For Joy's Sake
Dad.
“Hey, what’s up?” he answered, slipping into expensive loafers and shoving his wallet in his back pocket before picking up his keys from the nightstand. He’d spoken with both of his parents—separately, of course—the morning before. His regular check-in. But he and his dad, who’d moved to Florida after his parents’ divorce ten years before, chatted frequently. Mostly about golf scores and such.
“I need a favor, son.”
Son. Not Buddy, the nickname his father most often used. Or Hunter. Which generally meant his father wasn’t too pleased with him.
Son. Hunter paid attention.
“Sure. What’s up?” His father was a wealthy man. He could afford to buy just about any favor he needed. And that probably meant it involved his mother. Again.
Karen Rafferty only contacted her ex-husband when she had to. Still, she had a way of pissing his father off—almost as if she was doing it on purpose, as his father sometimes thought. Hunter was more inclined to believe that after so many years of living with a man who didn’t give her what she needed, Karen’s reactions to her ex-husband were automatic. And automatically negative. She was otherwise a kind, decent woman.
As his father was the first to acknowledge.
“You remember Betty’s brother, Edward?”
Betty...John Rafferty’s wife. Hunter’s stepmother of nine years. And Edward...
“Yeah, he was at your wedding,” Hunter said. He pictured the man, about his father’s age, a primary care doctor like his dad, and boating enthusiast, as he recalled.
A widower. With a pretty companion whose name he couldn’t remember and whose relationship with Edward reminded Hunter of him and Mandy now. Enjoying each other with no strings attached.
“He needs your help, Hunter. Anything you can do... You know so many people.”
While John’s California contacts were ten years in the past and mainly in San Diego.
“Is he in some kind of trouble?”
“His daughter is—”
Standing in his kitchen, near the door that led to his garage, Hunter shook his head. “I don’t remember a daughter. Was she at the wedding?”
Granted, he’d been a bit put out by the speed with which his father had found a new wife in his new town, concerned that the woman was using him. But now that he knew Betty, a nurse in the building where John had his private practice, he approved wholeheartedly.
“No. That’s all part of the problem. He hasn’t seen her in practically a decade. Her mom died twelve years ago. Edward buried himself in work, and Cara got in with the wrong people. You know how it is on certain parts of the beach—easy to find crowds to lose yourself in.”
Hunter, with his love of a good time coupled with the cold-war atmosphere in his home, had come close to losing his whole future on the beach in San Diego. Until his father had set him straight, telling him that his love of a good time was not something to be thrown away, but to be capitalized on. It was his talent, and he needed to use it wisely.
“She met a guy who ran some surfing school shortly after her mother died. Edward was sure the school was a front for drugs, but the more he questioned, the more Cara pulled away, saying that he just didn’t want her to be happy. She ended up following the guy to California, where he started a second surfing school. They got married. Had a little girl... He hired someone to check up on her over the years, just to make certain she was okay.”
Hunter wasn’t seeing the problem. He was seeing valuable time slip away. But when his dad called, he listened. “So the business was legit, and everything worked out.”
“Edward hoped the business was legit, that she was healthy and happy. Cara hasn’t contacted him in years or responded to any of his efforts to contact her. At one point, before they left Florida, the guy, Shawn Amos, warned Edward to leave Cara alone. Said that Edward did nothing but make her unhappy. Edward was certain, even then, that Shawn was the biggest problem between him and Cara. He says Amos turned Cara against him. He tried to tell Cara, but any time Edward said anything that could be even vaguely construed as a criticism of Shawn, Cara got defensive and quit listening to him.”
He was sorry for the guy. But he didn’t see what he could do. He was a party thrower, not a trouble solver, and he had to get to work.
They had a dozen events that week, and while he had staff to handle most of the on-site logistics, he always showed up.
“What kind of trouble is she in?”
The phone call to Julie would have to wait. He didn’t want it to be rushed. Just in case he could get her to engage in more than a brief business discussion. Still standing in his kitchen, he looked out toward the beach and realized how long it had been since he’d been out there for the sheer sake of enjoying himself, enjoying the surf. He’d known some great guys who taught surfing...
