The Trouble with Angels (Angels Everywhere #2)(8)

Goodness always meant to keep her promises. "This is different,” she vowed.

"Answer me this,” Gabriel said, ushering them both back to where Mercy sat waiting. When they appeared, Mercy, the third prayer ambassador, leaped to her feet as if she’d been sitting on a mattress spring.

"Yes?” Goodness said, following on Gabriel’s heels.

"How did you know about Paul Morris?”

"Ah…” Goodness and Mercy exchanged knowing looks.

"She said his name jumped right off the page,” Mercy supplied when Goodness’s answer wasn’t immediately forthcoming.

Gabriel ceased pacing. "Overruled again,” he mumbled under his breath.

"What did he say?” Mercy whispered out of the side of her mouth.

"Something about being overdone.”

"Overruled,” Gabriel barked. His hands were clasped behind his back once more, and he didn’t seem any too pleased.

"Is something wrong?” Again it was Mercy, curious to learn what she could.

"No,” Gabriel snapped.

"I think there must be,” Goodness whispered.

"Where’s Shirley?”

"Earth, I think,” Goodness suggested. Gabriel ignored them as best he could. He still hadn’t stopped frowning.

"Los Angeles?”

Goodness nodded, and the two gleefully shot their arms into the air and gave each other a high five. The sound echoed like a Chinese gong in the stillness.

Gabriel whirled around to confront the two. "Where did you two learn about high fives?”

The archangel had a stare a rattlesnake would envy.

"Ah…”

"You see, Mercy’s a Lakers fan.”

"You are, too.”

"I prefer the Seattle SuperSonics,” Goodness insisted, "but will cheer for the Lakers in a pinch.”

"Just exactly who are the Lakers?” Gabriel demanded.

"The Lakers,” Goodness explained, shocked at the archangel’s ignorance. "The Los Angeles professional basketball team. Does the name Magic mean anything to you, Gabe?”

Gabriel closed his eyes, and Goodness had the feeling he wasn’t exactly praying.

"You’ve got assignments for us, don’t you?” she asked triumphantly. She could think of no other reason for the archangel’s look of complete frustration.

"It seems you’ll to be working with Paul Morris after all,” Gabriel informed Goodness, looking downright unhappy with the situation.

Goodness doubled up her fist and shot it into the air, leaping several inches from the floor. "Yes!”

"What about me?” Mercy wanted to know, trailing after Gabriel, who continued his marine drill-sergeant pace.

"In a minute.” He turned and faced Goodness once more. "I’ll tolerate none of the craziness you pulled last Christmas, understand?”

"Perfectly.” Goodness snapped to attention.

"Can you tell me about my prayer assignment now?” Mercy pressed. "I don’t mean to be a problem, but I do think I’ve been waiting long enough.”

"Furthermore…” Gabriel paused when he felt Mercy tugging at his sleeve. "You wanted something?” he asked with a decided lack of patience.

"We need to talk.”

"Talk?”

Mercy nodded. "I really do hate to be a nuisance, especially when you’re in this frame of mind, but really, Gabriel, if you’re going to send Shirley and Goodness to Los Angeles, it only seems fair—”

"You’ll be assigned there as well.”

Goodness was relieved. As far as she was concerned, there wasn’t anything the three of them couldn’t do once they put their minds to it. The three of them together. God willing, of course.

"Do you know who Catherine Goodwin is?” Gabriel asked Mercy.

The other angel blinked, then shook her head. "No, should I know her?”

For the first time in what seemed like a good long while, Gabriel smiled. "Come and meet a wonderful woman. You’re going to like her very much.”

3

Catherine Goodwin adjusted the clasp of her antique brooch as she pinned it to the neckline of her silk blouse. She squared her shoulders and studied her image in the mirror on the back of her bedroom door. Her hair was pinned in a soft bun, more white now than gray, she noted.

Her fingers lightly touched the cameo she wore at her neck. She felt the love it represented as strongly now as she had fifty years earlier when Earl Standish had presented it to her. The light wool skirt and ivory-colored blouse were her best—she saved them for special occasions. Like this afternoon.

"I look like an old woman,” Catherine mumbled, then allowed her shoulders to relax before she smiled at her reflection. "But then, I am an old woman,” she admitted softly.

Catherine moved into her tiny kitchen and checked to be sure the china cups and tray were ready for her guests. Her very special guests.

Not wanting her grandson, Ted, and his lady friend to wait needlessly for her to be called downstairs, Catherine took the elevator to the large reception room of the Wilshire Grove Retirement Center.

"Catherine.” Joy Palmer, the resident service director for Wilshire Grove, joined her. Her eyes were warm and approving. "How lovely you look.”