Coffee Scoop (3 page)

Heavenly Beans Coffee, as it turned out.

“Oh, Ryan, this is really good,” she said as she sipped at the truly heavenly drink. “I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything quite like it.”

A smile tilted one corner of his mouth. “Do you really think so?”

“I do.” Honestly it was the best coffee she’d ever tasted, bar none.

Her companion fairly beamed. “I’ll see that you get a case when I return to the office.”

Carrie leaned forward and narrowed her eyes. “Are you trying to bribe a journalist?”
 

Ryan feigned innocence. “Is it working?” Before she could comment, he leaned back and tossed his folded napkin onto the table top. “So,” he said with a grin. “How long
does
an interview take?”
 

“Well, that depends on the subject matter, and the depth of the investigation,” she said as she studied him surreptitiously. “How much time do you have?”

CHAPTER FOUR

It turned out Ryan had much more time than he thought. After a frustrating evening leaving messages on voice mailboxes and a productive breakfast meeting with George Renfro at the Camex offices downtown, Ryan found himself at loose ends in his hotel room.
 

Thinking he’d be in meetings all day, he’d scheduled an afternoon appointment with the lovely journalist. Their venue, a coffee place in the shadow of the Astros ballpark that featured Heavenly Beans, of course.

Pacing in front of what had to be the most glorious view of downtown in existence, he could only think of how the Lord’s hand had been all over this morning’s meeting. Over scrambled eggs and bacon, Mr. Renfro had offered the services of Camex distributors as well as their expertise at selling. He’d even made a donation of a tidy sum to
Casa de Dios.
The elderly CEO fairly beamed as he handed Ryan the check then promised there would be more to come.

On the other hand, Ryan nearly fell over when he counted the zeros on the bank draft.

He could hardly wait to tell Alvaro the news. His Costa Rican counterpart and right hand man would be thrilled. No, Ryan corrected, Alvaro Gonzales de los Santos would be grateful.

Alvaro was that way – thankful first, then excited.

Smiling, Ryan stared at the bustling city streets below. Like ants, they people moved, seemingly without direction or purpose.
 

How he missed home.

Not the two-story red brick colonial on the cul-de-sac in North Dallas, although that had been quite a nice place to grow up. No, he missed the wet, earthy rainforest with its perpetual sheen of dampness on glossy green leaves and the little room over the Heavenly Beans headquarters where he laid his head and night and spoke to God.

To be sure, the Lord could hear him wherever he roamed, but somehow Ryan always seemed to hear the Heavenly Father a bit better in the quiet.
 
He sank onto the neatly made bed and reached for the tattered leather Bible he couldn’t seem to leave home without.

A page fluttered to the carpet, and by habit he returned it to its place in the book. Occasionally he would turn to look for a verse only to find that particular page had fallen out. Something about the fact that someone would find that page and possibly read it made him smile. He wondered if the fourth grade Sunday school teacher who had gifted him with the precious book realize what would become of his gift.

At this point Ryan estimated he’d left pages of that Bible in countless cities all over the United States as well in four foreign countries. And those were only the places he knew about.

Who knew where else he’d inadvertently dropped a page or two?

Today Ryan began his search for God’s voice in the Psalms. His gaze landed on Psalm 8 and he began to read aloud, first in English then translating the words into Spanish, again, out of habit. He’d once taught himself to speak the language this way. It only made sense that he continue with the exercise long after the necessity ended.

“Better is one day in your courts than a thousand elsewhere.” He paused and let the words sink in. “I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of the wicked.”

A doorkeeper in the house of God…not even on his best day could Ryan claim such an honor. Oh, but how he aspired to it.

He gave a cursory glance at the busyness that was downtown Austin as he set his bible on the bed. The clock on the nightstand read half past eleven. Perhaps a lunch meeting was in order.

Rather than phone Carrie, Ryan leaned back on the bed and thought about it for a moment. Ultimately he decided to wait out the time until the appointed hour. The last thing he needed was for the savvy journalist to realize how desperate he was to see her again.

