clustered, balancing small helpings of appetizers in one hand and a drink in the other. Tom Adams was working the room. In a nice ecumenical move, Nancy Groggins chatted with Al Ulrich. Barbara Ulrich was flitting from one flower to the next. At the moment Father Tully spotted Barbara, she was shaking hands with Lou Durocher. Durocher exhibited only momentary surprise to come away from that greeting with a note in his hand. Which he immediately slipped unread into his pants pocket.
Second message delivered.
Just beginning his trek down the appetizer board was Al Ulrich. Father Tully reflected that he had talked with Nancy, the other candidate. And that Mr. Adams had asked his opinion on the two hopefuls. He joined Ulrich in line.
Ulrich looked up, did a doubletake, and smiled. “I haven’t had a chance yet, Father, to thank you and your order for honoring our boss.”
“Not at all. If anyone deserved the award, it’s certainly Tom Adams.”
“You just met him for the first time tonight, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to be in town for a while?”
“About two weeks. I’m filling in for a local priest so he can go on vacation.”
“I hope that doesn’t tie you down too much. What I mean is, I hope you’ll get a chance to get to know Mr. Adams. He really is a terrific guy—above and beyond his financial contributions.”
As Ulrich selected another appetizer, Father Tully looked up to see Barbara Ulrich hand a paper napkin to Jack Fradet. Apparently the napkin contained a note of some sort. Fradet slipped it into his pocket.
Third message delivered.
Father Tully began to wonder about these missives. Did Mrs. Ulrich have one for everybody? Were they like party favors or fortune cookies? Strange.
Returning his attention to the table, there before the priest was a large platter containing an ample supply of deviled eggs, one of his favorite morsels. Would anyone notice if he went overboard? He slipped five onto his plate.
Ulrich chuckled. “Like ’em?”
“Well, yes, now that you mention it.”
They moved down the table.
“Speaking of liking,” said Father Tully, “it seems pretty clear that you like Tom Adams.”
“I’ve never met anyone like him,” Ulrich responded. “I mean, I’m not a particularly religious person. And I tend to be skeptical of people who wear their religion oh their sleeve.
“But it’s not like that with Mr. Adams. He puts himself and his pocketbook where his mouth is. I think if he could, he’d be the manager of the new branch himself. Of course, that’s not possible.”
“Speaking of that”—Father Tully, finished at the hors d’oeuvre table, stepped aside with Ulrich—”isn’t this some kind of cruel and unusual treatment to keep you and Nancy Groggins on tenterhooks over that job?”
Ulrich reacted as if he himself had been challenged. “Certainly not! This is a difficult decision. There’s a lot riding on this new branch. We aren’t one of the conglomerate banks. We’re taking a big risk opening in that part of town. If we succeed, we’re going to be a lot stronger. The city of Detroit needs a lot of this type of financial commitment. It needs a presence like ours.”
“And if this move fails?”
Ulrich shook his head. “The biggies will laugh us out of town. They’ll pretend that it would take the clout only they could deliver to make this work. It would weaken our position in communities where we’re already established. It would be a disaster for us. We really can’t afford to fail.”
“And it makes that much difference … who the manager is?”
“The manager sets the tone—or should. The policy of the banking unit. The measure of contact with our customers. That’s basically the role of the manager.”
“You sure you’d be the better choice?”
Ulrich’s smile was slightly twisted. “Nancy is qualified. So am I. I would never claim that Nancy couldn’t do the job. I think I could do it better. But Mr. Adams
Second message delivered.
Just beginning his trek down the appetizer board was Al Ulrich. Father Tully reflected that he had talked with Nancy, the other candidate. And that Mr. Adams had asked his opinion on the two hopefuls. He joined Ulrich in line.
Ulrich looked up, did a doubletake, and smiled. “I haven’t had a chance yet, Father, to thank you and your order for honoring our boss.”
“Not at all. If anyone deserved the award, it’s certainly Tom Adams.”
“You just met him for the first time tonight, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to be in town for a while?”
“About two weeks. I’m filling in for a local priest so he can go on vacation.”
“I hope that doesn’t tie you down too much. What I mean is, I hope you’ll get a chance to get to know Mr. Adams. He really is a terrific guy—above and beyond his financial contributions.”
As Ulrich selected another appetizer, Father Tully looked up to see Barbara Ulrich hand a paper napkin to Jack Fradet. Apparently the napkin contained a note of some sort. Fradet slipped it into his pocket.
Third message delivered.
Father Tully began to wonder about these missives. Did Mrs. Ulrich have one for everybody? Were they like party favors or fortune cookies? Strange.
Returning his attention to the table, there before the priest was a large platter containing an ample supply of deviled eggs, one of his favorite morsels. Would anyone notice if he went overboard? He slipped five onto his plate.
Ulrich chuckled. “Like ’em?”
“Well, yes, now that you mention it.”
They moved down the table.
“Speaking of liking,” said Father Tully, “it seems pretty clear that you like Tom Adams.”
“I’ve never met anyone like him,” Ulrich responded. “I mean, I’m not a particularly religious person. And I tend to be skeptical of people who wear their religion oh their sleeve.
“But it’s not like that with Mr. Adams. He puts himself and his pocketbook where his mouth is. I think if he could, he’d be the manager of the new branch himself. Of course, that’s not possible.”
“Speaking of that”—Father Tully, finished at the hors d’oeuvre table, stepped aside with Ulrich—”isn’t this some kind of cruel and unusual treatment to keep you and Nancy Groggins on tenterhooks over that job?”
Ulrich reacted as if he himself had been challenged. “Certainly not! This is a difficult decision. There’s a lot riding on this new branch. We aren’t one of the conglomerate banks. We’re taking a big risk opening in that part of town. If we succeed, we’re going to be a lot stronger. The city of Detroit needs a lot of this type of financial commitment. It needs a presence like ours.”
“And if this move fails?”
Ulrich shook his head. “The biggies will laugh us out of town. They’ll pretend that it would take the clout only they could deliver to make this work. It would weaken our position in communities where we’re already established. It would be a disaster for us. We really can’t afford to fail.”
“And it makes that much difference … who the manager is?”
“The manager sets the tone—or should. The policy of the banking unit. The measure of contact with our customers. That’s basically the role of the manager.”
“You sure you’d be the better choice?”
Ulrich’s smile was slightly twisted. “Nancy is qualified. So am I. I would never claim that Nancy couldn’t do the job. I think I could do it better. But Mr. Adams
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