At least to himself, if no one else.
Peter smiled, content in the fact that the Lord remained in control. Ironically, the Almighty also appeared to have an amazing sense of humor. Peter had been led to the Sanitation Department, of all places. Dirty, smelly work—and not suitable to everyone’s taste, but he loved it.
He reflected on his current situation. Perhaps the Lord had more ‘cleaning’ in mind than Peter had anticipated. After that amazing sermon last Sunday, he knew what God was asking of him. He needed to lay down this foolish family pride and be willing to humble himself. Starting today, he would choose to be different from the other men in his family. It was going to stop with this generation. Besides, it wasn’t what he did that mattered—it’s who I am, and I know who I am in You, Lord.
Peter did have a renewed sense of who he was, who he had become. And right now he was a crusader on a mission.
CHAPTER TWO
Angel tied the blue checked scarf around her hair, doing all she could to make herself look frumpy. She took one last look at her reflection in the small makeup mirror then tossed it into her purse before turning to show off her ensemble. “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
Mr. Nigel beamed and nodded his approval. “You look like a million bucks, Kid.” He folded his arms with pride, as if he had accomplished some great feat.
“In this get-up?” Angel had deliberately donned a worn pair of pants and an old, stained t-shirt with a tear on the sleeve. She had never felt more uncomfortable or more out of place.
“Yep.”
She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window and turned to analyze herself once more. “Do I look the part?” If she had to play a role, she wanted to play it right, all the way down to her toes.
“I guess.” He shrugged. “Isn’t that what the cleaning women in our building wear?”
“Yeah. Pretty close, anyway. All I need is a bucket with some cleaning supplies and I’m in business. Where did you say I’m going again?” She pulled out her Smart Phone, ready to enter an address into the GPS navigator.
“Tennyson Towers in Galveston. It’s on The Strand, not far from the Confectionary. You’ll be on the fourth floor.”
“Mm-hmm.” She entered the information. “How long do you think this will take?” she asked. “Not that I mind this get-up, but if we’re talking long-term here. . .”
“That, my dear, is up to you. We’ll see what kind of reporter you turn out to be. This gig should really help you develop your investigative skills. And not everyone has the opportunity to go incognito their first time out.”
“I’m just so happy you’re giving me this chance, Sir.” She smiled in his direction, and attempted to exude confidence.
“You wanted to work on a story that benefits people, right?” He seemed to come to life as he asked the question.
Angel nodded. “Of course.”
“This will be a great start for you. These guys are skilled con men, telephone solicitors who’ve set up shop in a busy office complex. They’re posing as an advertising firm but our sources tell us they’re probably not selling anything but a pack of lies. From what I can gather, they’ve been targeting the elderly, talking them out of thousands of dollars. Identity theft.”
“Wow.” She took a deep breath. “Crazy.”
“They’ve been scamming people out of everything—from their social security numbers to credit card information. Then they create a huge mess, making purchases in other people’s names. One of the elderly women who spoke to me. . .” He glanced at his computer screen, “A Mrs. Davidson—has been completely wiped out.”
“Man.” Angel realized for the first time the gravity of the job ahead. She really could make a difference in someone’s life if she handled this story correctly.
“Living in a shelter right now because they robbed her blind. She’s lost everything.”
“No way.” Angel’s heart began to ache. “Isn’t there something we can do to help her?”
“The station’s working on that. But in the meantime, you get out there and do that work. And if you ever need any motivation, just think of an eight-three year old great-grandmother named Ida Davidson who needs your assistance. She’s counting on you, Sweet Stuff. They all are.”
He smiled in Angel’s direction and she nodded a firm response. She would finally have a chance to do something wonderful, to help those who couldn’t help themselves.
“This is serious business and your work could be dangerous.” Angel’s stomach twisted in a knot as he spoke. “But if your story can put a stop to their dirty deeds. . .”
