That night, she laid the photos out again: David leaning on the Baby Benz, David behind the wheel, laughing, David photographed by friends she didn’t know. The note’s words made her skin prickle. Where had he gone? Why had he sent no word?
Walking back up the library steps, Margaret’s nerves fluttered. She had Evelyn’s blessing, a handful of photographs, and a single line of handwriting pointing her north, maybe. But what would she say if she actually found someone who remembered him? Would they welcome the questions or close their doors to her?