She disappeared after another child took her teddy bear and staff failed to realize she had slipped through an unsecured back gate.
Nineteen days.
Ray stared at the deputy.
“Nineteen?”
The deputy nodded.
“She’s been missing nineteen days.”
“In December?”
“Yes.”
Ray looked toward the ambulance.
Daisy was drinking hot chocolate from a paper cup.
His face went hard.
“How does a seven-year-old stay missing for nineteen days?”
“That’s going to be reviewed.”
“That wasn't what I asked.”
“I know.”
Ray looked away.
The deputy knew him.
Most people around Red Creek did.
Ray Mercer had owned Mercer Steel Fabrication for thirty-seven years.
He had retired five years ago.
His motorcycle club was called the North Star Riders.
They were not famous nationally.
Locally, everyone knew them.
Every December they collected toys.
Paid heating bills.
Delivered groceries.
Raised money for children's hospitals.
Ray had spent fifteen Christmas mornings dressed as Santa.
Not because he liked the suit.
He hated the hat.
But because his wife once told him his beard made refusal ridiculous.
She had been gone nine years.
Ray still wore the suit every Christmas.
The deputy looked at Daisy.
Then at Ray.
“You know what happens now.”
Ray nodded.
“Child services.”
“Yes.”
Daisy heard.
Her cup dropped.
Hot chocolate spilled over the ambulance floor.
“No.”
The paramedic tried calming her.
Daisy scrambled backward.
“No.”
Ray stood despite the pain.
“Daisy.”
“No!”
She looked around wildly.
“Daisy.”
Ray's voice cut through without becoming loud.
She found his face.
He held both hands open.
“Nobody is leaving you alone tonight.”
Daisy cried.
“You said.”
“I said nobody takes Buttons.”
He pointed toward the bear.
“Still there?”
She looked down.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Ray stepped closer.
“Second thing.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I know where you're sleeping.”
The social worker arrived at 10:40 p.m.
Her name was Teresa Alvarez.
Mid-fifties.
Practical coat.
Tired eyes.
Ray distrusted her instantly for reasons he knew were unfair.
Then she knelt beside Daisy.
She did not reach for Buttons.
Did not use a baby voice.
Did not say “everything will be okay.”
She simply said:
“Daisy, I'm sorry the last place wasn't safe enough for you to stay.”
Ray watched.
Daisy watched too.
Teresa continued.
“I’m not going to ask you to trust me tonight.”
“You don't know me.”
“But I can tell you what happens next before anything happens.”
Daisy listened.
That earned Ray’s respect.
Teresa explained that Daisy would spend the night at a pediatric assessment center attached to the county hospital.
Private room.
A nurse.
A social worker.
Buttons stays.
No large group home tonight.
Daisy looked toward Ray.
He nodded.
“Sounds better than a vending machine.”
She whispered:
“Will you come?”
Teresa looked at Ray.
Ray answered immediately.
“If they'll let me.”
Teresa sighed.