Faith in the 4th #2
“It was there,” William told her, pointing to a place right in front of the bandstand.
“Right there. I think she headed to that spot right there although . . . I don’t know.
That’s where I saw her standing last. Then either Roderick or Daniel said something and we were all laughing . . . and then she was gone.”
“Thank you. And . . . well, whatever it takes, William, we will find her.”
“The police—”
“No, William, they try to do their jobs. But people just aren’t where others think that they’re going to be. Even in this age of cell phones, batteries die, people forget to bring them with them.”
Angela heard a motor and turned. A car was coming along the road to the park, and she turned to see that Terry Mayberry was arriving.
She’d seen many strange things in her years—before and after becoming an agent—but Terry acquiring the gift—or curse, as some thought of it—of seeing the dead after his son was kidnapped and, thankfully, found with the spirits of this park helping with the case, alive.
And now, he knew William, of course, a Confederate who had survived the Civil War and through the years, before and after his death, become a fierce advocate for equality for all, Roderick McKinley, who had survived the Revolution and knew the Declaration of Independence by heart, and Daniel, sadly a man who had also survived service in the Mideast to be killed a few years after he’d come home.
Terry had sensed that something . . . someone . . . had been with them. And then the spirits had become clear to him, like figures emerging out of a fog.
Terry was a man in his early thirties, a solid detective, tall and strong with a handsome face and a steely demeanor while still being decent and kind to others. Just a good man.
“Hey, Terry, thanks for coming,” Angela said.
“No. Thank you for coming to the fore so quickly. Cassie is a friend of mine; super sweet girl, giving, kind . . . I still can’t grip the idea of anyone wanting to hurt her.
Unless it was the ex,” Terry told her. “I never did like that guy. Cassie is so easy and he seemed to have everything his way all the time. I was glad when she’d had enough, especially after she told me he’d picked up with another woman right after they broke up, and she suspected he’d been seeing them both at the same time all along. I thought he was a jerk, but now—”
“I know our people have been looking into his record and will be getting all the information to Jackson, but does he have any kind of a record you know about?” Angela asked.
“Yeah. One arrest, seven years ago—for assault. Bar fight,” Terry told her.
“Well, not good, but not—”
“Violence can grow in a person. And the thing is . . .” He paused, wincing. “I’m afraid if he did something violent to her—”
“We’ll find her,” Angela finished. “Okay, so, let’s split up. I want to take a good look around all these temporary buildings and see if I can find anything at all. We have a few team members heading out to help canvas the trails, but—”
“I’m already starting on it,” Terry said, giving her a quick salute and heading off.
“Jackson is heading to his place of work right now!” she called after him.
William’s ghost was next to them and he said, “I’m going to find Daniel and get him out to the guy’s residence, find out if he’s got her down in his basement or .
. . Jackson is checking on the ex-boyfriend, right?
And that guy is good, tall . . . some Native American, right?
Great mix, gave him a face that is striking, can be imposing and, I guess, pretty cool for a partner.
Husband. Husband and partner? I thought that wasn’t—”
“We’re different. We work together, but independently,” Angela said. “And yes, Native American and European.”
“Great! We get to be kind of like mutt puppies! They’re always the strongest. Have the best chances at a long life.
And one of the best things about our country is we are such a mix, and just like puppies, stronger for it!
I got to learn that through times, Hispanic, European, Indian, African, Asian, original, native populations .
. . we mix amazingly. And that really can make us stronger. Oh! Back to Cassie!”
“True to the first. And. We will find her, William, and we’re going to find her alive,” Angela said, praying she was right. She looked ahead, wanting to study the terrain again.
“I’ll find Daniel,” William’s spirit said, “Good thing about being as we are—no one can drop a case for lack of a search warrant.” he added, and he walked away from them toward the trees.
She had a feeling his friends—the spirits of Roderick McKinley and Daniel Canady—had already been searching for Cassie through the woods and they had been doing so since the young woman had disappeared.
“All this.” William murmured. “There must be something . . . something that she saw.”
Angela stared at the makeshift podium and bandstand that had been set up for the coming celebration.
