I cut several lawns in our neighborhood when I was growing up.”

  Peg stared down at the table. Mike came over and put his arm around her.

  “I know this is a serious decision. But it isn’t just about Sam Miller. In the back of my mind, I think God is moving us to the next stage of our journey. We didn’t anticipate finding a position at Little Creek when I finished seminary in Virginia. I didn’t foresee Sam Miller coming into our lives, but it’s opened our eyes to spiritual things and caused us to be more honest with each other. I can’t predict the outcome of our current situation; however, I believe we have no choice but to trust the Lord. During the next three months, one of my jobs is to recognize the next opportunity He’s preparing for us.”

  “Not bad for an impromptu sermon. But don’t try to stop me from complaining.”

  Mike picked up her left hand and kissed it. “Complain all you want, as long as you stick with me.”

  IT ONLY TOOK MIKE A FEW MINUTES TO COMPOSE THE FIRST draft of a letter to the elders, but he spent more than half an hour revising it. The final result was more conciliatory than he’d anticipated and sounded more like a thank-you note than the defiant rejection of an unreasonable ultimatum. He promised to support the session’s decision to the congregation and offered to facilitate the transition to the interim minister. He took the letter to Peg, who was lying on the couch in the great room watching TV and scratching Judge’s neck.

  “What do you think?” he asked when she finished.

  “You write like a man who doesn’t easily give in to road rage.”

  “I don’t have a problem with road rage.”

  “I know, and that makes you different from a lot of people. The elders who have a conscience should feel ashamed of their duplicity when they read this. The ones who don’t care about character will consider it a sign of weakness.”

  “Weak?” Mike asked. “I don’t want to look weak.”

  “Anyone who interprets your letter as weakness doesn’t know the true definition of strength.” Peg reached up and patted Mike’s chest. “You have a strong heart. And not because you can pedal a bike up a mountain.”

  MIKE RETURNED TO THE OFFICE. HE STARED AT THE E-MAIL before pressing the Send button. A step this significant justified a last-second opportunity to abort if a final warning surfaced in his mind. None came, and he launched his missive into cyberspace. He spent the rest of the evening watching the Cincinnati bull pen barely hold on to a five-run lead.

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, MIKE RECEIVED A CALL FROM Braxton Hodges.

  “Dressler is back in town,” Braxton said.

  “Is he in the office?”

  “Not yet and won’t be for long. According to the managing editor, Dressler has resigned his position at the paper and is moving back to Mobile.”

  “Do you have his home number?”

  “I can get it, but you don’t have to track him down. He’ll be in a meeting here at eleven o’clock, and you should be able to catch him after it’s over.”

  “How long will the meeting last?”

  “Not more than thirty minutes. I’ll be in it and will make sure to stall him if you’re not here.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be there.”

  MIKE TURNED LEFT AT TRAFFIC LIGHT NUMBER FOUR AND arrived at the offices of the Barlow County newspaper. The paper was printed in Asheville and shipped to Shelton for twice-a-week delivery. The newspaper office was in a drab brown building on a side street a block from the courthouse. He parked beside Braxton Hodges’s car. Glancing in the front seat of the reporter’s car, Mike saw the familiar collection of fast-food bags and sandwich wrappers. Inside the building, Mike approached a young woman sitting behind a cheap wooden desk and asked for Hodges.

  While he waited, Mike examined the framed front pages that covered two walls from floor to ceiling. The newspaper had been in business for more than seventy years. Headlines of major world events—news of wars, assassinations, presidential elections, and two state football championships for the local high school—were included in the historical gallery. Braxton Hodges opened a door leading to the newsroom.

  “The meeting is over, and Dressler is waiting to speak with you.”

  Mike entered a newsroom that bore little similarity to the bustling hive of a big-city publication. No phones were ringing; the workers in view didn’t seem in a hurry. News in Shelton happened at a slower pace.

  “Where can I meet with him?” Mike asked.

  “In the conference room. Everyone else has cleared out, but I asked him to stay. When I mentioned your name, he immediately agreed to hang around.”

  “Does he know why I’m here?”

  “Of course not. This is an investigation. In those situations, the best information comes out when people don’t know what’s important.”

  They came around a corner to a door marked “Conference Room A.” Hodges opened the door for Mike.

  “I’ll leave you in private,” Hodges said.

  Dressler stood and shook Mike’s hand. The former bank officer looked tired. The conference room was only large enough for a small table surrounded by six chairs. Dressler motioned for Mike to have a seat.

  “Thanks for waiting,” Mike began as he sat down.

  Dressler sat down across from him.

