Texas Weddings (Books Five and Six) Page 4

  “Am I good, or what?” Donita raised her hands triumphantly. Her broad smile engaged him, as always.

  Peter chuckled. His mother had a way of getting to the heart of the matter, even when he didn’t feel like opening up. “You know me pretty well. But there’s not that much to tell this time. Honestly.”

  She put on her best pouting face. “You always say that. But you can confide in me, Honey. I just love a little romance, that’s all.” She winked at him in her usual, cheerful way.

  Who could blame her for craving romance, even if it was not her own? Perhaps these conversations filled some sort of void for her. Peter’s father, after all, wasn’t much of a romantic.

  “Come on now,” she encouraged.

  “Not much to share,” he explained. “I hardly know her; just met her yesterday, actually.”

  His mother filled the pot with purified water and reached for a bag of gourmet coffee. “Really? Where did you two meet? At the beach?”

  “No. Not this time.” Peter swallowed another mouthful of the sweet cereal and followed it with a gulp of orange juice.

  “Church? I noticed there are a lot of new girls in the college and career class this semester.”

  “Nope.” He wiped his lips with an embroidered cream-colored napkin. Should I tell her?

  She bit her lip. “At work, then?”

  “Sort of,” Peter answered with a shrug.

  “She works for the City?” A brief look of concern crossed her face before she turned her attentions back to the bag of coffee.

  “Not exactly.” If his mother thought working for the City was a problem, just wait till she heard how Angel really spent her days. For a moment Peter contemplated opening up and telling his mom everything—his hopes, his suspicions, his fears. He could tell her he had prayed for a situation such as this, where he could reach out with his God-given faith and help someone in need, someone who couldn’t help herself. She would understand. She was, after all, the one who had encouraged him to follow his dreams.

  On the other hand, if he shared anything about Angel, his mother would surely try to make something romantic out of it. Not only would she be off base, she would probably refuse to let go of the idea.

  His mom drummed her fingertips on the countertop, finally snagging his attention. “Well, what does she do?”

  “Hmm. I really don’t know, Mom. I met her over at Tennyson Towers, but I don’t think she works there.” Obviously.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “I could just sort of tell. She wasn’t dressed like an office worker or anything. To be honest, I don’t know much about her.”

  His mother paused a moment as she popped open the bag of coffee. The aroma of hazelnut immediately filled the room. “So, what’s this mystery girl’s name?” she asked as she measured out the dark brown crystals.

  “Angel.” He shifted his attention back down to the breakfast cereal bowl and scooped out the last tiny raisin.

  “Angel. Interesting.” She grew silent and switched on the fancy coffee maker. “You met an angel yesterday.” He couldn’t help but notice her grin.

  “Looks like it.” An angel in more ways than one, he had to admit. This girl had exuded a sweetness most her age simply didn’t possess, not even the girls at church. It had endeared her to him, though he couldn’t be sure why. For some reason he felt drawn to her and extremely comfortable around her, in spite of their differences.

  Peter’s comfort around the homeless confirmed the desires of his heart to minister to their needs. He wouldn’t allow intimidation or fear stop him.

  Or his father’s biting comments.

  The sizzle of hot water began almost immediately. His mother reached for an ivory porcelain cup. She slipped a silver spoon with the letter “C” engraved on the handle into the cup, making a little clinking sound. “Maybe she lives in the area,” she suggested. “Just happened to be there visiting a friend or something.”

  “Or something.” Peter tried to think of something to say to shift the conversation in a different direction. “Speaking of friends, how’s Madeline?” His mother’s best friend had just returned from a cruise to the Cayman Islands.

  “Oh, she’s great. Had a wonderful time. But she’s got an awful sunburn. Red as a lobster. Just awful.”

  He smiled, thankful for the distraction. “That’s awful.”

  “You’re awful,” she echoed. “And don’t think I haven’t figured out what you’re up to. You’re avoiding the subject.”

