Texas Weddings (Books Five and Six)

by Janice Thompson

  But his father…

  Well, no time to worry about that now. Peter had job obligations. And a lost sheep to tend. Not to mention great plans for the future. Somehow all of these things would come together into one glorious picture.

  He spent the rest of his drive in deep prayer. He lifted up his parents, his co-workers, and his friends at church. Finally, when he could resist thinking about Angel no longer, he prayed for her. His words flowed freely, loudly. At one point, he noticed someone in another car staring at him. He focused on driving.

  By the time Peter reached his workplace, he found himself strengthened and fully awake. He took his place behind the wheel of the trash truck, a man with new resolve and clearer direction.

  “Lord, if it’s your will for me to find Angel, please guide me to her.” He prayed aloud once again as he made his way along the now-familiar route down The Strand. Tennyson Towers loomed in the distance, beckoning him. “If she’s not there, I’ll know I’m supposed to drop this. But if she is—” He stopped, not knowing quite what to say next.

  He bit his lip, a habit from early childhood, as he turned into the parking lot. His gaze shifted this way and that as he searched for her. No luck. He eased his way beyond the traffic in front to the memorable back parking lot. Surely she won’t go near the dumpster again. Maybe she won’t be here at all. Maybe she… He let his mind wander as he looked in every conceivable direction. A sudden fear gripped him. She’s not here—and I’m never going to see her again.

  ***

  Angel pulled into the back parking lot of Tennyson Towers and exited her car with great excitement. She pulled out a large cleaning yellow bucket she had just purchased at a local superstore and yanked the price tag off the bottom. Then she reached for her laptop, which she carefully wedged into the bottom of the bucket. She prayed it would not be destroyed in the adventure ahead.

  Next she reached for the bag of carefully chosen cleaning supplies, which she gingerly pressed in around the computer. Angel mentally crossed each one off of her check-list as she went: a large bottle of ammonia, glass cleaner, furniture polish, four sponges, and a couple of large pink dust cloths. If things went as planned, she would never have to use any of these items.

  Finally, on top everything else, she placed a paper plate, filled with gourmet chocolate chip cookies, wrapped in clear plastic wrap. These, she would use for a diversion.

  Then Angel attempted to lift the bucket. Easier said than done. All in all, it was a heavy load for one so small. She gripped it as best she could and made her way toward the back of the building, where she hoped to make a smooth, quick entrance and head straight to the fourth floor.

  All the way to Galveston she had toyed with new ideas, ways to find the evidence she needed. Today’s approach would be completely different from yesterday’s, and having people in the office would help her case, not hurt it. The chocolate chip cookies would make a nice peace offering, should the need arise.

  Angel raced toward the rear door, nodding politely at a couple of passers-by. She looked up as she heard a memorable sound. A massive trash truck loomed in front of her. The dumpster rose slowly, a familiar site. She strained to see the driver. Oh, man. It’s him. If I’m careful, maybe he won’t see me. Maybe he won’t…

  Peter beeped his horn, a clear attempt to get her attention. She waved with a shrug and muttered, “I’ll just keep walking.”

  As the dumpster hit the ground, the engine in the truck shut off and the now-familiar young man leaped from the driver’s seat. “Hey there, I was hoping I’d run into you. How are you today?” His tan cheeks were slightly more flushed than she remembered, his words breathless, anxious.

  She glanced at her watch. “Fine. Just in a hurry.” Lord, help me. I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but if I don’t get up there in the next few minutes, I’ll be out of time. Then again, why would she want to avoid those amazing blue eyes and shaggy blonde hair? He had rescued her, after all. He was her very own, personal angel. She owed him a few moments of conversation after all he had done for her.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Peter’s smile faded a little. “I was hoping we could talk. I’ve been thinking about you a lot since yesterday. I’ve been a little worried about you.” His gaze shifted to the ground, then his beautiful blue eyes riveted into hers once again.

