After we finished breakfast, Martha said she was going to the police station, and she was going to be there the rest of the day if I needed her. She offered to accompany me to the library, but I told her that wasn’t necessary. I also let her know that I would be going to The Painted Goose to see what that bar was like later.

The library was a block away from the main downtown strip with all the businesses. It was Saturday morning, and some people were walking around, which I found jarring after becoming so accustomed to seeing the street empty most of the time. The walk was pleasant, as the summer weather wasn’t as humid as it usually was, and the breeze was refreshing coming from the river.

The library was a three-story mansion that was built in the early 1900s or late 1800s. I admired the Victorian aesthetic with the turret on the upper right corner. In a way, it looked like a red brick castle, with a massive porch and a gazebo attached to it. There was a large sign out front that read: Wilton Public Library.

I walked inside the building and to my immediate left was a counter with a young man working behind a computer monitor. Straight ahead, there was a staircase and an elevator next to it. I approached the desk before exploring or doing anything else.

“Hello, how are you?” I greeted the worker with a polite smile.

“Hey, I’m good. Can I help you with anything?”

“Yes, I was wondering if the library carried any copies of old Wilton High School yearbooks?”

“How far are you looking back?”

“Let’s start with 1986 through 1994, please.”

“Sure, I can grab that for you. Do you have a library card?”

Perhaps I should have had Martha come along. “Actually, I don’t have a library card, and nor do I live here. I’m actually conducting an investigation.” I pulled out my FBI badge and placed it on the counter, the cover was lifted, and he could see my name and identification.

The young man’s eyes widened.

“Don’t worry, you’re not in any trouble. I’m just learning more about the town’s history.”

“Yeah, sure. Uh. Let me go get my manager real quick. I’m new here, and I’m not sure how to fill out the checkout form without the library card.” He spun around and went inside a room behind him. I had a feeling he was relieved to give the situation to someone else.

As I waited, I drifted into the living room, where bookshelves lined the walls and a few tables underneath windows, perfect for studying or reading.

A woman came from the office behind the counter and said, “Can I help you, sir?”

I turned around and smiled. “Hello, my name is Edward Wright. I was wondering if I could take a look at some older high school yearbooks here in the library.”

“Yes, my associate told me about everything. May I see your identification card, please?” Her voice was gentle and polite. She wore large wireframe glasses and had a name tag that said Jeanette with a few pins on her lanyard: books, jokes, and equality flags.

I handed her my badge and identification. She clicked a few buttons on her computer’s mouse and then stared at the screen and typed out some other information.

“Okay, you’re all set to check out whatever you need to.” Jeanette smiled at me. “You know, this is the first time we ever had someone from the FBI here.”

“Really? That’s a good thing.” I laughed.

“We’ve had other government agencies come through here and check things out. It’s rare, but it happens. Do you mind if I ask why you’d like to see the yearbooks? I totally understand if it has to be kept private. I’m just wondering if I might be able to provide more information to you.”

“Sure. Did you grow up in Wilton, Indiana?”

She nodded. “Born and raised. It was my dream to always work here. My mom used to volunteer, and then I would spend a lot of my childhood in these rooms. I did go away to University when I was younger. It was the first time I ever moved away. It was fun, but honestly, I missed it being here.”

“Where did you go to school?”

“I went to the University of Chicago. I always wanted to experience the big city, and once I did, I knew it wasn’t for me. I missed the serenity of Wilton. But to be honest, those people they found on the farms around here really freaked me out.”

My smile vanished. “Yeah, that’s understandable. I know how much a traumatic event like that can shake up a small town.” Usually, I could keep the conversation going, and I wanted to ask her more questions about her life, but I got choked up. An emotional snake wrapped its strong, lengthy body around my throat.

Jeanette could sense the pause and the awkward beats that passed by. “Well, I’ll go get the yearbooks for you. 1986 through 1994?”

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I nodded. My lip quivered, and my throat grew syrupy, but I managed to say, “Wait, I have one other question for you. What year did you graduate from Wilton High?”

“1994.”

“When you were there, do you remember a classmate in your school named Charles Green?”

Jeanette frowned. “Yeah, I know him. We did go to school together, but I think he was older. Either 2 years or 3 years older than me. I never really knew him, but I knew of him.”

“What did you know of him? Anything and everything if you don’t mind?”

“Gosh. It’s hard to say. You know, we have such a small town here, but I didn’t really know him at school. I think he was a quiet kid. Definitely wasn’t in the social spotlight ever. The only reason I knew more about him was his parents both died in a car accident when he was just 18. It was big news, but he never wanted to talk to anyone about it. No memorial or event was held that was public. I think he’s an only child, and his parents were his only family.”

“Do you know much about his current life or situation?”

“I thought he went on to be some sort of engineer and left town. But I can’t remember for sure. It was something one of my friends told me. I’m not sure if he ever came back. He could be living here still, and I’d have no idea.”

I pursed my brow. “Do you think if you saw him you would recognize him?”

