Coffee Scoop (5 page)

In her briefcase, nestled next to the thick file with church fire research, was her data on Heavenly Beans, Casa de Dios, and Ryan Baxter. She also added information on Camex International and George Renfro.

Her Instant Messenger program sounded a greeting and Ryan’s words appeared. “Did you get my email about picking up your coffee?” she read aloud.

Carrie smiled. A simple yes should have been her response. Instead, she typed “Make it two dozen and I’m there,” then hit send.
 

As soon as she watched the words appear in the Instant Messenger box she longed to delete them. What happened to the professional journalist, the one who was sure Ryan Baxter was guilty of bilking innocent Christians just like the man who fooled Mama into giving away her savings.

She pushed the awful memory into the recesses of her mind and waited anxiously for Ryan’s answer. To her disappointment, none came.

* * *

Ryan waved away Alvaro and continued to type. “Just one more minute and I promise I’ll be there.”

“Your caller isn’t going to understand that a woman in Austin is what is keeping you from a conference call that may end with a sizable donation to our cause.” Alvaro let the door close just a bit harder than normal, proof positive he held no understanding of Ryan’s situation.
 

And what a situation.
 

First he’d managed to send a couple of polite Instant Messages to Carrie and then, just when the exchange started getting good, the line went dead and so did his Internet connection. The moment he managed to get back online was the moment Alvaro barged into his office.

Surely his friend would manage fine without him. After all, Alvaro knew as much about the company as Ryan, probably more. What harm would it do to just send one more message to Carrie? After all, he wouldn’t want her to think him rude.

Sorry about that
, he typed.
Internet went down. So, as you were saying…double the amount of coffee?

He could hear Alvaro pacing just outside the door, speaking a bit louder than necessary. Perhaps those cordless phones he’d brought back from the States weren’t such a good idea after all. Keeping Alvaro in his office instead of walking the halls was a much better plan, at least right at this moment.

Yes, two dozen,
came Carrie’s reply.
Not a bean less.

With glee, he typed a particularly bad reference from Shakespeare.
Two beans or not two beans.
He hit send and imagined the smile Carrie would wear when the words popped onto her screen.

Oh, that was bad, Ryan.
She added one of those cute smiley faces after his name.

Forgive me.
Ryan laughed.
When do you expect to take delivery of yon beans?

“Baxter,” came the thickly accented voice from the hallway. “Line one. Now please.”

Line one? Since when did they have a line one? He rose and strode toward the door then whirled around and raced back to the desk when he heard the sound indicating he had a new message.

Tomorrow if I could. You’ve ruined me for any other coffee. Seriously, I have to clear things with my boss. We’re meeting this afternoon. Can I let you know then?

“Baxter.” This time Alvaro’s voice held more irritation than he’d ever heard. Perhaps he’d best end this conversation and get back to the real work of running a coffee company.

Ryan, are you there?

“Baxter, are you there?”

Yes, I’m here.
He paused to edit his thoughts before settling for a bland response.
 
Of course you can let me know later. No hurry.
It wouldn’t do for her to know how anxious he was to show her his part of the world.

The door flew open and Alvaro stepped inside. Once in all the years Ryan had known the pastor had he seen the man that angry. “You are about to cost us a hundred thousand dollar donation, my friend. Now decide what is more important, speaking to the donor who is waiting for you on the phone or dallying with your girlfriend.”

Ryan rose and closed his laptop. “I was not dallying,” he said as he reached for the phone in Alvaro’s hand.

“Interesting.” A grin touched one corner of the Costa Rican’s mouth. “You didn’t deny she was your girlfriend.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Mr. Scott leaned his elbows on his desk and peered over his reading glasses, his expression giving away nothing of how he felt. “Why are you so insistent on doing this story?”

Carrie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The moment of truth had arrived. And the truth was what she would give her boss. Maybe then he would see things her way and assign her to cover the Heavenly Beans/Camex connection.

“The truth, Mr. Scott, is that I know firsthand what can happen when a Christian is taken in by someone claiming to be doing good deeds. Perhaps you know what I mean.”

