She whispers back, “Welcome to the Safe Haven Museum and Education Center.”

A museum. From the outside, it doesn’t look much bigger than a nice-size house. We have brochures for it, but it has never crossed my mind to visit. “And, again, why are we here?”

Logan pulls off a glove and riffles through her small backpack pocket. “You’ll see.”

“Logan.” I lean against the door and stuff my gloved hands in my coat pockets as if we have all night. Maybe we do?

“Sometimes you’re such a pain,” she says.

“And sometimes you’re a bigger pain.” I grin at her.

“Fine.” She makes a sweeping motion with her arm. “Many people don’t know that Fort Ontario was the only place in the United States during World War Two to house European refugees.”

I shrug. “Okay.”

“This is the museum for that temporary refugee center.”

Like in a game of Clue, I put it together. World War II. The assignment. Research. Adventure. This is so Logan. Of course she would figure out a way to incorporate the assignment into our night.

“I’ve never been to a museum when it’s been closed before. We’re not breaking in, are we?” I let out a short laugh, but I’m only half joking.

“Not exactly.” She holds up a set of keys. “One of these should work.”

“Wait, what do you mean by ‘not exactly’?”

“I borrowed the keys.”

“How? From who?”

She inserts one key after another and comes up short. “Sometimes the less you know the better.”

She tries a fourth key. The lock gives way and she pushes the door open. I nearly have a heart attack when the alarm starts flashing and screeching, but Logan sprints to the lit panel and pushes a sequence of numbers into the keypad. The incessant noise stops along with the blinking lights. I stand statue-still like the cutout figures I notice along the sidewall.

Turning to me, she lifts her arms in victory. “Genius. I gotta say I’m a genius.”

I pull off my gloves, stick them in my pockets, and unzip my jacket. I rub the ache in my chest. “More like a genius criminal. In case we get arrested, I’m testifying that you were the mastermind behind this…whatever this is.”

“Come on, Clyde. If we go down, we go down together.”

“I hate to say it, Bonnie, I could do without this kind of adventure, but props for unforgettable.”

“Admit it, you love this. I know you do.”

“I love something,” I mumble, jerking back a little. To my relief, Logan’s several feet away, far enough that it’s a safe bet she didn’t hear me. Her focus is on the first in a series of black-and-white photographs along a sidewall.