John looked at Jackson, his expression worried.
"I'm sorry! No offense meant!"
"None taken," Jackson assured him. “He seemed to be a fine man.”
“My darling,” Victoria said, “I believe these good people are fighting their own brand of war—against the criminals who are defiling out graveyard, and perhaps this is a small event, but . . .”
“Within ourselves, the battle we wage is right against wrong,” Angela assured her.
“Oh!” Victoria said, as if suddenly realizing Angela was well along in her pregnancy. “Gentle lady, should you need to rest upon my father-in-law’s tomb, center there in the mausoleum, you would be more than welcome! And if the babe were near to coming—”
“I have time, and I’m not at all tired,” Angela assured her quickly. “But here is the quandary. Is there anything in the mausoleum now?”
“No, at least, I don’t believe so,” John said. “But I’ve tried to listen to the two when they talk. I fear they may come back. They’ve talked about ‘great possibilities’ on Memorial Day, and tomorrow is Memorial Day. It won’t be huge here as it sometimes is . . . well, near here. We’re not in what has become the National Battlefield Park. We’re rather a background.”
“And Memorial Day!” Victoria said angrily. “When we honor those who did and do put their lives on the line for their country! Of course, it was Decoration Day, and before that . . . well, from all I’ve heard, many places claim to have started it! Confederate women placed flowers on graves, and freed black slaves did an amazing job, digging up Union dead in Charleston and giving them proper burials. Because here it is—wherever it began, the day honors men—and women now, too—who gave their last full measure, or are willing to do so to defend and uphold a cause! We honor those who fight for country and honor, justice . . . decency for us all! And to think poor General Whitaker died here, I’m certain, still fighting for honor and justice . . .”
Her voice trailed.
Angela looked at Jackson. “If someone is hiding something in the Haverhill family mausoleum, I’m willing to bet it’s drugs. And if there’s going to be a celebration, even if they try for social distancing, you’re talking a lot of customers.”
“Jackson,” Angela said, “that’s it. General Whitaker drew a ‘D.’ Someone is using this place to stash drugs, dig them out and sell them when it’s quiet, when the priest is gone.”
“But there is nothing here now—or may we look?” Jackson asked.
John Haverhill smiled at that. “Dear Sir, we manage to touch some now and then, and we do frighten those with a bit of a sense of us, but I could hardly stop you!”
“I’d still like your approval,” Jackson said.
“Please!” John said, indicating the door.
Jackson reached into his pocket searching for the little case he carried. He had a fine wedge and hoped it would work on the lock.
It did.
He and Angela, followed by John and Victoria Haverhill, stepped into the small, old family mausoleum.
“My father’s tomb,” John noted.
While along the two walls there were many sealed tombs, in the center of the small space, there were just two. The first belonged to Ronald Haverhill—John’s father and the next was that of Elizabeth Haverhill.
Jackson looked at John who nodded. “My mother. Over to the left, there is an inscription to my grandfather; he fought in the Revolutionary War.”
Angela had turned on her phone light. “You’ve quite a family!” she assured John.
“I do, but . . .”
“But?” she asked politely.
“John wants to see Ethan. We know he is here, too, still. John wants to embrace him, and it seems the war still keeps us apart.”
“I’m so sorry,” Angela murmured. “Now, if you were hiding drugs . . .”
She began to look around the mausoleum with her little penlight.
As she did so, there was a strange banging sound from outside. Angela started for the gate to the tomb. Jackson caught her arm.
“See what you can find here. I’ll be back.”
He slipped out the gate; something had happened on the other side of the stone path, toward the rear of the little church.
*
Angela stood inside the gate, watching as Jackson hurried away.
The afternoon was gone; night had fallen, and out here, there was little but moonlight and what light fell over the distance from the battlefield park.
She should have gone with him! If he didn’t come back soon . . .
“You’re worried,” Victoria said softly to her.
“I am. Jackson is . . . he is an amazing law enforcement officer. And man. He’s quick, alert, he can move like a gho—”
John laughed. “Like a ghost?”
Angela shrugged. “Yes, but—”
“No man is an island,” John said.
“But you take risks, too,” Victoria said softly. “Even now.”
“I’m careful!” Angela whispered. Was she? They had set out to take the drive, and most probably, allay Adam’s fears about his friend. She hadn’t known General Whitaker in life, but when Adam told them Whitaker had suspected something foul going on . . .
“There!” John said suddenly.
Angela looked out.
About ten feet away, a young woman was sitting on a gravestone—shaking. She looked around miserably, a soft sob escaping her.
“Withdrawal,” Angela murmured.
“Withdrawal from . . .”
“Drugs. They’ve been stashing and selling drugs here. The girl needs a hospital. I have to get out to her.”
“But you don’t know what—”
“It looks