  “No, thank you for coming to the hospital. Your visit enabled Marie to go in peace. It also helped me face the funeral”—Dressler paused—“and the future. You don’t know the details of our problems, but losing my wife would have been a thousand times worse if we hadn’t been able to come to terms with some very hurtful events in our past.”

  “I’m glad we could help.”

  “And please tell the man who came with you how much I appreciated him as well.”

  “I will. His name is Sam Miller.”

  Dressler didn’t hide his surprise. “The man who embezzled money from the church?”

  “Did he?” Mike responded.

  “Well, I know—” Dressler stopped.

  “That he didn’t do anything wrong?”

  Dressler leaned away from the table. “Since leaving the bank, I don’t know anything about the investigation. That’s in the past.”

  “But it occurred while you were still employed at the bank. I’m defending Mr. Miller against the criminal charges. Your name came up during the course of my investigation, and I’d like to ask you some questions.”

  Dressler stared at Mike for a few seconds. “Is that why you came to the hospital? To ask
me questions about Sam Miller?”

  “Yes,” Mike admitted, “but once we arrived it became obvious God had something else in mind that was more important than my questions. Without Sam’s unselfishness, none of what you thanked me for a few minutes ago would have happened. Just because an event is in the past doesn’t mean it’s not affecting the present and the future. Isn’t that what you said?”

  Dressler looked around the room.

  “Are you recording this conversation?”

  “No.”

  Dressler glanced over his shoulder at the closed door then leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I met with the representatives of the church to verify that Miller didn’t have authorization to transfer funds into his account.”

  “Who asked you to meet with them?”

  “Jack Hatcher.”

  “What else did Mr. Hatcher ask you to do?”

  “Answering that question is not going to help Mr. Miller or me.”

  “Why will it hurt you?”

  “I want to work in the banking business in south Alabama. I already have a black mark against me because of my termination. If I end up testifying adversely to the bank in a criminal case, it would make it more difficult for me to move on with my life. I have two grandchildren who are depending on me as the primary means of their financial support, and I need to get back to work as soon as possible.”

  “Why couldn’t you help Sam Miller? He helped you.”

  Dressler looked down at the table and sighed.

  “Because all I have are suspicions. If you’re looking for hard evidence of improper activity by the bank, I’m not the person to give it to you.”

  “What are your suspicions?”

  Dressler hesitated. “What have you found out in your investigation?”

  “That the signature on the two checks was imprinted. Sam didn’t sign them.”

  Dressler nodded. Mike waited.

  “Your response?” Mike pressed him.

  “I think you’re on the right track.”

  “Why?”

  Dressler pressed his lips tightly together. Unlike most bankers, he didn’t have a face that hid its struggles. Mike watched the conflict until Dressler leaned back in his chair and spoke.

  “Part of my job at the bank was to stay abreast of technological developments that could affect bank security. Hatcher approached me with questions about forgery techniques, and, at the time, I assumed someone had presented false signatures on checks negotiated at the bank. I made my own inquiry about recent irregularities and nothing turned up. A few days later, Hatcher asked me to research legitimate companies with the capability to make a printed signature appear original. He said he might want to hire an outside consultant. I gave him a few names, then authorized payment for an invoice that came across my desk a month or so later. Within a few days, I was assigned to oversee the internal investigation of the Miller transactions. When I examined the signatures on the checks, I saw they were not just similar, but identical. It was a very stupid attempt to embezzle money, but there was also the presence of sophisticated technology that didn’t serve the embezzler’s purpose. It didn’t make sense. A smart forger would have lifted two different signatures from the same person and used them. Then, my meeting with the men from the church confirmed that Miller was an uneducated man who might have tried to steal money but wouldn’t have done so in the way presented to me. I brought it up with Hatcher, and he told me not to worry about it because Miller was a ‘troublemaker.’”

  “What happened next?”

  “Nothing. Hatcher accepted my report and instructed me to close the file.”

  Mike wasn’t sure he was getting all the truth. He took a copy of the minutes from his briefcase and laid it on the table.

  “Please read this.”

  Dressler put on a pair of reading glasses. The banker pressed his lips together. Mike had to force himself to breathe normally.

  “How did you get this?” Dressler asked when he finished.

  “Lawfully in my investigation. Were you present at this meeting?”

  “No.”

  “Why did Hatcher assign you the task of ‘handling’ Miller?”

  “He didn’t. All I handled was the brief investigation I mentioned.”

  “That’s not the way I read it.”

  “I can’t explain it either unless that’s what led to our initial conversation. Cohulla Creek is another matter.”

  “What do you know about it?”

  “It’s under consideration for residential development.”

  “How big?”