  “Maybe.” He stared out of the large French doors. The April sunshine reflected off of the large swimming pool and caused a blinding glare.

  His mom’s face lit up suddenly. “I have a great idea, Peter. Why don’t you invite your angel over for dinner? Your father’s entertaining a client tomorrow night and that always bores me to tears.”

  How do I get out of this without hurting her feelings, Lord?

  “I’d be happy to set an extra place at the table. What do you think?”

  “I don’t know, Mom.” Tomorrow’s night affair was sure to be spectacular, but Angel would stick out like a sore thumb. Surely she wouldn’t have a thing to wear—not that Peter cared, but his father would. And if her performance in the restaurant yesterday was any indication, her table manners left something to be desired. Not to mention her aroma.

  Why am I even thinking about this? The whole thing is crazy.

  Donita rambled on about the menu then shifted the conversation to the table arrangement. Within minutes, she had the whole thing settled. “So, you’ll ask her then?”

  “I don’t know, Mom. I’ll really have to think about this.”

  “What’s to think about? Be spontaneous! That’s the boy I know. Besides, it would be a great way to get to know her, right?”

  Peter shrugged. “I guess.” Not that she would ever, in a million years, agree to come. On the other hand, how would he ever know unless he asked her?

  “Tell you what. I’ll tell Gavin to prepare for an extra guest, just in case. If it doesn’t work out, that’s fine.” Donita dove into a discussion about the menu. “I’m thinking of serving that crab dip you love as an appetizer. Sound good?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “And for the main course I think I’ll go with salmon this time. And fresh steamed vegetables.” She went on to discuss the merits of seafood and then shifted toward desserts.

  Peter tried on several occasions to interrupt his mother, but to no avail. Like it or not, it looked like he had a date with an angel for dinner tomorrow night.

  If he could ever find her again.

  ***

  Angelina sat at the skirted dressing table in her spacious bedroom and carefully applied a thin layer of coral lip-gloss. She gazed at her reflection one last time before standing. Yesterday’s escapades had left her with a couple of bumps and bruises. Her left arm ached just below the elbow and her right cheek was awfully tender. She dabbed on an adequate amount of makeup to cover a blue spot under her right eye. No point in worrying her parents.

  Or herself.

  As she rose to her feet, Angel caught a glimpse of the Spanish four-poster bed in the mirror and smiled. I love this room. I love the way I feel when I’m here. Everything about this place spoke of safety, security. If I could just stay here forever…

  But that would defeat the purpose. Besides, she had spent enough time locked in fear. The Lord had already set her free from that cage. Wonderful possibilities awaited—if only she could maintain the courage to put one foot in front of the other each day.

  Angel made her way to the edge of the bed and pulled on a pair of worn tennis shoes. She sighed as she looked down at the ragged clothes she had selected for today’s adventure—a T-shirt with a tear on the sleeve and black stretch pants. They looked dingy against the stark white eyelet comforter folded at the foot of the bed.

  Her mother tapped on the open door and stared at her with curiosity. “Going to the gym?” She looked nervous.


  “It’s for my job, Mama. I’m going undercover.” Better leave it at that.

  “Undercover? You mean you’re working on an assignment? Her mother’s thinly plucked eyebrows elevated. They’ve given you a story?”

  “Yes. A really big story.” Angel gave her most reassuring smile.

  “So tell me all about it.”

  “I’m sorry, Mama,” Angel explained. “I can’t give away any information. I just can’t.” She shrugged.

  Her mother looked stunned. “Even to me—your own mother?”

  “Even to you,” she explained. “It’s company policy. When I work undercover, it’s like being on a secret mission. When the story breaks, you’ll know everything, I promise.”

  Her mother began to fuss with the comforter, folding it down over the end of the bed and patting out a couple of wrinkles. “I see.”

  “Mama…” She doesn’t see, but she’s too gracious to say so.

