you needs. I'd say you two are perfect for each other.'
'Mimi—'
'He's gone wanting for a long time. It shows in his eyes. He's like the kids that come here. Ain't nobody ever loved him the way he needs to be loved. And you, Cynthia Ellen Porter, have got the kind of heart that could heal that man's soul.'
Cyn didn't like the thoughts that Mimi's words created in her mind. The legend said that someday a warrior in need of peace would come to the beach, to the old mission, and would find solace in the arms of a woman, the only woman on earth capable of giving his heart and soul sanctuary.
'I want to change the subject. I don't have time to try to figure out why Nate and I met now, when he's involved in something he won't talk about and I've got Evan's dream to save.'
Puckering her lips into a frown, Mimi grunted. 'What can I do to help?'
'Just keep being my friend. Keep putting up with me.' Cyn tapped her slender fingers on the manila folder.
'What have you got there?' Mimi asked.
'A list of all our contributors.' Cyn opened the file folder. 'I plan to see each one of our major contributors and ask for...no...beg them for another donation.'
'I suppose you plan to hit your father up first thing?'
'I know I can count on Daddy.' Cyn lifted the list from the folder and scanned the pages quickly, reading out the names of the people who'd donated over a thousand dollars.
Cyn's eyes focused on one name. She didn't remember ever meeting the man, but she knew that for the past five years he had been Tomorrow House's largest contributor. 'This is who I'll contact first. He's donated ten thousand dollars every year for the past five years.'
'Who in the world has that kind of money to give away?'
'Ramon Carranza. I'm going to call and try to set up an appointment with him.'
'I've heard of that guy,' Mimi said, thumping her cheek with her index finger. 'My friend Georgia, who lives in my apartment building, has a nephew who works for this Carranza. Waylon is the gardener, and he told Georgia that his boss was a very wealthy man. Got money invested in just about everything, and he's involved in a casino out in Vegas and another in Atlantic City. And the dog tracks.'
'He's probably a millionaire and needs the tax write-off large donations can provide for him.'
'Rumors are that he was once a very big man in Miami, back when the Cubans ran things, before the Colombians took over.'
'My goodness, Mimi, you sound like an expert on Florida crime,' Cyn said.
'Naw, I'm just an old woman who likes to gossip. People like this Carranza guy make for interesting conversation.'
'Well, at this point I'm willing to give Ramon Carranza the benefit of the doubt. No one knows for sure how he made his money. We don't really know that he's a crime boss, do we? And in a way it's only fitting that bad money should do some good.'
'My guess is the old man is trying to soothe his conscience before he dies. Probably thinks he can buy his way into heaven.'
'He's an old man?' Cyn asked. 'How old?'
'Nearly eighty. Waylon told Georgia that he ain't got nobody. No children, and his wife died years ago.'
'He lives alone?'
'Except for the servants and his bodyguard,' Mimi said.
'Bodyguard?'
'Well, he is very rich.'
'I suppose you're right. I just hope I can persuade him to share those riches with us.' * * *
When she exited Interstate 1 directly behind the big black limousine, Cyn wondered who would be visiting Sweet Haven in such opulent style. Her curiosity peaked when she noted that the limo turned off onto the beachfront road. As she followed the huge, slow-moving Caddy, Cyn's puzzlement increased when the vehicle passed her cottage and pulled up in front of Nate's house.
Cyn parked in her drive and got out, balancing the paper grocery bag on one hip and her briefcase and purse on the other. She couldn't help but stare across the road at the enormous man getting out of the driver's side of the limo. She didn't think she'd seen such a mountain of a man except on TV wrestling. The stranger wasn't wearing a chauffeur uniform however, but a tailored, dove-gray, three-piece suit. Even at this distance, she could make out the man's strong Hispanic features.
Stepping up on the front porch, she readjusted the grocery bag, then inserted her door key in the lock. As soon as she heard the opening click, she glanced again across the road. The gargantuan man stood at Nate's front door. Who on earth was he? And why had he come to see Nate? Could this man possibly be the dangerous enemy of whom Nate had spoken?
Giving the door a push with her hip, Cyn stepped inside, dropping her purse, key ring and briefcase on the nearest chair. Clutching the paper bag in her hand, she started toward the kitchen, stopped dead still, turned around and walked back to the open door. Peering outside, she took one more look across the street.
Nate stood on his porch talking to the big stranger. She was too far away to hear even the sound of their voices, and she couldn't make out the expression on either man's face. Suddenly, Nate shoved his front door open and waited until his guest entered before returning inside.
Cyn slammed the door and made her way to the kitchen. She placed the paper bag on the table and rummaged through it, removing the perishable items first. All the while she put away her groceries, Cyn kept thinking about Nate's visitor.
After a light supper of tuna salad, Cyn poured herself another glass of iced tea, put on a Patti Page tape and settled down on the over-stuffed chintz sofa in the living room. Picking up the manila folder, she pulled out the contributors list, her gaze immediately focusing on the name she'd circled in red. Memorizing the number, Cyn dialed her portable phone.
A female voice answered. 'Ramon Carranza's residence. May I help you?'
'Yes, this is Cynthia Porter. I'd like to speak to Mr. Carranza about Tomorrow House in Jacksonville.'
'Very well, Ms. Porter. Please hold.'
Cyn gave a silent prayer of thanks that she'd had no trouble getting through to Ramon Carranza. She waited and waited and waited. Finally she began tapping her fingers on the sofa's armrest, patting her foot to the gentle rhythm of the music and even humming along with the tune.
'Hello, Senora Porter. This is Ramon Carranza. How may I help you?' The voice was strong and deep and only slightly accented.
'Mr. Carranza,' Cyn said, her own voice breathless. 'I'm the assistant director at Tomorrow House in Jacksonville.'
'I'm very familiar with Tomorrow House. I wholly support your efforts to help young runaways.'
'That's wonderful, Mr. Carranza, and we're extremely grateful for your generous yearly donations.' Take it slow and easy, she cautioned herself. Just use your feminine charm and don't push so hard.
'But surely you are calling for more than to thank me.' The tone of his voice had grown lighter, less formal.
'As a matter of fact, I am. You see, if we can't raise a substantial amount of money before the end of May, the church plans to close us down, and I simply can't let that happen. I know it's presumptuous of me to be pleading with someone who's already been more than generous—'
'Senora Porter, I would like to invite you to have brunch with me tomorrow, here at my home. I would be delighted if you can find the time to accept my offer.'
'Delighted...lunch...tomorrow...at your home?' God, she knew she was babbling, but his invitation had been so unexpected, so totally out of the blue.
'May I take that as a yes?' he asked, amusement clearly in his voice.