Tiffany and Rose returned from their tour of the house.
“We’re going to save the barn for another time,” Tiffany said. “And I’m not going to say another word all night. I could listen to Rose talk in that accent of hers for hours.”
Tom introduced Rose to Rick.
“Please say Tom’s name,” Rick said to Rose.
“Tom Crane.”
“Actually, it’s Joshua Thomas Crane,” Rick said.
Rose looked at Tom. “That’s a name with significance. Joshua Thomas Crane, Esquire.”
“And that’s a very sexy accent,” Rick said to Rose.
“Brits like to hear your accent,” Rose replied. “The slurring of words in the Southern drawl is pleasant to our ears.”
“Well, I’m your man,” Rick replied, reaching out and offering Rose his arm. “Let me say the alphabet for you.”
Tiffany hooked her arm around Tom’s. They followed Rick and Rose down the hall. Tiffany squeezed Tom’s arm several times during the short walk to the dining room. Tom felt torn in two as desire battled his will.
“Since this is such a momentous occasion, I thought we would eat in here,” Tiffany said, releasing Tom after one last squeeze.
Shiny plates and gold-plated utensils glistened on the table.
“What’s the occasion?” Rose asked.
“Any time Tom comes for dinner,” Tiffany said.
Tom smiled awkwardly. He and Rose sat across from each other, with Rick and Tiffany at opposite ends of the long table.
“I feel like I’m in an old English manor house,” Rose said as she glanced to either side. “You need a cell phone to talk to each other.”
“We’ve been married so long, we can read each other’s thoughts,” Rick replied.
“Not all the time,” Tiffany answered with a smile and nod toward Tom.
Marie brought in the first course, an artichoke soup whipped into a smooth puree. Tom didn’t like artichokes, but the soup was delicious. It was nice to get the meal started so he could focus on something besides Tiffany. A small salad with fresh fruit and homemade dressing followed. The main course was a medium-rare tenderloin steak seasoned with wine and mushrooms. While they ate, Tiffany and Rick both asked Rose questions about her family and work with orphans. Tiffany seemed genuinely interested. Tom enjoyed learning more about Rose too.
“Rick, we need to send money to Rose’s ministry,” Tiffany said at one point.
Rick nodded his head. “As soon as Tom leaves the ranks of the unemployed, he and I could sponsor several kids on our own.”
“You’re unemployed?” Rose asked Tom.
“I lost my job a few days before I came back to Bethel,” Tom said, swallowing a bite of steak.
“Sorry, buddy,” Rick said sheepishly. “I wasn’t trying to embarrass you.”
“It’s going to work out for the best. I have an excellent offer from another Atlanta law firm that I intend to accept in a few days.”
“Is that for certain?” Tiffany asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m sure everything will work out just fine,” Tiffany replied, then turned to Rose. “You may have been in the dark about Tom’s job status, but tell us something interesting you’ve learned about him during the past few weeks.”
“That’s easy,” Rose answered. “Tom has been going through the most marvelous spiritual transformation, and I’ve been privileged to have a ringside seat. He’s encountered God’s personal love in such a sweet way. I know he’s been spending hours and hours at the office reading the Bible and jotting down his thoughts and prayers. What else? Oh, he’s learning how to hear the voice of the Lord in areas where he needs practical guidance. For me, it’s been wonderful hearing about it all. It’s so fresh and new.”
Rick’s and Tiffany’s faces showed a mixture of shock and disbelief. Tiffany held her fork in midair.
“Is this true?” Rick asked Tom after he regained his bearings. “I mean, are we talking something beyond going to church?”
“Yeah,” Tom replied. “Everything she said and then some. Rose and I have had some great talks. She knows so much more than I do about what it means to be a genuine Christian. Of course, Elias has been a great help too. He’s so excited that he wants to go to heaven right away and tell my father about it.”
Tiffany’s face looked pale. Tom realized he’d stumbled onto the best way to communicate what she needed to know.
“I met with Lane Conner the other day,” he continued. “I may ask him to baptize me in the creek that runs by the church before I go back to Atlanta. If I can set it up, I’d like both of you to come. I’ll be sharing my testimony.”
“Are you talking about putting on a flimsy robe and wading into the water to be dunked?” Rick asked.
“Don’t worry. I’ll wear swim trunks underneath. And I’m going to invite your father to come if he’s in town.”
“Do you send written invitations to something like that?” Tiffany asked.
“I’ll just give everyone a call. It won’t be a mob scene.” Tom looked at Rose. “I hope you’ll still be in town.”
“I hope so too,” Rose replied with a smile. “I wouldn’t want to miss it. The water might be a bit chilly. It’s hard to give a testimony when your teeth are chattering.”
“The creek near the church won’t be any colder than the Ocoee.” Tom turned to Rick. “I could always wear a wet suit. Could I borrow one from you?”
“Uh, sure.”
The conversation turned to more mundane matters as they ate peach melba for dessert, but Tom knew Rick’s and Tiffany’s minds were stuck in place. As for him, the inner turmoil associated with Tiffany had fled. For now.
