“They are,” Sylvia admitted nervously. “But the side gate down by the old creek road… the latch broke last autumn. Someone could easily slide through the gap.” Daniel took out his phone and photographed the footprint, capturing the chevron tread pattern clearly.
By the time he drove home to his quiet, empty house on Elm Street, one question crowded out every other thought: Who was secretly caring for his daughter’s grave? Daniel slept fitfully. By 5:30 AM he was dressed and driving back to Oakridge Cemetery.