|
Pants on backwards. Jelly
smeared on his nose. And
hair sticking up as if … yep, that had grape jelly on it, too.
“How’d you manage to get a faceful of jam?” Rafe
Montoya asked, hauling his four-year-old nephew into the bathroom
and hoisting him onto the counter. “I fixed you guys cereal for
breakfast.”
“I hate that kind of cereal.” Juan, a stocky tyke with
eyes almost as dark as Rafe’s, folded his arms defiantly as his
uncle rubbed a washcloth across his scrunched face.
“You asked for that brand.” Or had he?
Maybe it was his twin sister, Sofia, who adored graham
cracker-flavored cereal, Rafe conceded while he tackled the hair.
Impossible to get it clean.
Slightly less sticky was the best he could do.
“Anyway, it wouldn’t kill you to be a good sport.”
Juan thudded a sneaker-clad heel against the shelf below him.
“Mom used to make us tortillas and jam for breakfast.”
“I’m out of tortillas.”
But not jam. Obviously.
Rafe supposed this mess was partly his own fault for failing
to supervise breakfast. He’d been interrupted by a phone call from
his chief mechanic, Mario Stenopolous, who’d opened the
garage early and called with the good news that parts had finally
arrived for Sherry LaSalle’s mutilated luxury sedan.
Rafe had told him to tackle that job straightaway.
The sooner they got his snobby new neighbor off their backs,
the better.
What really grated was that he had to do the job for free.
That was cheaper than hiring a lawyer to fight her
lawyer, who insisted the mess was all Rafe’s fault.
Two months ago, he’d just finished repairing the engine and
handed the keys to Sherry’s fiancé, an arrogant jerk named
Winston Grooms III, believing the man was collecting it on her
behalf. Instead, the scoundrel had fled just ahead of an FBI
investigation and abandoned the car -- stripped of removable parts
-- at the Las Vegas airport.
Rafe got stuck restoring it, while Sherry, whose fortune
Winston had scammed, now lived across the street from him in a
cottage she’d once planned to tear down and replace with an ugly
mansion. Oh, to heck with the woman. He had more important matters
to think about this morning, like getting his recently adopted niece
and nephew ready for day care.
“Unc’ Rafe?” Sofia
appeared in the bathroom doorway. The waif had the ability to sneak
up on him in almost complete silence. “Brush my hair?”
“Didn’t I do that already?” He lowered Juan, who bolted
for the hallway, narrowly missing his sister.
She shook her head at Rafe. Her dark hair was tangled
– and full of graham-cracker crumbs.
Apparently she’d mussed it with her own little hands. The
kid craved contact and attention. Reminding himself of how much
she’d been through, Rafe retrieved her brush and set to work.
Again.
Until the previous summer, he’d survived more than thirty
years of living without once unsnarling a little girl’s locks or
scrubbing a preschooler’s face. Aside from buying gifts for the
twins and playing with them during family get-togethers, he’d left
them to the doting care of his younger brother Manuel and
sister-in-law Cara.
But last summer, a brush fire had swept the estate north of
Los Angeles where they’d worked, killing them and the horses
they’d been trying to rescue. Fortunately, the twins had been
away, spending the night with their grandparents to celebrate their
fourth birthday.
Afterwards, when ill health sidelined the elder members of
the family, Rafe stepped in to claim the orphans. Still, even after
the adoption ceremony in April transformed him into an instant dad,
he felt at sea. How was he supposed to handle Juan’s rebellious
streak and Sofia’s clinginess? He could only do his clumsy best
day by day.
“Okay, guys,” Rafe announced. “Grab those backpacks.”
Juan grumbled, and Sofia made a valiant attempt to wrap
herself around her uncle’s leg.
Luckily, they only had a short walk to the neighbor’s home
day-care center.
Outside, clouds dimmed the Southern California sky.
During June gloom, the sun typically didn’t break through
until afternoon here in Brea, a cozy shopping mecca in inland Orange
County.
On the porch, Rafe locked the door before escorting the
children. Hardly a breath of wind stirred the palm trees that
fronted his stucco home. A gardening truck rumbled by, the only
traffic on this lower curve of Harmony Road.
