The dinner table was set for four. Vegetables chopped, chicken marinating. The family dogs were outside barking at nothing. Inside the house, popcorn on the couch, a movie paused, and a baby sippy cup still half full. But the Mday family was gone. Every single one of them. No signs of breakin, no screams, no blood, just silence. Days passed, then weeks, then years. And with every day more questions. Had they left willingly? Were they hiding? Or had something gone terribly wrong?
Then deep in the California desert, miles from anything or anyone, a chance encounter would rip this case wide open. What investigators found will become one of the strangest discoveries because behind a McTay’s seemingly normal life was something chilling. So what really happened inside that house? And how does a family simply vanish without a trace? Joseph Mday was the kind of man who didn’t chase attention. He created quietly a father, a husband, a builder. By 40, he’d carved out a peaceful rhythm in life centered around his family and a business he had poured himself into earth inspired products.
He wasn’t working for someone else’s dream. He was working for his own. His company specialized in custom decorative fountains, the kind you might see bubbling gently in the corner of a carefully landscaped yard. But Joseph wasn’t just selling fountains. He was offering serenity in stone and water, handmade pieces that made ordinary spaces feel alive. Customers loved his passion, and slowly but steadily, his small company was growing. His workshop was often filled with the sound of grinding tools, running water, and music playing low in the background.
He had a vision, one that combined art, nature, and functionality. And he wasn’t doing it alone. Standing beside him always, was Summer Mday, 43 years old, once known as Virginia Lisa Randa. But to everyone around her, she was just Summer, Joseph’s wife and a devoted mother. Summer had a quiet intensity. She had worked as a real estate agent and occasionally helped with interior design. She had a natural instinct for space and beauty. She didn’t just help with a business behind the scenes.
She made the house a home. Friends said she was kind and thoughtful, but had a protective streak when it came to her children. You could see it in the way she handled strangers at the playground or when she was managing one of the boys tantrums in a grocery store aisle. Her life wasn’t glamorous, but it was grounded, focused. Together, Joseph and Summer had built a life that felt safe and stable, even idyllic. They had two sons, Johnny, age four, and Joseph Jr., just three.
The boys were close in age, but different in personality. Johnny was always exploring, always asking questions. He liked to touch everything, to understand how things worked, to dismantle his toys and attempt to reassemble them with a screwdriver he’d stolen from his dad’s workshop. Joseph Jr. was more of a follower, but cheerful and bright. He idolized his older brother. The two were inseparable, and their energy filled every corner of the home. Their house in Fbrook, California, sat in a quiet, simmeral neighborhood.
The kind of place where people knew each other’s names, but not every detail of their lives. The Mixday home was a white single-le house with a red tile roof. Modest but comfortable, surrounded by rolling hills, eucalyptus trees, and wide open skies. They weren’t rich, but they had enough. And more than that, they had plans. Neighbors saw them often. Joseph is in the driveway loading tools into his truck. Summer is taking the boys on walks through the culde-sac.
The family’s two dogs were usually in the backyard barking happily at squirrels. The Mcays seem busy, but in the best way possible. Projects are waiting to be finished. A backyard garden that had just been started. But inside the home, you could feel the warmth. The walls were lined with framed photos. Birthdays, beach days, blurry snapshots of the boys grinning with chocolate stained faces. The living room always had a few toys scattered around, and the scent of popcorn or something baking in the oven often filled the air.
Summer had her hands full chasing after two toddlers, and Joseph balanced client calls with hammering nails and making deliveries. Life was hectic, sure, but it was good. really good. On weekends, they’d take the boys to the park or grab lunch at a local cafe. Joseph was often juggling calls for the business while Summer kept the boys entertained. They talked about expanding Earth Inspired Products, about fixing up the backyard, about maybe taking a trip once the business is in a better place.
Nothing extravagant, just a few days away as a family. They weren’t flashy. They weren’t dramatic. They were by every measure normal. And maybe that’s what made what happened next so hard to understand because there was no sign, no warning that anything was wrong, no arguments overheard, no strange behavior was noticed by neighbors, no threats, no looming shadows. Just a family, two parents and their two little boys going about their days, living their lives, building something slowly, and dreaming about the future they were shaping together.
But behind those everyday routines, the smiles and handholding and school drop offs, there was something no one could see. Something is coming. And in just a matter of days, they would all disappear without a trace. It was February 4th, 2010, a Thursday. Nothing about the day stood out at first. In a quiet neighborhood of Falbrook, California, the Mday house blended into the calm. The afternoon had passed like any other. Joseph had been working on his business as usual.