  “Nothing too dangerous, I hope. Your father and I were worried when you came in last night. You looked, well—”

  “I know. I looked awful.” Angel hoped to reassure her precious mother.

  Her nose wrinkled. “Smelled awful too, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  “Thanks.”

  Her mother’s face grew serious. “We’re really proud of you, Angel, but we’re a little worried too. Especially your Papa. He wants to protect his little girl.”

  “But that’s just it,” Angel argued. “I’m not a little girl anymore.”

  “I know, I know. You’re twenty-two, Angelina.” Consuela Fuentes spoke the words fervently.

  Angel sighed. I know what’s coming.

  Her mother picked up the hairbrush from the table and pulled it in long strokes through Angel’s long hair. “Twenty-two.”

  Angel relaxed as the brush made its way through her thick hair with gentle strokes. “What are you saying, Mama?”

  “I married your father at nineteen. By the time I reached twenty-two, I had already been married three years. Your brother was potty trained and you were cradled in my arms.”

  Here we go again. The story.

  “I spent my days singing nursery rhymes in Spanish and pushing strollers to the market. That’s what twenty-two looked like for me.” Consuela placed the brush on the dressing table.

  “Things are different now, Mama. People are waiting to get married, even in our culture. They’re establishing their careers first. That’s what I want to do.” She tried her best to sound firm, yet respectful.

  Her mother shook her head. “Angel, Angel. . .”

  “Do you think I shouldn’t work because I’m a woman? Is that it?” Angel stood to make up the bed. She pulled up crisp white sheets first, followed by the hand-quilted white eyelet comforter—a gift from her Aunt Ricarda in Juarez, right on the Texas border, but light years away in all other respects.

  “No, Honey. I’m a firm believer in hard work. I worked for many years as a girl and I’m not afraid of getting my hands dirty now, either. I’m just saying that security, real security, comes in relationship with God first, family second and job third. You’ve got to have your priorities straight.”

  Angelina sighed. “I understand that. I really do. But before I can put family first, I have to find a husband.”

  “Exactly.”

  She groaned. “Mama, it’s not so easy. Especially these days.”

  “Easier if you would keep your eyes open. You always stay so focused on your job you forget to watch for a husband. The Lord could drop one in your lap and you might not see him.”

  “Mama. . .”

  “I want you to have a good job, if that’s what you want, Angelina. I know having a career is important to young women these days. I want that for you. But I also want you to know the joy of finding love. It makes all of the work more tolerable. Gives you something to work for.”

  “I know.” I do want a husband and family someday. Have I really been so focused on my job that she thinks I’m not interested in marriage?

  “Your father has worked so hard to provide this beautiful home for us.” Consuela smiled as she gestured around the beautiful room with its rich, imported furniture. “His work has always been for his family.”

  “I know.” Years of work had earned Felipe Fuentes a prestigious family restaurant and a lovely home overlooking the valley. None of these things were taken for granted. Ever.

  “There’s a lot to be said for home and family.” Consuela embraced her tightly. “Never forget that, sweet girl.”

  “I won’t.” She stepped back and looked down at her attire one more time. “Guess this is as good as it’s going to get,” she said with a shrug.

  “No, Honey.” Her mother wagged her finger. “It’s only going to get better from here. I feel sure of it.”

  Angel glanced at her watch and immediately sprang into action. “It’s nearly ten o’clock, Mama. I’m going to be late.” With excitement growing, she raced for the door.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The tires on Angel’s silver sports car squealed madly as she pulled past Parma John’s pizzeria on The Strand, just beyond the Confectionary, and into the Tennyson Towers parking lot. Her heart raced nearly as fast as she glanced down at her watch. Noon. She whipped into a parking space and paused only long enough to look at her reflection in the mirror. She looked frumpy enough, and felt confident about the job ahead, but what could she do about her lack of cleaning supplies?