  She immediately melted and forgot all about the time. “You have?” Angel shifted the bucket to her other arm.

  “Well, more concerned, really. I was wondering if we could get together for a cup of coffee. I’d like to talk.” His gaze seemed to drift to the yellow bucket with gourmet cookies perched on top and his eyebrows elevated slightly.

  “I… I don’t know.” Angel glanced at her watch and her thoughts immediately shifted back to the business at hand. “I really need to go. Now.”

  “I just wanted to ask you something.” He looked hurt.

  She turned toward the building and took a few steps away from him. “I’m sorry. I’ve really got to go.”

  “How long do you think you’ll be here?” She turned back. He bit his lip and glanced at his watch. Then those amazing eyes locked into hers once again.

  If you keep looking at me like that, I’m never going to make it inside. She shrugged and kept walking as she answered, “I’m not sure. Probably an hour. Maybe a little longer.”

  “What if I came back? He called out after her.

  “Well, I guess, but I really. . .” She shrugged and pulled the door open.

  “I know. You have to go now.” He suddenly sprinted toward her. “Look, Angel. . .” He hesitated slightly and she found herself growing steadily more impatient. “To be honest, I just wanted to invite you to a dinner at my house tonight. My parents are throwing this dinner party. I was hoping you would join us.”

  “I’d love to.” Wait. What am I saying?

  “Really? Well, in that case, I could pick you up around—”

  “I won’t need a ride. Just an address.” She glanced nervously at the building, and prayed the fourth floor office would be open.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yep. I’ve got GPS on my phone.”

  He reached into his wallet and pulled out a business card. “The address is right here. The house is on Broadway.”

  “Broadway?” She quirked a brow.

  “Yeah. Not far from the wedding facility. You know the one?”

  She nodded. “Are you sure you want me to come?”

  “I’m sure. See you tonight.” He gave her a little wave.

  She turned abruptly, waving as she went. Angel entered the building and breathed a sigh of relief. I need everything to go smoothly. Lord, please help me find something useful today—something that will help stop these guys in their tracks. And protect me, Father. Please. The elevator door opened and she caught her breath as Mabel stepped out.

  “Well, hey there, Honey,” Mabel said. “Haven’t seen you in a couple of days. Thought maybe I’d dreamed you up.”

  “Nope,” Angel mumbled as she stepped onto the elevator. “I’m the real deal.”

  “You must be the new girl they told me about. I’m supposed to be training you.”

  “Oh,” Angel’s heart leaped to her throat. “I didn’t know about that. I was just –”

  “Glenda Miller, right? Funny, you don’t look like a Glenda Miller.”

  “Oh, well, that’s because I—”

  “I knew you were coming,” Mabel interrupted, “but those folks up in management never give me specifics. “So, what do you think of the place, Glenda?”

  “It’s, uh. . .It’s nice,” Angel said as she shifted the large bucket from one arm to the other again and tried to calm her frantic heart.

  The elevator door started to close, but the older woman reached with a strong arm and wrestled it back open again.

  “What did you do, bring your own stuff?” Mabel motioned to the large bucket.

  “Yeah. Thought it would be a good idea.”

  “No nee
d, Hon. There’s a closet in the basement full of supplies. I’ll show you everything this evening when you come back.”

  “Oh, okay. Well, I’d better go. I was just headed up to the fourth floor.”

  “I don’t think so, baby girl,” Mabel said with a wink. “Management office is on the first floor near the back. Good news is they’ve posted your hours. Just saw them, myself. You don’t really need to be here till 6:30.”

  An older gentleman stepped on the elevator and impatiently pushed a button for the fifth floor.

  “Oh, really?” Angel looked back and forth between the two of them.

  “Yep. I’ll be back to train you then. I just stopped by to pick up my check. I’ll meet you down in the basement.”

  The man cleared his throat. Loudly.

  “Oh, well, I—” Angel’s heartbeat shifted to her ears. She could barely hear herself think.