After supper they remained at the table. Rick and Tom talked about old times. Rose seemed content to listen. Tiffany participated some in the conversation but mostly kept quiet. When Tom and Rose got up to leave, Tiffany touched Tom’s arm and held him back in the dining room as Rick and Rose moved into the hallway.
“What does this mean to us?” she asked in a low but intense voice.
Tom looked directly in her eyes. “It means I’m going to pray your marriage to Rick gets better, not wish that it would end.”
Tiffany looked down. Tom saw her bite her lip. After a moment passed, she started walking rapidly after Rick and Rose. Tom followed.
“Thank you so much,” Rose said to Tiffany when they reached the front door. “It was a wonderful meal. I needed a time like this.”
Tiffany gave her a quick hug. She stood in front of Tom and folded her arms across her chest. Rick shook Tom’s hand.
“Next time you see me I won’t be wearing a starched shirt,” Rick said. “I’ll call you next week. Deer season starts soon, and I want to show you a spot I’ve picked out.”
“Can I bring Rover?”
“Absolutely.”
Outside, Tom held the door open for Rose. When he glanced over his shoulder, Tiffany was still standing in the open door, a blank stare on her face. Tom drove slowly down the driveway.
“May I say something personal to you?” Rose asked when they reached the bottom of the hill. “It has to do with Tiffany.”
“Yes.”
“She still has feelings for you.”
“I know,” Tom replied. “But something happened when you started talking about God that changed everything. Before we left the house I told Tiffany I was going to pray for her marriage to succeed, not hope it would fall apart.”
“What did she say?”
“Nothing.”
As they passed through Bethel, Tom looked sideways at Rose. “How long are you going to stay with your mother in Bethel?”
“I’m not sure. I still haven’t booked my airplane ticket.”
“Would you consider staying a few extra days?”
“Why?”
“To come to my baptism.” Tom paused. “And because I’d like to get to know you better. We’ve spent most of our time focusing on the money issue. I mean,
you didn’t even know I’d lost my job.”
“Do you have other dark secrets?”
Tom remembered his meeting with Charlie Williams.
“Yes,” he admitted. “But I’d rather talk about good things, not bad.”
“Yes, there’s enough darkness in the world. I like being positive.” Rose touched him lightly on the arm. “It’s kind of you to ask me to stay. And I meant every word I said tonight that it’s been a delight watching the Lord work in your life.”
“Then stay in Bethel until I’m baptized.”
“Maybe,” Rose replied with a smile.
After he dropped off Rose, Tom didn’t think about Tiffany Pelham while he drove to Elias’s house. Between the Pelhams’ front porch and their dining room table, her spell over him was broken.
The pleasant scent left by Rose Addington, however, lingered in his car.
chapter
TWENTY-SEVEN
The following Monday morning at 10:00 a.m. Tom received a call on his cell phone from Arthur’s assistant.
“Mr. Pelham had to go to Washington, DC, and asked me to let you know everything is in place so that you can proceed.”
“Was he more specific?”
“No. He said you’d understand what he meant.”
Tom recalled Arthur’s statement that the Harrelson investigation was being transferred to the federal authorities in Washington.
“Do you know why he went to Washington?”
“No, sir.”
“Did he leave you the name and phone number of an assistant US attorney in New York?”
“No, he left early this morning on the corporate jet and told me he’d be unavailable for the rest of the day.”
“Okay.”
Tom logged on to the website for the US Attorney’s Office in New York City. There were scores of assistant attorneys, several with names that might be Slavic. Cold-calling government attorneys to ask for information about an ongoing criminal investigation would be a waste of time. And Tom didn’t need someone to hold his hand when he talked to Owen Harrelson.
Before making the call he wrote down a list of questions as if preparing for a deposition. Because the conversation was going to be recorded, Tom didn’t want to sound unprepared. And he didn’t want it to veer offtrack. As he placed the call to Harrelson’s cell phone, Tom secretly wished the internal affairs officer wouldn’t cooperate. If that happened, it would painlessly end Tom’s involvement in the matter.
Harrelson didn’t answer, and the call went to voice mail. Relieved, Tom left a message.
Fifteen minutes later his phone beeped and signaled a call from an unavailable number. He pressed the Receive button.
“Hello.”
“Owen Harrelson here,” the familiar voice said. “Sorry I missed your call. Is everything set for the hearing next week?”
Tom looked down at his questions. “Almost. The only thing I need is corroborating evidence supporting the relationship between Addington and the British bank account used to funnel the money from the European customers to Barbados. I have the data from Barbados but not the specific information from the UK.”
“Crane, you have what you need,” Harrelson responded bluntly. “Quit dragging your feet. Arthur and I want this taken care of as soon as possible.”
Tom was ready. “I understand the reason why you don’t want to disclose client names, but blanket refusal of access to the bank records in the UK doesn’t make sense.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Harrelson said, his voice getting louder. “And I’ve already consulted our legal department about taking action against you if you don’t turn over the money in the trust account.”
“I’d do the same if I was in your position.”
Harrelson was silent for a moment. “Since you still want to argue about this, do I need to bring Arthur into this conversation?”
“Is he available?”