  Hopefully there would be plenty of time to worry about that later. Angel bounded from the car, full of nervous energy. As she raced toward the building, she prayed the advertising office would be empty. If so, she would take the place by storm. She would find all of the evidence she would need, and then some. She would take it to Mr. Nigel and all would end well.

  If her plan worked. Someone between L.A. and Galveston Angel had established a strategy of sorts. She would enter the office with no one else around. She prayed. First and foremost, she would look for copies of anything that even looked suspicious—social security cards, driver’s licenses or credit cards, in particular. Then, if she worked up the courage, she would attempt to access their computer.

  Unless it was password protected, in which case she would have to think of something else. Once inside the P.C. she would look for database files. Anything with names and addresses. She would make some calls. She would locate some victims. Then she would figure out a way to involve the police.

  Angel’s stomach began to churn, just thinking about it.

  She nodded at a gentleman in a stiff black business suit as she made her way through the door and toward the elevator. The wheels in her head turned and anxious thoughts tumbled forth. She prayed she wouldn’t run into Mabel because she didn’t want to be deceptive.

  Angel breathed a sigh of relief as she reached the 4th floor without incident. Thank You, Lord. She walked down the long, narrow hallway to the door of the so-called advertising firm, anxious to do some real scout-work. Once I get inside, I’ll go straight to the desk in the front office. I’ll open every drawer. I’ll check every bookshelf. Then I’ll move to the back office. I’ll check every corner of the room. And if I get caught without cleaning supplies in my hands, then I’ll…

  Hmmm…

  Her stomach began to churn once again. Angel forced herself to remain courageous. If they walked in on her, she would simply grab a trash bag from the nearest can and begin filling it. But first she had to make it inside. She rapped on the door lightly, her nerves on edge. She stood for some time, awaiting a response.

  Nothing. She breathed a sigh of relief and thanked the Lord they had already left for lunch. Much work lay ahead of her today. Today she would crack this case wide open. Today she would prove to Mr. Nigel that she had what it took to be a real reporter. She reached for the door handle.

  Locked.

  She tried the knob again, refusing to give in. Nothing. “This can’t be happening. I’ve got to get in there.” She continued to twist
the knob back and forth. It refused to budge.

  A woman in a fitted gray suit approached. She looked down her long, thin nose at Angelina. “Lose your keys?”

  “No, I, uh. . .”

  “What are you doing here in the middle of the day? Don’t you people usually clean at night?”

  You people? Angel swallowed her pride and fought for an answer. “I’m on a special assignment. This place is especially dirty.”

  The woman’s face softened a little. “You’re telling me. These guys are dirty, and I don’t just mean their office.”

  “Really?” Angel’s reporter antenna went up immediately. “What do you mean?”

  The woman looked around to make sure no one was listening. “Call it a whim, a notion. Whatever. They just seem sleazy to me. That one guy—the one who always wears the t-shirts—he’s been hitting on girls in the elevator. And that other one—the guy with all the tattoos—he’s just plain creepy.”

  Angel took mental notes as the woman spoke.

  “Neither one owns a suit. Very suspicious. I don’t have a clue what they’re up to, but if they’re in the advertising business, I’ll eat my hat.”

  Angel’s excitement grew, though she tried not to let it show. Stay cool, calm. She shrugged. “I just need to get in there to clean.”

  “Would you like me to call the building manager?” The woman pulled out a smart phone. “They’ve always got extra keys. I lost mine just last week and they bailed me out. Only took about five minutes.”

  Angel’s heartbeat surged. “That’s not necessary. Really. I can just come back later.”

  The woman shrugged, the pushed the phone back into her purse. “Just trying to help.”

  “Thanks,” Angel called out after her. The woman waved her hand and disappeared around the corner.

  Angel collapsed against the wall. Lord, this is too hard. I didn’t think it was going to be like this. Defeated, she turned back toward the elevators. Her knees knocked all the way down to the first floor. She tried to think of a plan, tried to come up with another idea, but nothing seemed to come to her.