Summer had been home with the kids. There were no reports of anything out of place, no strange visitors, no loud arguments, nothing to hint that the day was about to mark the beginning of a mystery that would baffle investigators and shake a family to its core. At 7:47 p.m., a neighbor surveillance camera caught a brief, almost unnoticeable moment. The lower portion of a vehicle, a light colored SUV, likely the family’s Isuzu trooper, was seen pulling out of the Mday driveway.
The footage didn’t capture faces. It didn’t scream emergency, but it was the last visual evidence of movement from the home. Not long after, at 8:28 p.m., a call was placed from Joseph’s cell phone to his business associate, Charles Chase Merritt, which went to voicemail. Merritt later told police that he ignored the voicemail because he was watching a movie. Joseph’s cell phone pinged a tower in Fbrick. He would describe it casually as if nothing about that missed call stuck out at the time, but would be the final known call from Joseph Mday’s phone.
After that moment, everything went silent. For a few days, no one thought the worst. Family and friends assumed the Mcays were on a short trip, perhaps exploring their new surroundings or visiting a nearby town. It wasn’t unusual for Joseph and Summer to be spontaneous with the kids. But by the weekend, concern began to take root. Phone calls to Joseph and Summer’s phone started going straight to voicemail. Texts were left unread. Emails received no response. and there were no signs of activity from their social media accounts or bankards.
On February 6th, Joseph’s father, Patrick, began to grow increasingly worried. He hadn’t heard from his son in days, and that wasn’t like Joseph. They were close. Summer also typically kept in regular contact with family. Now, nothing. By February 7th, those closest to them were actively reaching out to one another, sharing their worries, wondering if anyone had seen them or heard from them. Everyone was drawing blanks. Nearly 9 days after the last known contact, on February 13th, Joseph’s younger brother, Michael McET, drove to the house.
The Isuzu trooper wasn’t in the driveway. The home looked quiet, too quiet. Michael knocked on the door. No one answered. He walked around the property checking the windows. From the outside, there was no sign of trouble. No broken windows, no forced doors, no smash lights. But then he noticed something unsettling. The two family dogs were in the backyard. They were hungry, visibly distressed, and had clearly not been cared for in days. That alone sent a chill down Michael’s spine.
Joseph and Summer adore their dogs. They wouldn’t just leave them behind without arrangements. Something was wrong. Michael couldn’t find a way inside, so he forced entry, climbing through an open window into the house. What he found inside was nothing like what he had imagined. The house wasn’t ransacked. It wasn’t looted or in disarray. There were no signs of struggle, no overturned furniture, no broken glass, but it was eerily frozen, as if time had stopped at a very specific moment.
In the kitchen, a carton of eggs had been left out on the counter, not just set aside for breakfast. Left behind as though someone had intended to return, but never did. In the living room, bowls of popcorn sat on the couch. The TV remote was nearby as if a family movie night had been cut short abruptly. Children’s toys were scattered about the floor. There were no packed bags, no missing clothes, no signs that the family had prepared for any kind of trip.
The beds were made. Laundry was half folded. Mail had been left on the counter unopened. And yet, Joseph, Summer, Johnny, and Joseph Jr. were gone. There was no note. No injury or accident. Michael walked through every room. He checked the garage, the closets, the backyard, and the shed. Nothing. He called out their names. Still nothing. The silence in the house was deafening. It wasn’t the kind of silence that comes from an empty home. It was the silence of something that had been left behind.
Something interrupted. With a deepening sense of dread, Michael left the house and began making urgent calls. He contacted family, then the police. Something had happened. He didn’t know what, but it was clear the McSay had not simply gone on vacation. Whatever had taken place, it was not normal. On February 15th, Michael filed an official missing person’s report for his brother, sister-in-law, and nephews with the San Diego County Sheriff’s Department. The authorities responded quickly. Deputies arrived at the home, reviewing the same strange, undisturbed scene.
They took initial statements, looked through the house, and found no immediate evidence of foul play. There was no blood, no forced entry, no broken locks, no fingerprints out of place. Everything about the house whispered normaly, but in a way that felt wrong, too normal, too undisturbed, like a museum display of a life that had been paused. A family had lived here, laughing, playing, cooking, planning their future. No evidence of foul play. The house had electricity. The refrigerator was stocked.