  “Very big, but not yet public. Do you know what’s going on there?”

  “I know about the options on file at the courthouse, and the plans to obtain property from the state to build a man-made lake.”

  “How did you find out about the lake?” Dressler asked with raised eyebrows.

  “It’s hard to keep something this big quiet in Barlow County.”

  Dressler shrugged. “It will all come out eventually, but until that happens, my knowledge of the deal is the leverage I have against a negative reference from the bank. Hatcher and the other developers want to keep the scope of the project secret until every piece is in place.”

  “Is it an honest deal?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How is Butch Niles involved?”

  Mike watched Dressler’s face closely while asking the question. He saw the banker’s jaw tighten.

  “Niles is the one responsible for my termination at the bank,” Dressler responded through clenched teeth.

  “But you were senior to him in the bank’s hierarchy.”

  “Not at the end. He assumed control for my area of responsibility and wanted someone else in the position. Hatcher backed him, and I didn’t have a chance.”

  Dressler hadn’t answered Mike’s question but continued talking.

  “So I really can’t give you any information that you don’t already have. I’m not a lawyer, but I don’t think my conversation with Hatcher about printing signatures on checks is going to help Mr. Miller.”

  “Probably not,” Mike responded. “It’s nonspecific and remote.”

  Dressler stood up to signal an end to the meeting. “And thanks again to you and Mr. Miller for coming to the hospital.”

  Not willing to retreat, Mike placed his pen on the table.

  “One other question. What was the name of the company retained by Hatcher—the one that sent an invoice?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “If you saw the name, would it come back to you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Where is your research?”

  “It could be anywhere. I didn’t open a file. I just handed the list of companies to Hatcher.”

  “Will you let me know if you remember the company?”

  “Sure.”

  Mike pulled out a subpoena and handed it Dressler.

  “Sorry, but I have to give this to you before you leave town,” Mike said. “Otherwise, I’d have to serve you in Alabama.”

  Dressler glanced at the subpoena then dropped it on the table. “This will be a tremendous inconvenience, and I don’t think I can help Mr. Miller.”

  Mike resisted the urge to point out that praying for Marie Dressler had been inconvenient, too.

  “It’s part of a bigger picture,” he said, as casually as he could muster. “I’ll let you know if the scheduling of the case changes.”

  “Leaving the subpoena on the table isn’t an option?” Dressler asked.

  “No, sir. I’ll notify the court it was personally served while you were in Barlow County.”

  Mike obtained Dressler’s contact information in Alabama and remained in the conference room after the banker left. In less than a minute, Braxton Hodges joined him.

  “Well?” Hodges asked.

  “Well is a good word to use,” Mike replied with a shrug. “I have to keep digging to find any fresh water. I didn’t get much from Dr
essler except the water I poured in to prime the pump.”

  “Huh?”

  “He asked me what I knew, then fed it back to me with a few minor embellishments. I subpoenaed him to the trial, but I may not use him.”

  “What about Butch Niles and Cohulla Creek?”

  Mike related the few tidbits of information. “But all that shows is the scope of the project was known within the upper echelons at the bank. That’s not a big revelation. He didn’t respond to my specific question about Butch Niles.”

  “Why would he try to protect Niles? He’s the one who fired him.”

  “I don’t know. The degree of appreciation Dressler had for our visit to the hospital only took me so far. It unlocked his wife’s heart to God but wasn’t a master key to the Miller case.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Mike smiled. “Nothing you would print in the paper, although it would be at least as interesting as the articles about alternative health remedies.”

  “Did you read them?”

  “Absolutely, and I’m anxiously waiting for the next installment. I’m hoping you can locate a herbal truth serum that I can slip into Jack Hatcher’s sweet tea at the Ashe Café. Are you hungry?”

  “Sure. Let’s go.”

  It was a short walk from the paper to the restaurant. When Mike and Hodges entered, Mike saw Bobby Lambert, Maxwell Forrest, and two other men he didn’t know already seated at a back table. Bobby looked up at Mike and immediately turned away. Forrest had his back to the door.

  “Sarah Ann,” Mike said to the hostess on duty. “Braxton and I would like to sit in the smoking section.”

  “You don’t smoke,” Hodges said as they crossed to the far side of the restaurant. “And I quit.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t want to be next to my former law partners.”

  Mike sat so he could see the rest of the room.

  “What’s going on with you?” Hodges observed. “You’re not the one on trial.”

  “If you only knew,” Mike responded.

  The two men ordered their food.

  “Tell me,” Hodges asked when the waitress left.

  “Off the record?”

  “Sure.”

  Mike shook his head. “Church politics have given me a serious bite wound.”