“Not if. When.” She took a deep breath and lifted her chin. “And I’m not scared, Sir. I’m really not.”
He nodded. “When you stop them, you will gain the confidence of KPRC’s elderly viewers and their families.”
Angel sighed as she thought about those who had been hurt by these awful men. Her heart broke for them. Who would defend them if she didn’t? “I’m not doing this to gain popularity, Mr. Nigel. It breaks my heart to think good people are suffering. It really does.”
His eyes twinkled. “Make sure you say that when the cameras are rolling. ‘KPRC’s heart is breaking for LA’s elderly victims.’”
“KPRC’s heart?”
“Sure. But Angel, you’re not just representing KPRC, you’re the voice of the innocents, the voice of—”
“The angels.” His eyes lit up with renewed excitement.
Angel shrugged as she contemplated his daunting label—not one she felt terribly confident about.
“Now’s the time, Angel.” He opened the door, pointing her toward her future.
She nodded quietly, taking one last look at the large round clocks on his wall. 10:15 a.m. in Houston. 11:15 p.m. in New York. 4:15 p.m. in London. 5:15 p.m. in Paris. Just think, if I lived in Paris, this whole thing would be over with by now.
Angel smiled at her boss and gave him the thumbs up signal as she walked through the door. She struggled with her emotions as she made her way out to the parking lot. Moments later she pulled her silver sports car onto Interstate 45, deep in thought. A muttered prayer crossed her lips. “Give me courage, Lord. And protect me. These guys could be dangerous. They could be…” She stopped mid-sentence. No point in worrying about what they might be.
Angel glanced in the rearview mirror and contemplated her reflection once again. She had deliberately avoided heavy makeup, opting for a more natural look. Her olive skin glowed in the afternoon sunlight, a sure sign the heat had gotten to her. She wiped away a bit of perspiration from her upper lip, noticing how small it looked without the usual lipstick and liner. She felt genuinely uncomfortable without makeup, but it would have betrayed her.
Still, her reflection still gave away too much. She looked far too… clean. That’s what it was. Clean. She looked down at her carefully manicured fingertips, nearly shifting lanes in the process. What should she do about her nails? Wear gloves? No, that wouldn’t work. With a sigh, she began to scratch off the polish. As Angel traveled south, she chipped off layers of rose colored polish, leaving her nails ragged and worn looking. Mama would be horrified.
By the time she arrived in Galveston, Angelina felt confident she could play the role required of her. She made her way to The Strand in search of the building in question. Tennyson Towers. Just past the Confectionary, like Mr. Nigel said. Upon arriving, she peered up, her gaze coming to rest on the fourth floor windows. “Okay. I can do this.” She swallowed hard.
Angel inched her way into the parking lot then took one last look at her image in the rearview mirror. Help me, Lord. She caught a swift mental picture of eighty-three year old Ida and forged ahead.
Mr. Nigel’s words urged her on. “She’s counting on you Sweet Stuff. They all are.”
Her heart pounded unmercifully and her hands refused to still themselves. Nevertheless, she made her way into the building and up to the fourth floor. There, standing before the oversized wooden door o
f Anderson’s Advertising Firm, Angel almost turned back, almost gave in to the fear.
Then she thought of Ida once again.
She rapped on the door, but no one answered. “Hello?” She pushed the door open slightly, and her gaze rested on a gentleman who sat behind a large, messy desk. He wore a Texans T-shirt.
He glanced her way. “Can I help you?”
She noticed the nameplate on his desk: Jim Cochran. “I’m just here to clean, Mr. Cochran.” She attempted to hide the tremor in her voice.
“In the middle of the day? Don’t you usually come in the evening?”
“Sorry.” She shrugged. “This is my first day, actually. They didn’t tell me when to come, just to come. Hope that’s not a problem.” She stepped boldly into the room and he stood immediately.
“Well, I, uh—” He glanced at his watch. “Tell you what, I’m breaking for lunch in an hour. Can you come back then?”