“No, can’t say as I do.” He continued to stare so she pressed on.

“Well, okay, you see my mother’s was a wonderful Christian woman – still is, actually. Just after my dad died, a man showed up at her house claiming to be a friend of Dad’s. He gave her a story about how he had this special deal just for her, an opportunity to donate money to the Lord and then make it back by the fistfuls. Suffice it to say, Mama never saw a dime of that money and neither did the Lord. The Feds caught up with that man living the high life in a beachfront condo in Florida. Meanwhile Mama lost her house and most of Dad’s savings.”

Again her boss just sat and stared. Carrie frowned. What else could she say to convince him?

Before she could speak again, he did. “So, what you’re saying is you’ve got an ax to grind with anybody who is claiming to raise money for religious purposes?”

“What? No, of course not.”

Mr. Scott tapped the folder with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry, Carrie, but all I have here is circumstantial evidence. You’ve got a guy flying first class, a nice briefcase, and a limo owned by George Renfro’s company.”

“The same George Renfro who was in trouble with the law not so many years ago.”

“The same George Renfro who is now an elder at one of the largest churches in Austin. The same George Renfro who proclaims his faith in every interview he gives.” He thrust the folder in her direction. “The same George Renfro who gives sizeable sums of money to charity and refuses to accept publicity for it. Need I go on?”

She shook her head.

“Look, Carrie. I respect your ability to ferret out a good story. The church fire is a prime example. You went above and beyond to get the story. Is it true you posed as a homeless woman?”

Carrie shrugged. “Just for a few hours. I heard about this guy who might be involved and I figured the only way to get an interview was to do it on his terms.”

Mr. Scott chuckled. “I wish I’d sent a camera crew for that one.”

Seizing the moment, Carrie pressed home her point. “So if you respect my abilities then why not also respect my judgment on this one? I truly believe there is a story there.”

Her boss rose and walked around the desk to head for the door. “So do I, Carrie.”

She followed him into the hall and fell into step beside him. “You do?”

“Of course. Look at the facts. Missionaries, big business, orphans. You’ve got all sorts of angles to pursue.” He paused at the elevator to push the down button. “This could be huge.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

The doors opened and Mr. Scott stepped inside. “Your focus is all wrong.”

Carrie jumped in just as the doors began to close. “What do you mean?”

Mr. Scott seemed to be considering the question. “You wrote the ending first.”

The doors opened and Mr. Scott stepped into the light-filled lobby with Carrie in pursuit. “I don’t understand. I haven’t written anything yet. I’m still in the research stage.”

Her boss paused and turned to face her. “Carrie, you’re one of the best young reporters on my staff, the operative word here being young. With age and experience comes a measure of impartiality. Cultivate that and stories like this are yours.”

“Wait!” she called as he exited the building. “What if I made a deal with you?”

“I don’t make deals,” he shouted over the roar of a Metro bus and the sounds of downtown traffic. “That’s why I’m the boss.”

“Fair enough.” She raced to catch up to his long strides, the humidity and exhaust fumes thick enough to be almost visible. “But what if I work on this story on my own time? Say, on my vacation?”
“Vacation?” He stopped short and whirled around to face her. “You’d use up your only week of vacation for this story?”

“Yes,” she said.

Mr. Scott shrugged. “I can’t tell you what to do on your vacation but I can tell you I’m making no promises on whether this story will ever see ink. Is that clear?”

“Crystal clear, sir.” She paused a second to let his words sink in. “Does that mean you’ll look at what I write about this?”

“I’m always willing to look at your stories, Carrie,” he said. “Just don’t disappoint me.”

“I won’t.” She turned to race back toward the
Times
building.

“And this time wait until you have to whole story to write the ending,” followed her inside.

In short order she secured a week’s vacation and a decently priced round trip flight to Costa Rica. The E-mail to Ryan took a bit longer as she agonized over every word, unwilling to give him the wrong impression about her visit.