Dishes were in the sink. It didn’t look like a family preparing to go off the grid. It looked like a family that had every intention of coming back. Except they didn’t. On February 19th, a search warrant was obtained and investigators conducted a more thorough inspection. This time, they examined the family’s computers, financial records, and phone histories. They interviewed neighbors and began piecing together a timeline. They tried to track the vehicle. searched nearby surveillance footage, dug through email exchanges and calendar appointments, but the answers weren’t there.
The family’s passports were still inside the home. That was a critical detail, one that made any theory of international travel or a sudden relocation far less likely. There were no recent bank withdrawals that would suggest someone was planning to flee or start a new life. There were no suitcases missing, no changes to their finances or insurance. Everything was untouched. Joseph and Summer had no criminal background, no known enemies, no history of drug use or violence. Their finances weren’t perfect, but they weren’t in crisis.
They had plans. They were involved in their kids’ lives. They didn’t fit the mold of people running from something. And then there was the house. The kind of things you don’t leave behind. unless you’re forced to. The Isuzu trooper had vanished along with the family, but it left no digital trail, no traffic violations, no sightings, no license plate scans. It was as if the SUV had been swallowed by the earth. Authorities interviewed neighbors and friends, asking about suspicious activity.
Had anyone noticed strangers around the house, unfamiliar vehicles, arguments, unusual deliveries? Nobody had. At first, police floated a quiet theory. Maybe they had left on their own voluntarily. No foul play, no crime, just a family, maybe burn out, maybe chasing something new, something private. Then came the first major break. Joseph Suzu trooper was found parked near the U.S. D. Mexico border in Santa Cro. It had been towed from a shopping center parking lot a few days after the family disappeared.
Inside were their child car seats and signs the vehicle hadn’t been cleaned out or prepared for long-term abandonment. This deepened the mystery. Why would the family leave their car near the border with no luggage, no plan, and no trace? The next twist came from inside the family computer. Investigators uncovered internet searches made in the days before their disappearance. One stood out, “What documents do children need to travel to Mexico?” Others included Spanish language lessons for children and Mexico travel with kids.
Then surveillance footage surfaced from a border crossing. The granny video showed what looked like a family of four, two adults and two children walking into Mexico. The figures were hard to identify and the footage was distant, but it was enough to ignite a firestorm. Had the Mcay’s run off to Mexico. Some investigators believed it was possible. Others had doubts. The footage wasn’t conclusive, and the border crossing wasn’t secure. Anyone could walk across with minimal oversight. Still, to the media and the public, the theory of voluntary disappearance took hold.
Headlines ran wild. McStay family escapes to Mexico. Gone without goodbye. Speculation exploded online. Amateur sleuths flooded forums with theories. Maybe they were running from debts or starting a new life or escaping danger. One self-proclaimed investigator, Rick Baker, even published a book titled No Goodbyes, claiming Summer Mete had killed her family and fled. The book painted Summer as unstable, jealous, and prone to mood swings. He cited rumors, hearsay, and thinly sourced claims. But there was a problem. He never knew Summer.
His theory was built entirely on conjecture, and the evidence non-existent. Meanwhile, those closest to the Mcays weren’t buying any of it. Joseph’s brother flatly rejected the idea that his family had willingly disappeared. So did Summer’s sister. For one, Summer’s passport had expired, and there were no records of them getting new ones. If they planned to cross into Mexico, how would they get back? Other critics of the theory noted that the Mcays had more than $100,000 in bank accounts with no withdrawal of funds in preparation for a trip, and their accounts were untouched after their disappearance.
And there was one more thing, an important detail that few paid attention to at the time. The Mdays had made it clear to friends that they were afraid of traveling to Mexico. The drug cartel violence made them nervous. Joseph especially was vocal about staying away from the border. So why, of all places, would they take their two toddlers there? The voluntary disappearance theory began to crumble. Investigators and the public also turned their attention to Charles Chase Merritt, the last known person to have contact with Joseph McE and the first to report concern about his disappearance.
According to state records, Merritt had prior felony convictions for burglary and receiving stolen property. His most recent conviction in 2001 involved the theft of $32,000 worth of welding and drilling equipment from a metal works company in Monrovia, California. One acquaintance told a San Diego reporter, “I think police should look at him and anyone associated with him.” By 2013, Merritt acknowledged that he had spent over an hour with Joseph on the day the Mcave family vanished. He was also the last person Joseph had called from his cell phone.