“Sure, sure.” She backed out of the room and closed the door.
An hour. What would she do for an hour? Angel lifted the heavy bucket and made her way to the ladies room. She prayed she wouldn’t run into anyone who might pose questions she couldn’t answer. Strange, to think that she had to disguise her true identity in order to catch identity thieves. Ironic, really.
A woman in a navy jacket stopped her on the way in the door. “These bathrooms need a good cleaning. They’re absolutely shameful.”
Great. “I’ll get right on it.” Why not? Might as well accomplish something while I’m waiting. It’s not like I ever have to clean anything at home. The maids keep everything so nice. Her mind drifted to the family’s beautiful home in River Oaks. It was a beautiful Spanish Colonial home with rich woods and heavy draperies. A sweeping stairway curved from the bottom to the top of the entryway, seeming to beckon would-be visitors to enter and sit awhile. Angel had loved the home since childhood, though she had never stopped to consider all the sacrifices her father had made to offer her such a lifestyle.
Until now. From the day the family restaurant had taken off, her father had prided himself on making sure their every need was met. If he had any idea she stood here dressed like this, he would…
No point wondering what he might think. He’d just worry, anyway. Angel busied herself by spraying down the countertops and wiping them off. She looked inside the stalls, instantly growing queasy. “Yuck.” She pulled out a bottle of cleaner and toilet brush and began the arduous task of cleaning the bowls as best she could. She worked up a sweat and reached up with the back of her hand to brush her loose, damp bangs out of her eyes. This cleaning stuff is no piece of cake.
Angel glanced at her watch, shocked to find that an hour had passed, and then some. She shot a glance in the mirror as the tore out of the room, shocked at how her appearance had changed over the hour. “Well, I really look the part now,” she mumbled.
She made her way back to Anderson’s, growing more nervous with each moment. Once inside, she would check the trash cans for evidence, something to support the claims these guys were ripping people off.
Angel tapped on the door again. No answer. I hope they didn’t lock up. Nope. The door opened with no trouble. She eased her way inside. “Hello?” No response. “Anyone here? I’ve come to clean.”
Total silence. She made her way across the room, pulled out a dust rag and wiped down the desks and bookshelves as she went. “Better make it look like I’ve been here.” Angelina pulled out a trash bag, and emptied the can in the outer office into it. Tip-toeing gingerly, she made her way into the inner office. Her stomach churned with a mixture of excitement and fear. She glanced down at the desk, her gaze falling on a notepad. “Savelle. Close the deal tomorrow at 2:00.” She made a mental note, and went about the business of dusting the desk. As she reached for the trash can, she heard a noise. Her heart jumped. “Hello?”
The man in the T-shirt appeared, worry lines framing his forehead. “You still here?”
“Yes Sir. I’m nearly done.” For the first time, she contemplated how casual his attire seemed for such a formal office. Too casual. Suspiciously casual.
He made his way into the office, his piercing gaze haunting her. Angelina fought to keep her composure. She quickly emptied the trashcan into the bag and scurried out of the office, adding a courageous, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He shrugged and turned his attention to the notes on the desk.
Angelina left quickly, grateful she hadn’t aroused suspicion. “What am I going to do with this junk?” She clutched the bag of trash in her hand. “I’ll have to look through this, but where?”
She wound her way through the hallways until she reached the elevator. The doors opened and she found herself face to face with a cleaning woman. A real cleaning woman. The woman pushed a large rolling contraption filled with mops, brooms and various cleaning supplies. So that’s what it looks like. Nerves completely on edge, she stepped inside.
The older woman carefully arched eyebrows elevated as she stepped out. “You new?”
“Uh, yeah.”
The woman stuck out her hand. “I’m Mabel.”
“Mabel,” Angelina echoed.
“What are you doing up here in this afternoon?” Mabel asked. “I thought I was the only one who ever came in during the day.” The elevator door began to close, separating the two.