“She’s missing, Hunter.”
“Hey, wait a minute, Dad. He needs to call the police. Not me. I’m no investigator. I don’t even know an investigator.” Wait, yes, he’d just met one—Julie’s sister-in-law, Chantel.
Just as Hunter was about to suggest Chantel to his father, John said, “The cops know, Hunter. They’re looking for her. That’s not the favor.”
Completely focused now, Hunter stopped thinking about the time he was losing. “What can I do to help?”
“Edward’s granddaughter is staying with a friend, a neighbor, for the moment, but if Child Protective Services gets involved, she might be sent to strangers. She has an aunt, Shawn’s sister Mary, who’s in the hospital in critical condition. She’s in and out of consciousness, but she said that Shawn beat her up and that he hurt Cara, too. She also said Cara told her to take Joy and run. Mary’s the last known person to have seen either Cara or Shawn. The family van is still parked at the residence.”
The whole thing was way over his head. Completely outside any area of expertise he’d ever even thought about having. His father had to know that. “What can I do?” he asked again.
“Edward is flying to LA this morning. He plans to stay until his daughter’s found. But his first concern is his granddaughter. He wants to make certain that until her father’s in custody, she’s in a safe place and out of the foster care system.”
Finally, he understood. “Edward needs a place to stay,” he said. “You want him to bunk with me.” The condo had four bedrooms: his, the one with a desk and computer in it for when he worked from home, and two that were ready for guests. “I’m an hour and a half north of the city, but of course, he’s welcome. Right now. For as long as he needs. Is he renting a car?”
Hunter had vehicle rental connections.
“Or if he needs a place in the city,” he added, “let me know.”
He had connections there, too. A file folder filled with them.
“I was hoping you’d contact your friend Brett Ackerman, son. You said he shocked everyone a couple of years ago, admitting that he was the founder of a women’s shelter...”
“Yeah. The Lemonade Stand.” He didn’t know all that much about it. Brett kept a hands-off approach. Hunter had thrown some fund-raisers for the Stand, but never on-site. Or even close to the site. And, as always, he didn’t ask a lot of questions about what went on beyond his need-to-know part. He’d learned early on that he couldn’t do his job, wouldn’t have time to help as many charities as he did, if he delved into all the causes for which his clients were fighting.
“As Edward understands it, Mary—Cara’s sister-in-law—doesn’t have much money. And if she’s close to Cara, she probably won’t take any from him. But if he could pay Brett, make a donation to the shelter, I...thought maybe they’d have a place for Mary and Joy there, just until the cops find Shawn and we know they’re safe...”
“I can talk to Brett, sure, but what about Edward? You said he’s flying in today. Where does he plan to stay? I assume he’s meeting with whatever police department has his daughter’s case. You have a cell number so I can contact him?”
“He’s got a room at a place there in Santa Raquel,” John said. “Because I suggested he stay close to you.” His father’s faith in him had been steadfast. “Ventura police have jurisdiction over the case.”
About an hour north of LA, forty-five minutes or so south of Santa Raquel, the beach town was a place where teenagers liked to party. Hunter had never set a function there. But a surfing company made sense...
“What hospital is the aunt in? And what’s her full name?”
“Mary Amos. Unmarried. Twenty-seven years old. She works at a gift shop down by the Ventura pier. She’s at Ventura County Medical Center.”
With a Bluetooth earpiece keeping him connected to his father, he took the details on his phone. “And what’s Edward’s last name again?” Betty was a Rafferty now. Until she’d married John, he’d had no reason to know her as anything but Betty.
“Mantle.”
Like Mickey Mantle. He remembered now. Dr. Mantle.
“The little girl, Joy, how old is she?”
“Seven.”
He took down Edward’s cell number, flight and hotel information next.
“Got it,” he said, keys in hand, phone in his pocket, as he headed for the door. “Tell Edward not to worry. And to call me when he gets in,” he said before he clicked the earpiece and started another call.
