Born on the 4th of July

them.”
If she only knew.
“I was visiting with a friend,” Angela said. “But—"
“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry. Have you come to make arrangements for a loved one of your own?”
“No,” Angela said.
“Oh.” Despite the mask the woman was wearing, Angela could see the disappointment in her eyes, though she quickly said, “We are seeing to it that the dead who seek eternal rest here are honored, though we are following a careful protocol these days. Should you be looking, perhaps, for a place for yourself in the future? With a child on the way, it’s always good to preplan so that we don’t leave our heirs to have to deal with such matters when they’re grieving.”
“You’re right, of course, but that’s not why I’m here today,” Angela said. “May we?”
The woman was still standing; Angela was still standing.
“Yes, yes, of course. I’m sorry, I’m Merissa Hatfield, assistant director here,” the woman told her. She indicated a chair in front of the desk and while Angela murmured a, “Thank you” and took the offered chair, Merissa sat again behind her desk.
Angela thought she should produce one of her cards; but for some reason, she held back.
“Angela Hawkins Crow,” she told Merissa Hatfield. She wasn’t sure why she held back on her official position. Instead, she said, “I’m sorry to bother you, but we have a witness who saw something bizarre in the cemetery today. I know there aren’t cameras all over the cemetery, but you do have cameras at the entrance and exit.”
“We do,” she said carefully. “But—those are for our security. We’re not big brother here. We’ve never had trouble—in all these years, through wars, protests, anything, you name it—at this cemetery. Can you tell me what it is that you’re looking for?”
“The cameras at the entrance and exit are your only security?”
The woman nodded, frowning slightly. Then she tried to smile. “When are you due?”
“Any day to a week,” Angela said, distracted. “Ms. Hatfield, aren’t you concerned with the bizarre and criminal event I’m about to describe for you?”
Merissa Hatfield waved a hand in the air.
“I know a man thinks his wife disappeared here. She probably saw a friend or went off shopping and lost her cell phone or some such thing. Yes. I saw Mr. Green this morning. He came to get his wife; she had—left,” she said. “He already made a ruckus out of the whole thing. The police came, and they had to explain to him his wife was an adult—she’d been missing fifteen minutes when he called them!” She sighed deeply. “I understand Mrs. Green was expecting, too. But there’s nothing—”
“But there is. We have a witness. He saw her being drugged and carried off by a man in a bizarre black cloak and a hooded mask.”
“What?” For a moment, the woman seemed stunned. Then she frowned and shook her head and said, “What witness? I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be impatient, but if you believe you know something, you need to be calling the police.”
“Well, the police can gain access to your video surveillance, you know,” Angela said.
“Whatever! Listen, Charlie Dearborn is the manager in charge of the upkeep and maintenance of this place. We strive to maintain the beauty of the cemetery, for history, and for the present. If anything had happened, Charlie would have known.”
“It’s a big cemetery.”
She waved a hand in the air again. “There’s a holding vault Charlie was inspecting this morning, and it’s just a hundred yards or so from the old Cameron Adair grave the woman was visiting. Your witness must be crazy . . . perhaps senile. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. Call the police and produce this witness of yours to them. Oh, I’m being rude! And you’re so far along. Would you like some water? Tea? I could make you a cup of tea.”
“No, thank you, I’m fine.”
“You don’t need to be afraid; we disinfect in here constantly,” Merissa Hatfield assured her.
“Thank you. I just really don’t want any tea or water. And thank you. We will be calling the police, and I imagine all the law enforcement agencies will wind up investigating a kidnapping.”
“They may feel free to investigate all they like.”
Smiling—though she wasn’t sure that was at all visible through her mask—Angela stood again. “Well, thank you for your time. And I’ll certainly consider your recommendation when I make arrangements for my resting place soon.”
She wasn’t going to push it and cause trouble—not when Adam could make sure everything about their investigation was legal and quick. If she pushed without the proper resources behind her, she could put them into a worse position.
As she headed toward the door, she heard Merissa Hatfield pick up the phone.
“Quickly!” She said.
Angela turned back to look at her. A mistake.
The front door opened and a man walked in. She barely turned in time to see him. He was wearing a black business suit and black mask and head covering, looking much like many a politician or businessman walking around the entire D.C. metropolitan area.
On the streets, she would have thought nothing of him. In fact, she started to say, “Excuse me.”
Except that he grabbed her.
Her Glock was in her bag, but she wasn’t without means of defense, even if she was expecting a baby.
More so, because she was expecting a baby!
And on the good side of the situation, of course, was he wasn’t expecting the elbow jab and knee to the groin she gave him.
He doubled over in pain, shouting, loosening his grip on her.
Angela reached for the flap of her bag, but the woman, Merissa Hatfield, was right behind her.
And she had something.
A rag drenched with a knockout drug.
“This one walked right into our arms!” Angela heard the woman say.
The man, still furious and grumbling about his pain, swept her into his arms, “When the kid is out of her, this bitch will have it coming!”
He moved through the office to the back. Angela’s limbs were failing her. But she grasped at him anyway.