Merrick claimed to have passed a polygraph test and maintained that he had no knowledge that could help solve the mystery of the family’s disappearance. When asked if Merrick could be involved, Joseph’s father, Patra McStay, said, “I have to have faith in Chase because I have to have faith in my son. I believe that Joseph trusted Chase and believed in Chase. Do I think Chase is involved? I don’t think so, and I truly hope not. Merritt at one point even expressed interest in writing a book about the case.
He alleged that Summer McDeay had anger issues and that Joseph had been suffering from an unexplained illness. While Joseph’s family confirmed that he had experienced a mysterious ailment and that Summer was protective of her husband, they dismissed Merritt’s implication that she contributed to his condition. As Patrick McDeay put it, “I truly believe she loved my son.” November 11th, 2013. The hot desert sun hung low over Victorville, California, casting long shadows across the barren landscape. It was a quiet morning, the kind of morning where nothing seemed out of place until a motorcyclist taking a shortcut through the vast desert came across a startling discovery.
As he slowed near a cluster of shrubs, his eyes caught a glimpse of something unusual, something that didn’t belong. Pulling to a stop, he dismounted and carefully approached the spot. The ground was disturbed, and upon closer inspection, the remains of what appeared to be human bones lay half buried in shallow graves. His heart raced. This wasn’t just a random find. The discovery would soon become one of the most chilling mysteries to haunt Southern California. Within hours, authorities were on the scene.
They cordon off the area, securing the site for investigation. The remains were identified as belonging to Joseph and Summer Mete, a family that had disappeared 3 years earlier without a trace. Their two young sons, Johnny and Joseph Jr., had vanished with them and the case had puzzled investigators for years. No ransom note, no witnesses, no clues. 2 days later, forensic experts confirmed what many had feared. DNA testing verified the remains belonged to Joseph and Summer McE. The family had been murdered, their bodies hidden in the unforgiving desert.
Authorities had initially believed that the family had simply vanished in a thin air. perhaps running away or disappearing voluntarily. But now the truth was far darker than anyone could have imagined. The cause of death was blunt forced trauma. And what was even more perplexing was the absence of any signs of a struggle at their home. Early reports had suggested no forced entry, no overturned furniture, and no signs of violence in the house. It was as if they had vanished peacefully until now.
Authorities began to reconsider their theory. How had the McAves been killed in their home without anyone noticing? Why hadn’t there been any signs of a violent altercation? And if they were killed in their house, why were their bodies disposed of so far away, buried in the desert miles from their home? The revelation hit hard. The family’s fate had been sealed long before they were found in the dirt. Their deaths weren’t a random act of violence. They were deliberate, premeditated.
Someone knew what they were doing. Someone had planned it all. The discovery in the desert wasn’t just a tragic end. It was the beginning of a new chapter in the mystery of the Mcave family’s disappearance. With every answer came more questions, and the chilling twist was only the beginning of the long, dark road ahead. On November 5th, 2014, the arrest of Charles Merritt stunned the community. He was taken into custody by detectives from the San Bernardino County Sheriff’s Department.
Charged with the brutal murders of the Mday family, Joseph, his wife Summer, and their two young children, Johnny and Joseph Jr., near the Mday family had vanished from their home nearly 3 years earlier, leaving behind a trail of confusion, grief, and unanswered questions. When Meritt’s DNA was discovered inside the family’s abandoned vehicle, investigators began to piece together a chilling portrait of betrayal, greed, and murder. The arrest of Merritt, a business associate of Joseph McE, opened a floodgate of theories about the motive behind the killings.
The family had disappeared without a trace in February 2010, sparking one of the most baffling missing person’s cases in recent memory. For years, the authorities have been stumped with the Mday family’s fate seemingly a mystery. But with Merit’s arrest, the case took a dark turn. On November 7th, 2014, the announcement of Merritt’s arrest sent shock waves through the community. Merritt was charged with four counts of murder, and the district attorney’s office made it clear that they would seek the death penalty.
The authorities had now connected Merritt to the murders through forensic evidence, and the investigation into the motive was underway. Merritt’s defense team quickly filed a request for the case to be dismissed in July 2015, arguing that the wording used by the prosecution when the charges were filed was flawed. This, however, did little to slow the wheels of justice, and by 2016, Merritt’s legal battle had already become a spectacle. The case dragged on as Merritt repeatedly fired his attorneys and attempted to represent himself.