As he waited for Brett Ackerman to answer, his dad’s effusive thanks echoed through his mind. Bothering him, oddly enough. This was serious stuff, and he wasn’t doing anything but making a phone call.
The doctors in the world healed pain. The cops punished those who created pain. And Hunter...he was the guy who had a lot of contacts and knew how to put on a good party. Who could always be counted on to lighten the mood.
He was the fun guy.
Not the lifesaver.
CHAPTER FIVE
JULIE HAD THOUGHT about Hunter a great deal on Monday. Only because she was bracing herself to hear from him. Hoping she hadn’t given him any hint of how much she’d enjoyed being at the festival with him. Afraid he’d turn on the charm even more.
Secondary to that fear was the fact that she’d been at a crowded public festival for more than an hour without a panic attack. She wanted to celebrate her progress, but was too busy worrying that her lack of anxiety had been due to him—that she’d been so taken with him she was distracted from her usual sense of discomfort.
When she got up Tuesday morning to find the late-night email from him, telling her that he’d signed the girls’ group, she was relieved that there was no need for a phone call now. She’d see Hunter at Thursday’s meeting—a dress rehearsal for the acts they’d be showcasing at the following week’s gala—and then one more time, at the gala itself. After that, she’d be done with him.
Yes, she was relieved about all of that.
No matter what Lila McDaniels said, she was not hiding from life. She was living the life she’d chosen for herself. A life of giving.
Of making the world a better place for children who weren’t growing up with the kind of privilege she had. For children who didn’t always understand the world around them. Just...for children in general, because children brought her joy.
Being a child had brought her joy.
And she spent time with victims of abuse because she felt comfortable with them.
Still, she hesitated when she saw Lila’s number pop up on her cell Wednesday morning. She’d been about to leave the house, heading to LA for a lunch meeting with a couple of board members of the Sunshine Children’s League. Among other things, the league supported a home for children awaiting adoption, and Julie was on a committee that was planning an October Open House, for later in the month, with food trucks, Halloween fun and tours of the facilities guided by the kids themselves. They were hoping to attract prospective parents for older children.
She made it through three rings before picking up.
“Hello?” In her studio, she looked over the current work in progress, a drawing on her easel—and the words that went with it on the table with her watercolors.
It’s okay to have a day that goes wrong in every way.
The drawing showed a glass of spilled milk, a broken toy and a chubby-faced little girl frowning at a big jelly stain on her shirt.
“I need your help.” Lila’s first words, after a quick hello, made her stomach hurt.
“Of course. What do you need?” She’d step up. No matter what. The alternative, to stay locked away in her fairy-tale world, wasn’t right. Or enough.
You didn’t die from anxiety. Not her kind of anxiety anyway. And even if you did, she’d rather die than be dead alive.
Lila told her about a little girl, Joy. A new resident at the Stand whose father was abusive and whose mother was missing—presumably taken by the father. The seven-year-old had been with them since Monday night, but so far hadn’t said a word to anyone. Or even nodded or shaken her head. She followed instructions.
And she stared vacantly.
Except when it came to Julie’s book about a little girl, Amy, who was afraid of her own shadow—Amy’s Shadow.
“I’m not sure she reads the words, but Sara and the women whose bungalow Joy’s staying in, until her aunt’s out of the hospital, have read it to her several times. And whenever she’s not being told to do something else, she’s got the book in her hands. Sometimes turning the pages. Sometimes just holding it.”
Tears flooded Julie’s eyes. She used to think her sensitivity, her drama and intense emotions, made her special. Then they’d made her fragile.
Which was why she hated when her feelings took over.
There wasn’t time for that right now.
“Can I see her?” Julie asked. She might not be a counselor, but she’d studied child development. And she knew Amy, the girl with the shadow, very, very well.
“That’s why I’m calling. I was hoping you could make time this morning.”
The Sunshine League meeting was important. But it could go on without her. The others could fill her in on any decisions made in her absence.
Within half an hour, she was sitting in the front room of one of the larger bungalows on Lemonade Stand grounds with Joy, a small-boned, dark-haired girl. The child’s big brown eyes were filled with a blankness that tore at Julie’s heart.
