Born on the 4th of July

together. Usually. But today when he came back, she was gone. And you saw what happened. A man knocked her out and seized her.”
“And he ran into the cemetery, not to the road. He didn’t drive in to get her. And wherever he was parked, you didn’t see him drive out,” Angela said
“You think this man is hiding out in the cemetery?” Adam asked then. “It’s got several family mausoleums, but—” he paused, looking about, not sure exactly where the ghost of Cameron Adair might be, “I’m not sure how you could hide a living woman who . . . might wake up.”
Adam had carefully worded his question and statement. Angela knew he was trying not to suggest the only way to assure a captive would remain silent would be if that captive was dead.
“There may be a place to hold on to someone until an accomplice arrives,” Jackson said.
“Quite possibly,” Angela said. “A number of these family mausoleums are a fair size.”
“I’m going to the offices; there will be one person on duty. Angela, you and Adam—”
“Adam, would you be so good as to pick up Corby and bring him here? If Jackson and I split up, we’ll have a better chance,” Angela interrupted.
“Angela—” Jackson began. “If you could get on the research angle—”
“I will, but I won’t leave the cemetery. I have my phone and I can access any file I want this way. I’ll look out for similar occurrences in nearby areas. I’ll find out what the police have. And so you can feel I’m safe and we can move more quickly, I’ll go to the office here at the cemetery. You can start searching the cemetery for tracks, broken locks, anything you can find. When I get to the office, I’ll find a bench. There’s a beautiful place to sit between the office and the old chapel, and we can all rendezvous there. Adam, if you don’t mind—”
“I’ll get on the phone to our offices and the DCPD. Josh, Corby, and I will come right back here,” Adam said.
Angela knew Jackson wasn’t happy. Well, of course, he wasn’t. But for the very reason he was so worried, she was, too. She couldn’t imagine a father’s agony and a husband’s fear and desperation.
She couldn’t imagine the poor kidnapped woman, worrying desperately for the life of her child.
The case was near and dear to Angela—too near and dear—but she wasn’t walking away from it.
Jackson nodded. “Keep in touch, Adam. We can tell you right where we are—or where we and the police need to be.”
Adam nodded and headed out to his car. Josh looked lost for a minute.
“We’re fine; go with your dad. Corby loves you; he’ll be reassured seeing you’re there,” Angela told Josh.
He still looked torn, but he hurried after his father.
Cameron Adair looked at them anxiously and asked, “What do I do?”
“Keep watch, between here, your grave, and the direction in which the man disappeared with your daughter,” Jackson said.
“Better yet, he could go with you. He may see what you don’t,” Angela said.
“Fine, but we’re walking you to the office first,” Jackson said.
They started walking to the office for the cemetery where records were kept and where burial and interment arrangements were made. Once, it had been the rectory for the little chapel that had begun it all—the area’s earliest Anglican settlers had been buried in the churchyard—where they remained to this day. They were on the outskirts of the city, wilderness still when the Victorians had come along. The chapel had been decommissioned so that a larger structure might be built for the congregants; and a private company had taken over, expanding the graveyard to a large—and beautiful—cemetery.
“There’s your bench?” Jackson asked and pointed.
She smiled. There was a bench surrounded by flowering shrubs between the chapel and the rectory.
“I’ll talk to them and find out if they know about broken gates or seals at any of the mausoleums, if they’ve had trouble . . . I’ll do the talking. Then, I’ll head to the bench and just be on the Internet, all safe!” she said.
She headed to the door of the place. Jackson and Cameron were waiting until she had gone in.
She knew Adam would make sure he talked to the right people and made them understand that the lives of a woman and an unborn child were at stake, that they had to get to moving.
As soon as she found out if the cemetery had been alerted and if they knew of any possible hiding locations, she would start looking for similar cases.
But Cameron Adair’s words came back to her. He’d said the man had knocked his daughter out, crossed the path . . . and disappeared behind a mausoleum.
She decided she’d investigate the cemetery itself, first via the Internet and history.
The cemetery had only become privatized in the last fifty years. There could be secrets within the current owners didn’t know about.
She slipped her mask over her nose and mouth before entering the office.
There was one woman there, seated at a desk. The office area of the one-time rectory was small, but afforded two desks, with only the one occupied now.
It also offered a counter with a coffee machine and a large station for water. There were boxes of tissues on both desks and by the service stations.
Smiling, she approached the desk with the one woman.
She’d had a mask hanging over one ear and she slid it into place and stood as Angela entered. She was about forty, Angela thought, neatly attired in an attractive suit. Her hair was short-cut, a neatly styled chestnut brown.
“Ma’am, hello. How may I help you?” she asked.
“Please,” Angela murmured through her own mask.
The woman looked Angela up and down.
Angela assumed she was smiling.
“I see we’re expecting a new life,” she said. “Lovely. Have you come to our beautiful cemetery to pay respects to a loved one? I like to believe those who have come before us do get to see the generations who follow after