The structures were at the center of the rear end of what was usually a large stretch of grass or lawn.
The 4th of July was big here, she knew, just when the surrounding neighborhoods got together.
But this year was special and big and they also had a band playing, a group of musicians who had begun locally, but who were now climbing the charts.
Even more important than that, they had a speaker who was loved in the area—and beyond--by almost everyone.
He was a moderate, a man who had the ability not just to give lip service to others, but to genuinely listen and consider issues with everyone involved.
A great addition to a party when you were talking about the 4th of July and the very beginning of the country—and the growth every generation lived through, always hoping to further the hopes of the forefathers.
“Mayor Lance Turner is bound to rise,” William said.
“I’ve seldom seen a man who personifies one of our most important, inalienable rights.
That to our opinions. He listens to everyone.
He doesn’t strike out at others; he explains his position.
” William looked at her with a grimace. “I like to hang out at the little tavern down the street. Mayor Turner is on television a lot these days. I’ve enjoyed watching him.
You know we like to ‘haunt’ the local tavern,” he said with a grin.
“From everything I’ve heard, Lance Turner is great,” Angela agreed. “So . . .”
He shook his head. “Back to Cassie. Like I said. It was there,” William told her, pointing to a place right in front of the bandstand.
“Right there. I think she was just wandering, taking a closer look at the bandstand, and I was hanging with the guys, and we weren’t just staring at her because we are far beyond things like that, we always notice her because she’s always smiling.
But we were talking among ourselves. Roderick was going on about the Revolution—well, it all really started over two-hundred and fifty years ago now.
But, I rehash things and Roderick’s take on it is important.
Never mind, sorry, I’m babbling. But there.
That is where I saw her standing last, right there.
Then we were all talking or laughing . .
. and then she was gone. Wow. And I’m talking now.
I am heading out to find Daniel. Really leaving. ”
He lifted a hand to her and he was gone.
Angela headed close to the bandstand; it had been built up about three feet with stairs and what appeared to be a solid base.
She looked at the ground. There was a minor indentation in the grass where William had seen her standing. Small. But whatever had been there was gone.
She moved closer to the bandstand.
That was when she heard it. A strange thumping sound.
Coming from the base of the bandstand.
*
Jackson
Jackson learned quickly that the ex—Jared Anderson—was apparently a missing person as well.
At least missing from work.
His boss was beyond irritated when Jackson asked about him. The man hadn’t shown up for work that day and they were behind schedule.
And he wasn’t answering his phone.
Jackson thanked the man for helping him. He didn’t ask the boss for the man’s address; he’d get that from his headquarters in a message. Glancing at his messages as he walked back to the car, he discovered that it and any pertinent information regarding the man had already been sent to him.
He didn’t have a search warrant. But what the hell? Maybe the man would answer the door. He parked on the street and surveyed the house. It was small, probably a two-bedroom dwelling. Two stories, and he imagined he would have a basement as well.
He headed to the door, ready to knock.
But as he knocked . . .
The door swung inward. It hadn’t been locked. It hadn’t even been closed.
“Mr. Anderson!” he called.
No answer.
Well, exigent circumstances? He needed to know if the man was all right.
Before he stepped in, he realized there was a presence behind him and he turned. Daniel’s spirit stood behind him.
“You broke in?” he asked. “And you’re a fed?”
“I didn’t break anything; the door opened when I knocked. But—”
“Hey!” Daniel told him. “I was trying to get in here and see if Cassie was here or what was going on—without you guys getting in trouble in court.”
“We’re fine—”
“Exigent circumstances,” Daniel said, grinning. “So, I killed myself ghost-hiking for nothing! Wow, bad analogy.”
“But you can take the upstairs; I’ll be here and try the basement. And I’ll keep calling his name and you’ll know if I find him—”
“I’ll try shouting if I do. Our shouts aren’t great, but—”
“Daniel, you’ve been great. Let’s get to it!” Jackson told him.
Daniel headed on up the stairs.
He’d been right; the house wasn’t big at all. He quickly looked through the small parlor, dining room, and kitchen.
He found the stairs to the basement and headed down.