Vanessa, one of the adult residents of the bungalow, sat across from them, thumbing through a magazine. The television was on, a family sitcom playing softly in the background.
Sara Havens Edwin was in the kitchen with the older woman who’d agreed to have Joy stay in her room. Hannah was a grandmother of two. And as soon as she got legally disengaged from her abusive second husband, she was going to be moving across the country to live close to her grandkids. If her own kids had had their way, she’d be there already.
Hannah had insisted that she had to get healthy before she took up life with her kids. Julie had spent an evening with her the week before, baking cookies. And listening. What she’d figured was that Hannah needed time to find herself again before she dared to join the grandchildren she adored.
“Would you like me to read to you about Amy?” Julie asked, hands in her lap. Joy didn’t reply. She didn’t offer the book. And Julie didn’t take it from her.
She just started talking. About Amy. About some of the things behind what was on the page. Things that Julie, as the author, knew. Things that hadn’t made it to the page. She explained all of Amy’s thoughts and feelings.
Sara had come into the room and was now sitting several feet away. Hannah was there, too. Listening. Vanessa was no longer reading. The TV still droned softly.
Julie tuned it all out.
Smiling at Joy, she talked to her calmly yet confidently. She knew Amy better than anyone.
She shuddered at the thought of anyone, other than Lila and Sara, knowing that she’d written the new bestselling Being Amy series of children’s books. But considering the confidentiality code at The Lemonade Stand, she hoped that if Vanessa and Hannah had guessed, they’d keep her secret.
The little girl, dressed in jeans and a pink-and-purple short-sleeved shirt, with matching pink-and-purple tennis shoes, opened the book. Turned the pages. Almost as if she was following along with the story. Julie purposely spoke out of page order, to see if Joy got to the right page. Talking about the time Amy was in the bathtub in the morning instead of at night and her shadow was on the wall beside her. Then she moved on to her shadow being in the dentist’s office with her. Joy turned back a couple of pages.
Julie wanted to look at Sara, to let her know the little girl was engaged.
But she didn’t. She wanted Joy to feel her full attention. As though it was just the two of them there.
Just the two of them—and Amy.
For as long as Joy needed her.
* * *
A BUSY WEEK turned into a maelstrom. Hunter got everything done, with his easygoing nature intact. Most of the time he even managed to keep a smile on his face.
Except for the meeting he’d sat in on with Edward and Lila McDaniels, managing director of The Lemonade Stand. He didn’t know what he’d expected when he’d called Brett. But it hadn’t been an immediate appointment with Brett’s top employee at the Stand. He was told to bring Edward in. Hunter had already been vetted for safety purposes when he was hired to run the fund-raisers. And for this one visit, Edward, who had a current medical license, could get in on Hunter’s credentials. Just to Lila’s office and back outside.
That short trip down one hall had been more than Hunter had bargained for. The entire atmosphere—uplifting, supportive and yet somehow desperate, too—had been unlike anything he’d experienced in his life.
But his visit and Edward’s had worked. Sara and Chantel had gone to collect Joy from the neighbors and as of that very first night, Joy had been inside the safe environment, which had round-the-clock security.
Mary would be welcome there, too, if she chose to avail herself of the opportunity once she was well enough to leave the hospital. She’d suffered a severe blow to the head, and it looked like there could be complications, so she might not be out for a while.
Edward had not yet met his granddaughter. He was voluntarily undergoing a full evaluation, with background checks, to prove to anyone with questions that his daughter’s lack of contact with him was not a result of some horrible deed in his past. Or being a horrible man.
What Hunter knew, and others might not, was that if Cara wasn’t found alive, Edward was planning to take every step possible to be awarded full custody.
It was all way more drama than Hunter generally had in his life, and he got most of it from Edward, in the evenings, over beer.
He even felt that the strange week had impacted his carriage. His purposeful gait, as he entered the dinner theater he’d booked to host the Sunshine Children’s League gala, was different from his usual laid-back style. Hunter always built extra time into his schedule. For things like traffic. Catastrophes. Unexpected phone calls. His world was successful partially because of his ability to leave “urgent” out of his days.