And yet, as she wrote the terse and succinct paragraph announcing her arrival date and flight information, she wondered if she could maintain the façade. Inexplicably, the thought of seeing Ryan made her smile.
 

He was nice, and he did have a wonderful sense of humor, so it was natural to believe he would be a good host. And the way he described his adopted country made her long to see it in person.

Yes, those were the reasons for her happiness. It had nothing to do with Ryan Baxter.

Carrie shrugged off the thought and set to work making sense of her notes on the Heavenly Beans story. The lunch hour came and went and still she sat at her desk in the cramped windowless office. As the story unfolded before her, Carrie realized she’d missed an important detail: George Renfro.

While she’d concentrated on interviewing Ryan and learning about his company and the mission it supported, she’d neglected to ferret out details on Mr. Renfro’s involvement. Beyond loaning Ryan a limo, she had no idea what Camex or its chief did to contribute to the Costa Rican coffee company and orphanage.

But would George Renfro do an interview with a lowly
Times
religion reporter?

“There’s only one way to find out,” she said as she reached for the phone.

After announcing her name and journalistic affiliation, Carrie was put through to Mr. Renfro’s secretary and then, to Mr. Renfro himself.

“So you’re the girl Ryan ditched me for,” he said when he came on the line. “What can I do for you?”

The girl Ryan ditched him for
?
 

“Miss Collins, are you there?”

“Yes,” she said, “I’m here. Actually, I’m working on a story about Heavenly Beans and
Casa de Dios.
I was wondering if you would mind answering a few questions.”

Carrie held her breath and waited for the rejection she knew would come. At least she would know she’d tried.
 

“I don’t mind at all,” he said. “The
Times
building is just around the corner from our offices and I’ve got some spare time this afternoon. What say you meet me up on the twenty-seventh floor in half an hour?”

As it turned out, the twenty-seventh floor of the Camex building was the helipad.
 

Following the dark-suited secretary’s lead, Carrie emerged into the brilliant sunshine then stopped short. A silver helicopter bearing the Camex logo sat tethered in the center of a bright orange circle. At its controls was a man who looked suspiciously like George Renfro.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Mama Zadora sat in her rocker, a baby sleeping on one shoulder and another smiling up from a cradle at her feet. Around her a delightful symphony, the sounds of the children mixed with the call of the birds and the rustle of leaves in the breeze, echoed along the expanse of thatch-covered porch.
 

As Ryan approached, Mama shifted the pink-clad infant into the crook of her arm and held her against her chest. With the toe of her sandal, the ageless beauty set the little cradle rocking again.
 

“So my boy has come to visit and it’s not even time for a meal?” Mama punctuated the statement with a smile. “I was told you were too busy with that silly computer to speak to real people.”

Ryan kissed the giggling Mama on her cheek then gathered the baby into his arms. A girl, this one, and soon to be adopted by a childless couple in Alvaro’s Sunday services. Until all papers were in order, however, the
nina
remained in Mama’s care.

He held the infant close. She smelled like soap and sweet milk, a combination that set him longing for a houseful just like her. The thought jarred him into picking up the lost thread of conversation.

“Alvaro speaks too much,” Ryan said. “You should find him a wife to keep him busy.”
 

“Alvaro speaks his mind, this is true.” Mama brushed a strand of dark hair off her face. “He also worries about his friend. I understand there was some measure of trouble with a certain person in Atlanta. A benefactor whose temper at being kept waiting almost cost the donation, perhaps?”

Ryan cringed. “I almost blew it,” he said. “I admit I should have come to the phone sooner. I was wrong.”

Mama waved away the statement with a lift of her hand. “Wrong, perhaps. But those are the things that happen to a man when his is courting.”

“Courting?” The little girl in his arms opened her eyes and frowned. “Nobody’s courting here,” he said softly. “Carrie and I just happened to be in the middle of an important conversation about a story she’s doing on the company. And she’s a friend, nothing more.”

Smiling her knowing smile, Mama remained silent. She knew better, he supposed, but the truth was he didn’t have any idea whether he was courting or not.