“The intimidating town judge,” Peter replied, “laying down the law and handing out sentences every day, especially to his teenage daughter.”
“He was very old school,” Gwen agreed. “Incredibly strict.”
“Not entirely surprising,” Peter said, “given his career choice. He was a military man originally, wasn’t he?”
“Yes. A lieutenant colonel in World War II.”
Gwen and Peter walked past some museum visitors and entered the archive room at the back of the house. It was brightly lit by fluorescent lights on the ceiling and sconces on white walls. Susie was at her desk, working at the computer. Gwen suggested she take a break. Then she followed Peter to the largest worktable, where he was going through a banker’s box full of items from 1963.
Gwen glanced at his open laptop. “How’s it going so far?”
“Very well,” he replied. “It’s an incredible collection. There’s so much to study. I’ve booked a week in a hotel, but I might extend it to two because I wasn’t expecting to find so much about Scarlett’s film career and her life in Switzerland.” He paused and let out a breath.“But right now, I need to stay focused on the Alaska element, which is everything prior to 1964. Do you know if any of her friends from high school might know something?” He withdrew Scarlett’s 1963 yearbook from the box.
“They’re all in their seventies now,” Gwen explained, “and those who still live in the area have already shared quite a bit with the museum. Some have been interviewed on camera. The recordings are in the boxes from the later years, post-1995.”
“Good to know,” Peter said. “I’ll need to look at those.”
“You’re welcome to,” Gwen replied, “but as I’ve told you, I’ve seen them all, and there’s no mention of Alaska.”
His gaze swept across the rows of tall storage shelves. “Maybe you weren’t looking for the right clues when you watched those interviews. Maybe there’s something there, if we look at it through a different lens.”
Perhaps he was right. Perhaps Gwen needed to look at everything again with fresh eyes.
Peter flipped through the yearbook from Scarlett’s senior year and opened it to the drama-club section. “What about this girl?” He pointed at a photo of Scarlett with a friend on the high school gymnasium stage. They stood next to each other, arms linked together, cheek to cheek. “What’s with the poem that Scarlett wrote here?”
Gwen examined the photograph. “That’s not a poem. Those are song lyrics. She started writing music when she was sixteen. And this girl was one of Scarlett’s best friends. That’s her yearbook, actually. She was kind enough to donate it.”
“Does she still live in town?”
“No,” Gwen replied. “She moved to Manitoba years ago. But this one lives in Canning.” She flipped the page and pointed at another photograph from the same school play.
“Were they close?” Peter asked.
“Somewhat. Scarlett was friendly with everyone. That was her charm. She wasn’t one for cliques.”
Peter seemed to be thinking about something. “How far is Canning from here?”
“About a twenty-minute drive.”
“Would you mind calling her? Maybe you could set up an appointment for me to talk to her?”
“I’ll give it a try,” Gwen said. “And you’re right. I should probably look at everything with fresh eyes. There could be something here.”
Peter gestured toward the shelving units, which took up half the room. “I’d welcome the help.”
A sudden sense of purpose flooded into Gwen’s mind, and it was a welcome sensation—because she’d been in a low-spirited rut for a long time.
“Let me go downstairs and make that phone call,” she said. “Then I’ll come back up and join you. And I’ll have Susie set up the A/V equipment in the parlor downstairs so we can watch the interviews.”
“You’re amazing,” he said as he sat down at the table. “Thank you.”
“Just doing my job.”
But Gwen’s work at the museum had never been just a job to her. It was part of her identity. It was in her blood, quite literally. And it was the thing that had kept her going when everything else was falling apart.
CHAPTER 3
Gwen didn’t realize what time it was until the windows in the archive room grew dark. Nora and Susie had left the museum at five, and Gwen had promised to lock up. Now it was past seven, and her stomach was growling.
