For Honor and Glory by Heather Graham

Author:Heather Graham [Graham, Heather]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-05-18T18:00:00+00:00

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.

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