Funny, but if he were honest, he’d have to admit that publicity wasn’t the only thing on his mind.

The phone rang and he smiled. Maybe Miss Collins was as anxious to see him as he was to see her.
 

“Ryan?”

The voice was unmistakable. His heart lurched in his chest as he sat bolt upright. “Alvaro? What’s wrong?”

* * *

Carrie stood outside Mr. Scott’s office, one hand poised to knock and the other clutching her cell phone. Her folder tucked under her arm, she carried all she needed to do battle with the unenthusiastic Mr. Scott. Surely once he saw her preliminary research he would be on board with the idea of a full blown expose on Heavenly Beans Coffee Company and its questionable connection to Camex International and George Renfro.

While her facts were solid, she had to admit there were holes in her theory – giant holes that could only be filled with more information. Information she hoped to get once she sat down with the head of the company to ask more questions.

She’d been fighting the urge to call Ryan Baxter all morning. Moving their appointment from this afternoon to an earlier time would have given her the excuse she needed. Now nothing stood between her and her monthly planning meeting with her boss, the one where they went over the articles she would be writing in the coming month

Carrie lowered her hand and leaned against the wall, contemplating her options one more time. When Mr. Scott turned her down flat last night, Carrie told herself she just hadn’t explained the story well enough. She decided that if he knew all the facts, if he could just see the angle as she did, then perhaps he would be enthusiastic as she.
 

Funny how that seemed so likely last night and so unlikely today.
 

The utilitarian clock at the end of the hall ticked loudly, signaling the half hour. Carrie pushed off the wall and straightened her shoulders. It was now or never. The only thing Mr. Scott hated worse than insubordination was tardiness.
 

While it was unlikely she would finish the meeting without being guilty of the former, she could knock on the door now and keep from being the latter. Still, she felt more like a misbehaving student heading for the principal’s office than an up-and-coming journalist going to meet her mentor.

Two sharp raps on the door and Mr. Scott beckoned her to enter. Rather than look up from his desk, he motioned to one of the two chairs situated nearby. She took a seat and waited while he finished reading then looked up and removed his glasses.

“I wondered how long you were going to stand out there.”

“How did you know I was standing out there?”
 

Her boss leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands over his chest. “I didn’t,” he said. Still he did not look up.

She clutched her folder and tried to decide how to proceed. The direct approach always seemed to work best with Mr. Scott. Unfortunately, she’d taken that route last night on the phone only to be denied before her ideas had received a fair hearing.

“I’d like to see what your ideas are for this month, Carrie.” He gestured to the folder in her lap. “I take it you’ve brought some things for me to look at.”

With a gulp, she scooted her chair closer to his desk and sat her folder in front of her. “Yes, actually, I have,” she said, not quite meeting his gaze.
 

He leaned forward. “Go ahead then,” he said as he reached for his coffee cup. “Wow me, Carrie.”

“All right.” She opened the folder and removed the first page, handing it to him. “These are my notes on the fire that destroyed that historic church near downtown. A homeless man’s in custody but there are questions as to whether he actually set the fire. I’ve got some sources who will state that before the fire there was a flurry of interest in tearing that old place down and building an entertainment venue.”

“That sort of thing happens all the time. What’s the big deal about one more old building being torn down?”

“It seems as though the parishioners were organizing a campaign to save the old church. If there hadn’t been a fire, they might have managed it.”

Mr. Scott scanned her sheet of notes then handed it back to her. “Interesting. What’s your angle?”

As she outlined her proposal for the story, she watched his look turn from bland to interested and she knew she had him. Good. This story would be a go. Now if she could just get him to consider the one she really wanted to do.

The expose on Ryan Baxter.

As they worked through her list of ideas, Carrie tried to keep her mind on the present and not let it go hurrying toward the last item on the agenda. They ticked off the items on the list one by one until the time stood at a few minutes to twelve.