The U-shaped street, which held slightly fewer than twenty
homes, lay at the heart of a 350-unit development called Harmony
Circle. Rafe loved his comfortable, friendly neighborhood. He
wasn’t exactly glad Winston had absconded with Sherry’s money,
particularly since the thief had ripped off many of her friends. But
thank goodness Rafe didn’t have to worry about an oversize
monstrosity rising across the street. Rafe had led the fight to
preserve her charming cottage, one of a pair of 1920s bungalows that
predated the rest of the development by over half a century.
“Oh, look.” Sofia released a fluttery breath. “It’s
the princess.”
She was staring at a petite figure emerging from Sherry’s
cottage. A frothy pink dress swirled around his new neighbor as her
high heels tapped down the steps from her porch. A ray of sunlight
pierced the clouds, turning her blonde hair -- today done up in a
twist – to spun gold.
He had to admit, the twenty-seven-year-old former prima donna
of Orange County society still looked like a million bucks as she
marched toward the aging vehicle Rafe had been forced to lend her.
Despite the proud posture, he noted a hint of vulnerability in the
set of her mouth and felt a twinge of sympathy. Living among
residents she’d offended and being reduced to pinching pennies
must be tough on the young woman.
Then, as she slid behind the wheel, she glanced toward him.
Through the glare on the windshield, a sneer distorted her pretty
face.
“Princess is right,” he muttered.
“I thought she was a witch,” Juan piped up.
Rafe had privately referred to his neighbor that way more
than once during the heated battle over the cottage. “Come on,
guys. Can’t you hear the cars waiting for me at the garage?
They’re rumbling and smoking and spelling out my name on the
dashboard computers.”
“Can she do magic spells?” Juan asked doggedly as they
swung left toward the nursery.
“If she could, she’d summon that creep of a fiancé from
whatever hole he’s hiding in.” Rafe had summarized the situation
for the children thusly: Her boyfriend ran off with her money.
He wondered if he should have explained more or avoided the topic
altogether. Hard to tell how kids perceived things.
“Does she have a fairy wand?” Sofia asked dreamily.
“Maybe. She’s pretty good at making men disappear.”
Before the debacle with the now-infamous Winston – real name:
Wally Grinnell -- Sherry had landed in the news with her divorce
from the older, wealthy attorney she’d married when she was
nineteen. Especially when she’d raked in vast alimony, on top of
an already substantial inheritance.
Published estimates gave her former worth as ten million
dollars, all gone with her snake of a fiancé.
How ironic that Rafe, a mechanic who’d struggled to afford
this house and to buy his own business, now had more money than the
woman who used to look down her nose at people like him.
Judging by her expression a moment ago, she still did.
He guided the children across the street and past the second
cottage, which belonged to octogenarian Minnie Ortiz. At the stucco
home next door, he heard the happy noise of youngsters at play.
Sofia gripped Rafe’s hand.
“You’ll be fine,” he told her as they waited for the
owner to answer the bell. “You like Mrs. Hughes and her
kids.”
“I want to go home,” Sofia whimpered.
“You will. As soon as I’m done working.”
“Our real home.”
“We have to make the best of things.” How long before the
children accepted their loss? Rafe didn’t mean to ask too much of
them. He just wished they could all put painful memories behind
them.
Maryam Hughes, an elegant, dark-skinned woman in her early
forties, admitted them with a strained smile. As the children ran
past, she addressed Rafe. “Could you step inside for a moment? I
need to speak with you.”
“Sure.” Uneasily, he recalled that Juan had had a
squabble the previous day with Maryam’s little boy, Luther. He’d
hoped the whole thing would blow over.
Maryam got her charges settled in the den. There were six,
including her pair and two other girls. Although, to Rafe, the room
seemed filled with screeching, wiggling bodies, his hostess
skillfully sorted the kids and started them on coloring projects.
“Sorry for the delay.” She accompanied him back to the
living room, which was furnished with an eclectic blend of ethnic
pieces and antiques. “I’m afraid I have bad news.”
