Personally, I had opted for something more in the middle. I was wearing my red raincoat, zipped up to protect me from the wind, a warm cable-knit sweater, and a pair of boots.

“So where to now?” said Bess, turning away from the window. “Should we find the museum?”

“No way,” said George. “No museums until after breakfast.”

“I agree,” I said. “We should definitely get some food first.”

Truthfully, I was eager to find the Carlisle Museum and visit the new Christopher DeSantos exhibit. But we had driven to Shady Oaks and checked into our hotel pretty late last night. No restaurants had been open, and I would have felt bad making my friends wait to eat this morning. Especially since I knew neither of them were very interested in Christopher DeSantos, or even photography in general.

We continued walking down the main street. Bess was trying to avoid puddles as she went. I was on the lookout for other potential museumgoers. Shady Oaks seemed pretty busy. Despite the rain and the small size of the town, there were actually a good number of people walking around. Many of the stores had window displays advertising the DeSantos exhibit, and most of the pedestrians were stopping to look at each one. I had to assume we were surrounded by tourists and DeSantos fans.

George had fallen a few steps behind us. She had taken out her cell phone and was holding it up in the air as she looked for service. I could see the droplets of water already collecting on her phone screen.

“No cell service!” she called to us. She sounded a bit miserable. “And no Wi-Fi at the hotel. Why did we come to such a remote town again?”

Next to me, Bess rolled her eyes. “George,” she called back. “Nancy is a big fan of Christopher DeSantos! As her friends, we should be happy to tag along so she gets to experience this. Right, Nancy?”

“Um,” I said. “Right. Thanks, Bess.”

I knew I wasn’t being very convincing. Especially when Bess turned toward me and looked a little confused. “Nancy,” she said. “You are a DeSantos fan, aren’t you?”

“Well,” I said. The truth was, I hadn’t even heard of Christopher DeSantos or his photographs until a couple of days ago. There was another reason I wanted to visit Shady Oaks. But before I could explain what we were really doing there, I saw someone walking toward us.

“Hello!” the person called out. She was wearing a bright yellow raincoat, and her intensely red hair was pulled back into a ponytail that flicked behind her as she walked. Around her neck she carried what looked like an old-fashioned film camera, but it was encased in a clear plastic covering, to protect it from the rain. “Are you guys here for the exhibit? Are you huge Christopher DeSantos fans too?”

“That’s what we were just wondering,” said Bess.

The girl looked confused, so I quickly held my hand out to her. “Yes,” I said. “We’re all big fans. I’m Nancy, this is Bess, and that’s George, with the cell phone.”