At one point, he had gone through five attorneys. His erratic behavior raised questions about his mental state, but the court was determined to move forward. As the years passed, the evidence against Merit continued to mount. Autopsies of the Mcave family’s remains revealed that all four victims have been beaten to death with a blunt object, likely a three lb sledgehammer, which was found in the grave containing the remains of Summer and her son. Investigators believe the family had been tortured before they were killed.
The brutality of the crime weighed heavily on those following the case, especially given the fact that the victims were defenseless and had been subjected to such violent cruelty. Prosecutors presented their theory of the crime, financial greed. Merritt had a gambling problem and according to the prosecution, had killed the McStake family for monetary gain. In the days following the family’s disappearance, Merritt had written checks totaling more than $21,000 on Joseph McE’s business account. Afterward, he went on a gambling spree at local casinos where he lost thousands of dollars.
The prosecution argued that Merritt’s mounting debts and desperation for money had driven him to commit the horrific murders. While the prosecution had gathered evidence of Merritt’s financial troubles, the trial faced delays. Merritt’s decision to represent himself led to more setbacks as his legal maneuvers stalled the proceedings. By January 2019, the trial finally began in a San Bernardino court. Both sides presented their opening statements, but the case would continue to be mired in delays. The length of the trial weighing heavily on the minds of those affected by the tragedy.
The emotional toll on the relatives of the Mday family was evident as they prepared to face merit in the courtroom. The anguish of losing their loved ones in such a violent and senseless manner was still fresh and the years of waiting for justice had left a scar on the community. As the trial progressed, emotional statements were read aloud by family members in court. The grief, anger, and pain were palpable as the relatives spoke about the lasting impact of the McStake family’s disappearance and murder.
In June 2019, the jury reached its verdict, guilty on all counts. The weight of the evidence had proved too much for merit to overcome. He was found guilty of murdering the Mcave family, and the jury recommended that he be sentenced to death. This decision was met with mixed emotions from the community. While there was a sense of relief that Merritt had been held accountable, there was also lingering sadness. Many wondered how it was possible that such a brutal act of violence had gone unnoticed for so long.
Why hadn’t law enforcement connected the dots earlier? Why had the family’s disappearance remained a mystery for years? On January 21st, 2020, Merritt was officially sentenced to death. The court’s decision was a final step in a long, arduous journey for the Mday family’s relatives. While the sentence offered some sense of closure, the community’s grief lingered. Merritt was incarcerated at the Richard J. Donovan Correctional Facility in San Diego, where he would remain without the possibility of parole. California had placed a moratorium on the death penalty in 2019, meaning that Merritt’s sentence would not be carried out in the traditional manner, but he would remain behind bars for the rest of his life.
The case had not only exposed the dark side of human nature, but also raised moral and philosophical questions that would continue to haunt the community for years to come. Was justice truly serve in this case? Was the death penalty the right response to such an atrocious crime? Or did it simply perpetuate a cycle of violence and retribution? The emotions surrounding the trial were complex, and the answers to these questions would never be simple. In the aftermath, the Mday family story became a symbol of the longlasting effects of violence on a community.
While the case brought closure for many, it also left behind a trail of unanswered questions and moral ambiguity. The death of the Mcave family had shattered lives. And while Merritt’s conviction brought a measure of justice, the emotional scars left by the crime would not easily heal. The case would continue to be remembered as one of the most tragic and complex murder investigations in recent history, with a haunting question still lingering in the air. How could something so horrific happen to a family that it seemed to have everything to live for?
At the end, it wasn’t some nameless criminal from the shadows. The man who took the lives of Joseph, Summer, Johnny, and Joseph Jr. was someone they had trusted, someone who had been part of their world, Charles Merritt. He wasn’t just a business partner. He was a man who had been welcomed into their lives and ultimately into their deaths. And perhaps the most unsettling part of it all, the question that lingers was this. How could a man so close to them, someone they thought they knew, commit such a horrific act?
How did he turn from a trusted friend to a brutal killer, willing to destroy everything for his own selfish gain? The case of the McDave family is a stark reminder that sometimes monsters don’t lurk in the shadows or hide in far away corners. Sometimes they were familiar faces, the very ones we trust the most. The truth, it seems, is far more terrifying than any stranger in the night. As we reflect on the tragedy, we must ask ourselves, how well do we really know the people around us?
And are we truly safe when the ones we trust can betray us in the most unimaginable ways? If this story haunts you, if it leaves you questioning, don’t turn away. Keep searching for the truth. The answers might be closer than you think.