“Is your husband all right?” J.J. Hughes, a college
history professor, had seemed fine when he played softball with Rafe
on Saturday.
“Yes, but my mother isn’t.” Tension marked her usually
composed face. “She suffered a stroke last weekend. It’s mild as
these things go, but she’ll require a lot of care over the next
few months. After the hospital releases her on Friday, she’ll be
moving in with us. Between her and my kids, I’ll have my hands
full.”
“I hope she recovers quickly.” The significance of her
statement broke through Rafe’s concern. “Friday? That’s three
days away.”
“I’m sorry for the short notice.” Maryam waved a hand
vaguely.
One more dislocation for the children. One more concern for
Rafe. Yet he didn’t want to add to the caretaker’s burden.
“Can you recommend a place?”
“I have a few suggestions, but frankly…” She made a
clicking noise with her tongue.
Surely she didn’t anticipate trouble placing the boy just
because of a little rowdiness. “Juan’s behavior isn’t that
aggressive.”
“I didn’t mean that,” she said quickly. “The problem
is that most day-care homes like mine are filled for the summer, and
attending a center with a lot of children would be hard on those
two. What they really need…”
Before she could finish, a dispute erupted in the den.
Rafe recognized his nephew’s voice, shouting, “Give it
here!”
“Hold on.” Maryam ducked out. The TV set clicked on and
music filled the air.
Returning, his hostess said, “I put on a sing-along.
Those seem to calm Juan, and the other kids enjoy them,
too.”
“I know.” Videos had saved Rafe’s bacon more than once
since he became an accidental dad.
“My point is, Juan and Sofia are still in crisis mode.
Their parents’ deaths yanked the rug out from under them, and
that’s not something you recover from overnight.”
“I’m aware of that. I arranged for therapy right away,
you’ll recall,” Rafe countered.
“That helped them through the initial shock,” Maryam
agreed. “However, I believe they need one-on-one attention from
someone who’s with them all day and gets to know them
intimately.” She raised a hand to stop his protest. “You’ve
done a great job, but they’re about to turn five, and in the fall
they enter kindergarten. That’s a huge step. If they don’t start
school feeling secure, they could develop behavioral problems
that’ll seriously affect their education.”
Rafe’s stomach clenched.
He’d been afraid of something like this. “Maybe we should
see the psychologist again.”
“A psychologist only listens for an hour or so a week,”
Maryam said. “That’s no substitute for parenting.”
What were the options? “I can’t ask my mom to look after
them. She has too many responsibilities already.” Eight years ago,
Rafe’s mother had quit her job as a nurse’s aid to care for his
father after a disabling construction accident. Last year, she’d
taken in his grandma, who’d suffered a heart attack when she
learned of Manuel and Cara’s deaths.
“What about Brooke?” Maryam referred to Rafe’s cousin
Oliver’s new wife. Bubbly
and outgoing, she lived up the street and adored the kids.
“She’s still working at the orthodontist’s office,”
he pointed out.
“Surely she’ll be taking maternity leave.”
“Not until September.”
Brooke’s baby was due the following month. “Then I
presume she’ll need to adjust to her new role. Besides, that’ll
be too late. Your mother’s coming on Friday.”
As the noise level from the den rose again, Maryam sighed.
“Maybe you should hire a nanny.”
“A nanny?” Rafe had once joked with Oliver about
employing one, but he hadn’t been serious. “I doubt I could
afford it.”
“The Yellow Pages list several licensed registries.”
Maryam had apparently looked into the matter. “I have no idea what
they charge. Perhaps for a few months you could manage it.”
Clearly, he had to do something. “I’ll check on
that. Is Friday absolutely your last day?”
She nodded.
“That’s going to be hard on them.” Despite Sofia’s
grumbling this morning, his niece and nephew had grown accustomed to
this environment.
“Our kids can play together, so there won’t be a complete
break. In fact, I suspect they’ll enjoy being playmates a lot more
when they aren’t around each other all day,” Maryam said.
Rafe had to accept the inevitable fact that his convenient
day-care arrangement was about to end. “Thanks. I appreciate all
you’ve done this past year.” She’d offered valuable advice and
occasionally kept the children late when business delayed him.