  The older man gave a glare that could not be ignored and Mabel released her hold on the door. “Basement at 6:30, Honey,” she called out.

  The door shut separating them at last. Angel immediately dropped her bucket of cleaning supplies and they spilled out all over the elevator. The expensive chocolate chip cookies went everywhere, but they were the least of her worries.

  My computer.

  As the elevator went up then down, down then up, Angel worked feverishly. She scooped up bits of cookie and colorful sponges. Thankfully, the computer appeared to be safe.

  By the time she finally stepped out onto the fourth floor, Angel’s nerves were shot. Determined to forge ahead, she slipped down the hall, heading to Anderson’s Advertising, where she rapped on the door. “Hello?” She popped her head inside and tried to steady her trembling hands.

  Jim Cochran looked up in surprise. “They just cleaned in here last night.”

  “I know.” She did her best to disguise the tremor in her voice. “I just need to take out the trash.”

  “But. . .”

  “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “No, but I thought. . .” He glanced back toward the empty trash container.

  “I’ll just put in fresh bags.” She marched confidently into the room, and whipped out a box of trash bags. “Never leave a clean room with a dirty trash bag. That’s what I always say.”

  The phone rang. The man turned to answer it, his gaze still following her. “Hello? Oh, hey John. Glad you called.” He shifted his attention to the call. “Did you hear about Chuck?”

  Angel listened carefully as she changed the trash bag.

  “Yeah. He almost blew it. Got an old lady on the phone and told her. . .”

  He glanced quickly in Angel’s direction, lowering his voice to an inaudible whisper. She took a deep breath and moved to the trashcan in the back office.

  “Listen, man” Mr. Cochran’s voice raised as Angel left the room, “we’ve got to be more careful. I got an old geezer on the phone yesterday—thought for sure he was an undercover cop or something. He questioned me from every angle then told me he was on to me. We’ve got to come up with a better script. This is getting too risky.”

  Good to know, but just here-say. Nothing that will hold up in court. What I need is— “Evidence.” Angel whispered the word, just as the glanced down at the large oak desk. Sitting right there, atop a messy collage of old soda cans and cigarette butts, she found a stash of credit cards. At least fifty. Maybe more.

  With so many, no one will miss one, right? Guilt riddled her. Still, she slipped one out of the pile and dropped it into her bucket. With a whistle, she made her way into the front office once again. Mr. Cochran stared at her suspiciously and hung up the phone just as she prepared to leave.

  Angel tried to play it cool. “So, you’re in advertising, right?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” He leaned back in his chair and looked her over.

  “I’ve got this idea for a commercial. Let me run it by you.” She broke into a little ditty about toothpaste then gauged him for his response. “What do you think?”

  He shrugged. “Needs work.”

  “Really?” She moved a little closer to him and tried to act excited. “Could you advise me? I mean, you are the expert, right?”

  “Look, I don’t have time for this right now.”

  “Could I come back tomorrow and pick your brain?” she asked. “I’d love to talk to you about the advertising business. I’d really love that.”

  He grunted. “This isn’t a good week.”

  “What commercials have you done?”

  “Excuse me?” He reached up to rub his brow.

  “What products? Food? Cosmetics? What sort of companies do you represent?”

  He looked more than a little nervous. “What’s it to you?”

  “Just curious. I want to learn all I can.”

  “Sure you do. Listen, Sister, get on out of here before I call the management company and tell them you’re harassing me.”

  “Are you serious?” Her heart skipped a beat.

  “You bet I am. You’re taking up time and time is money. Especially in my line of work.”

  Angel reached into her bucket for the peace offering inside. “Fine, fine. But before I go, would you like some cookies?”

  “What?”

  “I brought them for my lunch, but I’ve got plenty.” She pulled out the plate of crumbled cookies and pressed on in his direction. He took it willingly.

  “Just because I’m eating this doesn’t mean I want you in here.” He gave her wink and leaned back in his chair, looking her over. “’Course, you are easy on the eyes.”