“Nice to meet you.” Angel waved as the door closed and leaned back against the wall, overcome with relief. “That was a close one.” When the elevator stopped at the first floor, she exited looking down the hall toward the back door. “If I can get to the dumpster out back, I can get rid of this trash.”
She clutched the bag with trembling hand, looking right, then left, for a trash bin. Ah. There it was. Thank goodness. She needed to get out of here, get back into jer car before someone asked her what she was up to. Lost in her thoughts, Angelina tossed the bag and her cleaning supplies into the dumpster.
Instantly, she realized what she’d done. “Oh, man. I forgot to look through it for evidence.” Oh well. There probably wasn’t anything important there anyway. Next time I can. . . Wait a minute. What if I can’t get into the building next time? What if they catch on and I never get this opportunity again? I have to get that bag back. Now. I owe it to Mr. Nigel. I owe it to the people of Houston.
I owe it to Ida.
She stared helplessly up at the large green dumpster, and contemplated how she might accomplish the deed.
There was only one way.
***
Peter pulled the large trash truck onto The Strand. The brakes squealed madly. “Come on. Come on.” He still struggled when it came to maneuvering corners, even after all this time. More than one curb had become his friend over the past several months.
The Strand teemed with cars filled with impatient drivers. A horn honked behind him. He tried to pick up speed, shifting into second gear. The annoyed driver pulled around him, honking all the way.
“Sorry.” Peter shrugged and shifted into third. Up ahead loomed the Tennyson office complex. In the back parking lot he’d find a large container to empty. The last stop of the day. He always dreaded this one because of the heavy influx of traffic and the narrow area surrounding the dumpster.
But he refused to allow the problem to stress him out. Once he finished up here, he would head out to the beach for an afternoon in the sun with some friends from church. Plenty of relaxation awaited him, which made this last pickup more tolerable. Peter couldn’t wait to tell his friends about an incident at the feeding center just last night. A young man he had been witnessing to for months had finally given his heart to the Lord. Peter’s joy could hardly be contained.
Once on the beach, he would share it with others who would be equally as thrilled. His mind drifted to the warm sand, the icy cold water, the surfboard under his arm… He came to his senses just as he approached the office complex. “Better get this over with.”
Peter pulled into the parking lot, nearly hitting a blue mi
nivan as it backed out of a parking space. Watch where you’re going! Regaining his composure, Peter rounded the corner to the back of the building. Ah. There it is. This shouldn’t be too difficult. If I can just get this thing lined up right. His brakes squealed once more as he squared the vehicle with the receptacle.
Peter reached down for the lever to release the arms. They would do the lifting. Everything from this point on would be a breeze. He relaxed slightly, blocking out the roar of grinding metal. The trash bin began to rise. Just as it reached eye-level, something caught his attention and froze him in his tracks.
A girl. There’s a girl in the dumpster.
CHAPTER THREE
Angelina shouted and waved her arms. “Stop! Stop this thing!” She stretched her petite frame to see over the top edge of the dumpster, but what she saw almost caused her to lose her grip entirely. A huge trash truck had taken hold of the metal monstrosity with its long, grinding arms. The young man behind the wheel seemed lost in his thoughts, not once looking up.
“Stop! Do you hear me?” She felt the dumpster jolt as it lifted from the ground. Her heart raced until she felt it would slip out of her throat. The huge metal incubator lifted, lifted, lifted into the air, then tilted. Angel found herself face to face with the man in the truck. She flung her arms like a mad woman as she cried out, “Please God, don’t let me die like this. Not like this.”
As if on cue, the young trash collector suddenly shifted his gaze and looked directly at her. His expression also shifted—to one of sheer terror. Immediately the dumpster stopped rising. It rocked back and forth, back and forth, as she clung tightly to the edge. For a moment her entire world began to sway, but she managed to keep everything in check as best she could.
Texas Weddings (Books Five and Six) Page 2