For Joy's Sake

“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 (#u1748c73e-1d17-5731-a242-703ed7b3ad61)

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.”