“Well, if that’s all then I’ll let you get to work.” Mr. Scott rose and stretched the offered her a smile. “I expect a preliminary draft of the church fire story by Friday. If I like what I see, we’ll be running it in the Sunday edition.”

The Sunday edition.

Carrie’s heart soared. Thus far she’d only received the nod for the Sunday edition twice in the three years she’d been at the
Times.
In both cases, she’d worked with a team to get the story. This would be her byline and no one else’s.

 
“Really?” she said.

Mr. Scott nodded. “I’ve been pleased with your work, Carrie. I think it’s time you start taking on bigger stories.”

“Do you mean that?”

His thick brows narrowed but his grin broadened. “Why wouldn’t I mean that, Carrie?”

“I don’t know. It’s just that…well, what I mean is…” She paused to take a breath and consider her next sentence. She also prayed she could utter a complete one. “Mr. Scott, if you have confidence that I can get the church fire story, then maybe you’d consider taking one more look at the coffee story.”

His smile went south. “Miss Collins, the discussion on that particular topic has ended. Was I not clear on that last night?”

“Yes, sir, you were. It’s just that . . .”

That what? What else could she say to get her boss to understand how terribly important this story was?
 

The newspaperman brushed past her to open the door and step out into the hall. Gathering her notes into her folder, Carrie trudged behind him, defeated.

Her cell phone rang and she ignored it. “Mr. Scott,” she said as she stopped just inside the doorway, “if I can prove up my theory with hard facts, would you take another look at the idea of doing a feature on Heavenly Beans?”

“Miss Collins, I can’t imagine what you could add to the information you’ve got. You have no connection between Heavenly Beans and Camex other than a possible charitable donation. Last time I checked, that was not illegal.”

Once again her phone jangled. She hit the silence button and shoved it into her pocket.

“But there’s more than just a charitable donation there,” she protested. “I just know it.”

“You just
know it
?” He gave her a hard look. “How?”

How indeed? Her phone rang a third time and she answered it intending to tell whoever was calling to take a hike.
 

“Carrie, it’s Ryan.”
 

She held the phone against her chest and regarded Mr. Scott with a smile. “It’s him,” she said. “What kind of information do you need? What do I need to ask him that will make you change your mind?”

Mr. Scott seemed to consider the questions. She put the phone back to her ear to stall for time.

“Ryan,” she said as she watched her boss, “could I call you right back? I’m kind of in a meeting with my boss.”

“Well, that might be a problem.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“Oh?”

“Yeah, there’s been a slight change of plans. I’m on the way to Hobby to catch a plane home. I wondered if you might like to ride along. I know it’s not the amount of time we planned for the interview but it’s the best I can do.”

“He’s leaving,” she whispered. “If I’m going to talk to him I have to do it now.”

Her boss shook his head. “Concentrate on the fire, Carrie. That story is due Friday, remember?”

“Of course I do,” she said, “but this one’s much bigger. I feel it.”

“Carrie?”

She returned her attention to Ryan. “Yes, I’m here. Sorry.”

“Carrie, I’m downstairs. Are you coming with me or not?”

“He’s downstairs, Mr. Scott,” she said. “Won’t you reconsider?”

Rather than answer, her boss turned on his heels and disappeared into his office. A second later the door slammed.

“Carrie?”

“I’m sorry, Ryan,” she said as she raced to her desk to deposit her folder into the top drawer and grab her purse from the bottom one. “I’ll be right down.” She picked up a fresh notepad and tucked her tape recorder into her purse then bolted for the elevator.
 

“Carrie, hey!”

Millie. Carrie slowed her pace to allow her friend to catch up.

“Where you headed, girl?” Mille Townsend’s long-legged strides told the world her last job had been as a basketball player. Her smile and perfectly coordinated outfit, purse, and shoes marked her for a fashion writer.

Unfortunately, the
Times’
fashion writer had come into the job during the Nixon administration and wasn’t planning to leave any time soon. Swearing she would someday have that job, Millie toiled away in Fact Checking with high hopes and an eye for detail.