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The next morning, Sawyer and I headed down to the historical society. I wanted to give Ms. Nicholas those garden club programs, and I was hoping to catch Trevor on hand. If anyone knew who the guy might have been at the dance or who might have been interested in Celeste, it was him. The best friend always knew all that stuff.
When we arrived, Saw and I settled into the research room with crayons, blank paper, and not a historical document in sight. That boy didn’t honor paper as a prime coloring spot, but I was certain that if I put out a one-of-a-kind letter, he’d want to scribble on it first thing. Ms. Nicholas had welcomed us warmly and was fetching both of us a cup of tea, mine hot and Sawyer’s not. He’d taken to really liking tea, as long as it was room temperature, sweet and mil