“I don’t think so. No. Is he a person of interest with the case you’re working on?”

“Hard to say.”

“Okay, well, I’ll just get you those yearbooks then.”

“Actually, can I start with the 1990 yearbook?”

“Of course, Agent Wright, follow me.”

Jeanette walked around the desk, and the associate came back out and stood by. Jeanette led the way upstairs, and I followed. We went up a few flights of steps until we were on the top floor. She guided me to the right, a large room with bookshelves lining the walls and the bookshelves creating a maze in the center. We stepped through the maze until we went down an aisle with all of the Wilton High yearbooks from 1930 onward. There was a double copy of each one. All of them were there, and we went down until we got to 1990. Jeanette pulled it out and dusted it briefly before handing it to me.

“If you’d like, there’s a room on the other side that’s perfect for reading. There are circular tables with bookshelves around, but there’s a spot next to the window. Do you need anything else, Agent Wright?”

“Is it okay if I make myself at home and just grab the other copies if I need them?”

“Of course. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything. Pleasure meeting you.”

Jeanette and I shook hands, and then she took me to the other room, and I saw a table in between two bookshelves underneath the window. “This is perfect, thank you.”

Jeanette walked away, and I took a seat at the wooden table. Going back in time with the 1990 high school yearbook. The lettering was silver, and the book itself had a soft brown shell cover.

I flipped through the pages, but I could have stared at them for hours on end. Seeing the black and white photos of a day-long past gave me goosebumps. I wondered where all of those people were in their lives now. I could probably find most of them still living in Wilton, Indiana, living a similar life as their parents did. Then I thought about my own high school experience. But I didn’t want to think about that for too long. I kept my focus on Wilton, Indiana.

I scanned through all the freshman names. Specifically looking out for Charles Green. He wasn’t in the freshman section, the sophomores, or the juniors, but by the time I had reached the seniors, I found his photo.

In the middle of the row, he was sandwiched between another person with the last name Green and a person with the last name Graham.

Charles Green looked scrawny. He had a smile that didn’t show any teeth. His eyebrows were bushy, and he had brown eyes with aviator wire frame glasses. It looked like a genuine smile as if he was happy to be at picture day and back at school. He had a little bit of acne, but overall he was a decent-looking kid. It wouldn’t surprise me if he was called a nerd, but maybe he wasn’t. I guessed he was 17. There were no quotes, nor any other information about him. Just his picture. I wondered how different he looked nowadays.

Next I searched through the sports section to see if Charles was involved in anything there. He wasn’t. And then, I kept my focus on the activities and after-school clubs. I did find Charles Green in the National Honor Society. He was sitting next to someone by the name of Vince Nelson. Both of them were sitting in the back of the risers; the photo was taken inside the gymnasium. They both smiled ear to ear as if Vince may have told Charles a joke. They sat close to each other, closer than the other people around them as if they were friends. The body language certainly suggested they were.

So Charles Green might have a friend. They were both in the National Honor Society; they seemed to be intelligent and motivated.

I kept looking at the other club photos to see if there were other Charles Green sightings. Fortunately, I found one in the quiz bowl team. Both of them were found standing next to each other with five other students. Below that, there was a history club with Vince and Charles and students from Quiz Bowl. I wondered what they would even do in a History Club but I kept looking.

Then I found the two of them again sitting next to each other for the AV Club, which had ten other students. Two girls and eight guys.

Then I spotted the last photo with Charles Green and Vince Nelson. The two of them sat next to each other for the marching band photo. Going through the rest of the yearbook, I made it to the end glossary of student names and all of the pages they appeared in.

I was surprised to see one other photo taken with the two of them. It was a page I must have skimmed over earlier in the book. It was a collage of photos taken during random times of the school day or even after school. As if the teacher in charge of the yearbook handed a camera to a student and said, “Take a bunch of photos of kids having fun.”

Charles Green and Vince Nelson were sitting next to each other. The caption read: Charles and Vince finish work early in drafting class to practice their soldering.

Charles had a confused smile as if he was a little shy about taking a picture. But Vince had a big grin as if he was amused by the camera being in front of him. Charles was holding a soldering iron up to a silicon chip of some kind, and Vince also had the same setup.

I flipped to the glossary again, and I noticed that Vince was listed on another page elsewhere in the book. I went back in the section with the collage of photos and found one last shot with Vince Nelson. He was standing in the library with a piece of paper in his hand. He was a stocky guy who could probably play football guarding the quarterback well. The caption read: Valedictorian, Vince Nelson, practices his graduation speech in front of the principal.

Returning back to the section of senior photos, I looked at Vince Nelson’s. He reminded me of Charles Green’s picture. Vince smiled, but he showed his teeth. They were perfect and straight. He had giant wireframe glasses, wearing a white button-up shirt. His head was large, and he had thin eyebrows and short hair.

I closed the yearbook, put it back on the shelf, and went downstairs to the library’s main floor.