But that Thursday he arrived with barely fifteen minutes to spare before dress rehearsal was due to begin for the following week’s gala. Still in the golf shirt he’d put on that morning, he was sweating. At least the dark color of the shirt hid most of the giveaway on that one. Again, not his usual style.
The lack of proper hygiene time irritated him, which put him even more off his game. And here he wanted Julie Fairbanks to be impressed enough to go out with him.
Or rather, accept a single invitation to dinner.
He’d neither seen the woman nor spoken with her since Sunday. He’d been hellaciously busy, and still, she was on his mind the second he woke up that morning. He’d finally reached the day he’d be seeing her.
That thought had sprung him out of bed and into the kitchen for coffee with a whistle.
Coffee was the first thing that had gone wrong. He’d emptied his canister the day before and had neglected to open a new one. Which meant going to the storage cupboard out in his garage to retrieve the canister waiting there, emptying the individual white plastic cups into their holder on the counter, and disposing of the canister.
A small problem. One he’d whistled through.
And then he’d turned on the hot water for his shower and discovered he had none. The thermostat on his hot water heater had gone out. A hundred-dollar fix—he knew a guy who’d come over half an hour later and had it fixed for him in less than that. Then a quick shower and he’d been on his way.
His route had been slower due to traffic he usually managed to avoid. Edward had asked to meet him for lunch, and since the guy was technically family, knew no one else in town and was really broken up about his missing daughter, Hunter agreed. He’d had a business lunch planned, which he attended, met Edward at two, and had to rush to his midafternoon meeting. From then on, he’d never quite caught up to himself.
No time for the second shower he’d planned before seeing Julie again.
“Hunter. I thought I’d be the first one here.”
Either her voice had invaded his brain, along with the images he’d been playing for weeks now, or she was standing behind him.
He turned slowly, his ready smile pasted on his face. “Then you don’t know me well enough yet,” he told her, immensely relieved to find that in spite of his tardiness, he’d beaten her to the venue. Timeliness mattered to her. He’d figured that out when another board member was late for their first meeting. She’d been gracious. But the way she’d continuously rubbed her hands together while they were waiting had given away her distress.
He was trained to notice stuff like that.
Or rather, the psychology degree he’d earned in college, in an effort to better understand people so that he could better know how to please them, had taught him that he needed a class in body language. Which he’d sought outside of his college training.
“I know you arrive fifteen minutes early for every meeting,” she said, coming toward him. Her long dark hair was pulled back, but the white shirt buttoned up nearly to her throat covered any skin she might have left exposed.
Hunter swallowed, pretty sure that she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Then he shook himself awake. Yeah, Julie Fairbanks had a perfect figure, great features and memorable eyes, but he was a California boy, and he’d had his pick of more beauties than most men met in a lifetime.
“Ah, but this is a dress rehearsal,” he said, leading her to the stage at the front of the room. He’d reached for her arm, but he’d somehow missed making contact again, just like at the festival. He wondered if she’d avoided his touch this time because she could tell he was sweating. He stopped just short of sniffing his armpit.
That she would certainly have noticed.
“Tensions tend to run high when acts come face-to-face for the first time,” he said. “They’re all vying for position in the lineup, while trying to determine which position would be best for them. They’re looking at the venue, determining how to fit their act into the space, assessing stage wing options for props or easy entrances and exits. They’re also finding out who they know, avoiding people they might’ve had words—or relationships—with in the past. Plus, they’re staking their claim to dressing-room space. And they’re doing all this while trying to appear blasé about the whole thing.”
In Hunter’s world, he and his staff dealt mainly with talent that could make it big, but hadn’t done so yet. Galas like Julie’s could be a chance at a big break. If the right person noticed them. Was impressed by them. Was in the audience at all...
Usually, with events of this size, there was at least one well-known agent or producer in the audience. He always saw to that. Kept the talent coming. Made the whole evening a win-win. And the level of his talent brought the producers and agents back.