“Give your mother my best wishes.”
“I will. Let me know how it goes.”
“Will do.”
He poked his nose into the den to say goodbye. While the
musical video ran in the background, the girls were playing with
dolls, and Juan and Luther zoomed toy cars across the floor.
They barely acknowledged him, which he took as a good thing.
Despite their earlier protests, they really had settled in at
Maryam’s. Now if the wind would only change and bring Mary Poppins
fluttering to his doorstep with her umbrella unfurled, Rafe would be
a happy man.
In the meantime, he had a business to run.
At the garage, Mario had done his usual excellent job of
performing triage on the early-arriving customers. Too bad the guy
didn’t plan on sticking around. A tenor who studied music at
nearby California State University, Fullerton, he dreamed of a
career in opera.
Despite having sung in his church choir while growing up,
Rafe couldn’t tell Puccini from … what was that other
composer’s name? Oh, yeah, Verdi.
But he did enjoy Mario’s occasional bursts of song while
working.
Sending the mechanic to tune up a Volkswagen, Rafe took over
the repairs on Sherry’s car. The sedan carried a pleasant hint of
leather and perfume, despite the beating it had endured since
Winston absconded with it.
The morning flew by. He
took a short break at lunch to consume a peanut-butter-and-jelly
sandwich and a bag of chips. He’d cut back on expenses to save
money for the kids’ future needs.
Now they needed a nanny. Rafe wondered what that was going to
cost.
He took out the Yellow Pages and started calling. A busy
signal greeted him at the first nanny agency, while two more went to
voice mail. The staff must be on lunch break, Rafe reflected, and
entered the numbers in his phone to try again later. He didn’t
leave messages. Too hard to answer a return call with his hands
covered in grease.
Resuming work on Sherry’s car, he noted with satisfaction
how much progress he and Mario had made. A couple more days and
they’d be finished with the darn thing.
As he adjusted the front seat, something glittered in the
newly uncovered dust. Rafe fished out a small object that shimmered in the light.
Diamonds cascaded from an earring. He’d never been much for
jewelry, but these shone with stunning blue-white depths. On
Sherry’s earlobes, they no doubt mirrored her sparkling eyes.
Must be worth a bundle. A mere bauble for the rich divorcée
she used to be. Now, she’d probably prefer cash.
In the office, Rafe wrapped the thing in a clean cloth and
locked it in the desk drawer. He’d return it when the car was
finished.
As he turned away, his cell phone pealed. Maryam’s phone
number showed on the display. “Rafe,” he answered.
Her anxious tone sent a chill through him even before her
words registered. “It’s
Juan,” she said. “He’s missing.”
“Are you sure he isn’t hiding?” Once Juan had ducked
into a closet, sending Rafe and Sofia on an impromptu and rather
anxious game of Hide and Seek.
“Luther says he sneaked outside while I was fixing lunch.
He isn’t in the yard.”
“What about the neighbors?”
She rushed on. “Minnie hasn’t seen him. Grace Ching
checked her yard and yours. No luck.” Grace, whose eldest daughter
baby-sat for him on weekends, lived opposite Maryam and next to
Rafe. “I can’t leave the kids to go canvass the neighborhood.
Shall I call the police?”
Juan might flee from a stranger in uniform. If he ran far
enough, he’d get lost. A mischievous outing could turn deadly if a
panicky little boy wandered into the open hills north of Harmony
Circle.
“Let’s not jump the gun,” Rafe said. “I’ll be there
in a few minutes.
“Okay.” Before clicking off, Maryam added, “I think I
know why he got upset. Luther told him about my mother coming to
live with us and that he’ll have to attend a new day-care center.
If I’d been aware of it, I’d have reassured him, but I didn’t
find out until after he vanished.”
“Thanks for telling me.”
Rafe hung up and explained the situation to Mario and
mechanic Jeb Alonzo. As an afterthought, he pocketed Sherry’s
earring. Since he planned to go door-to-door, he might get a chance
to drop it off.
Or not. Who gave a darn about diamonds,
anyway? The only thing that mattered was finding Juan.
CLICK
TO ORDER |