“No, he’s in Washington, but your stalling has gone on long enough. If you won’t cooperate, the three of us can get on a conference call when he gets back. I can assure you it won’t be a pleasant conversation.”
“I think that’s a good idea. I’m available any time.”
Tom was now enjoying making Harrelson squirm.
“Look, Arthur’s primary desire is to get this over with,” Harrelson said in a more subdued voice. “And I’d rather tell him it’s taken care of than accuse you of failing to cooperate.”
“I’m not asking for much. All I want to do is speak with a contact at the UK bank.”
“What kind of confirmation will satisfy you so we can move forward?”
“The information from Barbados is detailed. The data from the UK is not. I’d like proof Addington controlled the British account.”
“I’m not sure I can get a written record, but I might be able to arrange a phone call for you with an officer at the bank who can verbally confirm Addington’s relationship to the accounts.”
Tom swallowed. “What’s his name?”
“I’m not going to tell you until I find out if he’s willing to help. We worked together in the past, and he, of course, knows about Addington’s scheme. If the embezzlement had resulted in a criminal prosecution, my contact would have been a primary source of information for the UK prosecutors. His job at the bank is similar to mine here at Pelham. That’s why we worked together in the past. But before I go to the trouble of seeing if I can set this up, I have to know from you that it won’t lead to more questions and more delays. I’ve humored you because of your personal relationship with Arthur, but that leniency ends now. Are we clear on that?”
“Yes. If your friend can do what you say, that will be sufficient.”
“He’s not a friend; he’s a former business associate. I’ll give him a call shortly. He should be at the office.”
“Thanks for your—”
Harrelson ended the call in the middle of Tom’s thank-you. Tom slowly lowered the cell phone from his ear and laid it on the desk.
Shortly after he passed the bar exam, Tom observed the trial of a former client of Barnes, McGraw, and Crowther who was charged with embezzlement. The prosecution’s case included a recorded phone conversation in which the defendant talked to a coconspirator who was secretly cooperating with the authorities. Tom never imagined he could find himself in a similar situation. Someday he might have to sit on a witness stand, face Harrelson across a courtroom, and confirm the date and time they talked.
Tom waited. His next phone call should be from someone with the US Attorney’s Office in New York or Washington. There was a knock on the door. He jumped.
“Come in,” he said.
“What are you doing all closed up in here?” Bernice asked. “You’ve been spending so much time with the door shut you’ve hurt my feelings.”
“I don’t mean to hurt your feelings,” Tom replied, “but I’ve kept you in the dark more to protect you from a hassle than to deny you information. I promise that as soon as possible, I’ll fill you in on as many details as I can.”
Bernice pressed her lips together. Tom could tell she wasn’t satisfied. His cell phone beeped. It was an unavailable number again.
“Uh, I’ve got to take this in private, Bernice,” he said. “Please shut the door.”
Bernice turned around and slammed the door. Tom raised the phone to his ear. “Hello.”
It wasn’t anyone with the US Attorney’s Office. It was Owen Harrelson.
“I’m going to conference you in,” Harrelson said. “You’re going to be talking to George Nettles.”
Tom’s heart started beating faster. “Okay,” Tom said.
“Are you there, George?” Harrelson asked.
“I’m here,” a man with a deep voice replied.
“We’re on the line with Tom Crane. As you know, the money Addington misappropriated ended up in his father’s trust account.”
“Is he the man whose father died in the boating accident with Addington?” Nettles ask
ed.
“Yes,” Harrelson answered.
“Right,” Nettles responded. “Sorry to hear about that, although it caused this unfortunate financial situation to come to light.”
Tom chafed at such a callous reference to his father.
“I sent you copies of what I furnished Tom last week,” Harrelson continued. “But he has other questions. Have you pulled up information about the account Addington set up with the bank?”
“Yes, it’s in front of me.”
“Tom, go ahead and ask your questions,” Harrelson said.
Tom suddenly felt tongue-tied. He quickly referred to his notes. “Uh, what is the account number and when was it opened?”
Nettles rattled off a series of numbers and dates.
“And who were authorized signatories on the account?” Tom asked.
“Harold Addington, but it wasn’t a personal account. The name listed was Bellevue, Ltd.”
“Is that a British company?”
“Yes, the documents furnished by Addington indicated that he registered it himself in the UK.”
“Why isn’t the Bellevue name listed on the check transferring the money to the bank in Barbados?”
“We issue a few checks to a customer when an account is opened. The printed checks are sent by post at a later time. That never happened with this account. Apparently he didn’t anticipate much activity.”
“Okay. What are the dates and amounts of deposits Addington made to the account?”
As Nettles spoke, Tom wrote down the information, all of which matched the amounts entrusted to Addington by investors who thought they were buying CDs in the Pelham bank in Barbados.
“Do you have anything with Addington’s signature on it completed when he opened the account?” Tom asked, backtracking for a moment.
“Yes.”
“Can you furnish it to me?”
“I’m not supposed to release that information, but given the circumstances I can send you copies of disclosure forms he signed. What is your fax number?”
“I don’t have a fax machine at this office. Can you scan and send to me?”
“No, that would create a record of the transfer of information here at the bank. If you want this information, I’m going to have to furnish it outside normal channels.”
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