  “And I know my cookies.” She bit into one and tried to let his flattery roll right off of her. Stay calm, Angel.

  “That you do.” He swallowed and reached out for another.

  Angel leaned against the desk and continued to ask him questions. She started by talking about the weather and gradually shifted to more intriguing topics. Who he was. Where he was from. After half a dozen cookies, his answers were more relaxed.

  Lies, clearly. But relaxed lies.

  Angel ended up staying in the office a good thirty minutes. When the plate of cookies sat empty, she returned it to her cleaning bucket and smiled. She waved at Mr. Cochran as she headed out of the office. He returned the gesture.

  Once in the hallway, she pulled her laptop from her bucket of cleaning supplies and gripped it tightly. She made her way to nearby closet and slipped inside, but left the door open slightly to let in some light. Immediately she began to dig for the computer. When at last she found it, she began to type as fast as her fingers would move. She fought to remember bits of information as they came to her.

  Angel prayed fervently as she typed the beginning of what was destined to be a great story. She suddenly remembered the credit card she had found inside the office and reached into the bucket to pull it out. Dennis Morgan. She looked the card over carefully. I’ll turn this in to the police. They’ll find Mr. Morgan and his credit will be restored. What I’m doing here will be worth it—for Ida, for Mr. Morgan—for all of them.

  Angel’s stomach grumbled and she suddenly realized she hadn’t eaten a thing all day—unless you counted two chocolate chip cookies. Just as suddenly, she remembered Peter’s invitation to attend dinner at his house and began to panic. She closed the laptop with a snap and headed out of the closet. Tonight she had a date with an angel—and that meant she had some serious clothes shopping to do.

  ***

  Peter watched from around the corner as Angel slipped into the small closet. “What is that in her hand?” he whispered to himself. “Looks like a. . .”

  A computer.

  He stood captivated, watching her every move. She had pulled a blue laptop computer out of her bucket. Obviously stolen from the office next door. No wonder she carried in such a big bucket. She needed it to stash the goods. Through a crack in the door, he could make out her actions. Barely. She flipped the laptop open and began to type—slowly at first, then faster and faster, her nails clicking
against the keys.

  “What in the world?” For a thief, she appeared to be a pretty strong typist. Should he call the police? Then again, what if he was wrong? What if…? Just then she reached into the bucket for something else. A credit card? Had she resorted to stealing those too?

  Peter tried to calm his racing heart as he turned toward the elevator. Father, I pray for Angel right now. Lord, I pray that she will come clean—that she’ll turn from this life of crime and turn to you.

  All the way down to the first floor he tried to make some sense out of what he had just witnessed. Something would have to be done, but what? As he prayed about the matter, the Lord seemed to give some direction.

  WAIT. DO NOTHING.

  Are you sure, Lord?

  JUST WAIT, PETER.

  Completely shaken, he headed for the door. Heaven help him if Angel showed up at his home for dinner tonight.

  Heaven help them both.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “It’s right here, Nardo.” Angel pointed at a two-story redwood home on Broadway. Her heart pounded with a combination of fear and excitement. She had actually made it to the Campbell home. Just in time, too, though tearing her brother away from his work had been difficult. No matter. They were here now. She needed to relax and enjoy the evening.

  Nardo let out a whistle as he looked at the house. “This guy of yours must be loaded.”

  “It’s his family’s home,” she explained. “And it’s not like he’s my guy. He’s not. Not at all.” Not that she would mind having a guy like Peter Campbell, but she’d never tell her brother that.

  “Right, right. Just keep saying that and pretty soon you’ll start to believe it. But you look like a million bucks. New dress?”

  “Mmm.” Angel glanced down at her new black chiffon dress. She had purchased it in her favorite shop at the Galleria. It had cost a pretty penny, but was good quality and would last a long time. Hopefully, if everything went well at work, she would have several occasions to wear it. “Just pull over and let me out, okay?”