The abandoned factory's grime-covered windows presented a formidable challenge for the morning sun, but here and there a determined sunbeam slipped through broken glass to play in the dust motes. Jeremy picked his way across the littered floor and up the cracked concrete stairs with their rusty handrail. Reaching the top, he took a breath and pushed open the door.

Half a dozen boys looked up at his entrance. One of them, a fat kid named Jeff, crammed the last bite of a jelly doughnut into his mouth.

Mark shoved the door closed with his foot. "Did ya' do it?"

Jeremy shook his head and eyed the box of doughnuts on the scarred desktop.

"Chicken-shit." Mark pushed greasy hair out of his eyes. "Shoulda had one of the others do it."

"I told you so." Tim, Mark's second in command, swiped at a bit of chocolate with a dirty hand. "If you'd given it to me, I'd have done the job right."

"It isn't my fault," Jeremy said defensively. "My dad decided not to go."

"We showed you how to get some wheels," Mark said. "Why didn't you just swipe your dad's car?"

"Are you kidding? He would've killed me!" Jeremy watched the last doughnut disappear into Tim's mouth. His stomach rumbled.

Mark shrugged. "Who says he had to know?"

Jeremy backed away. "No way." He hadn't liked that they'd lifted the old lady's pin, but it wasn't like they were hurting her or anything. If he'd gotten caught with it he could've just said he'd found it on the ground someplace. But the idea of hotwiring Rick's new car, clunker though it was, made him shudder with fear in memory of the night they'd wrecked the other one. If it hadn't been for Uncle Bill, Jeremy was certain Rick would've used his shotgun that night.

Mark and Tim exchanged a look. "He ain't got the guts," Tim said.

Jeremy looked to the other boys, desperate. "Come on, guys."

"I've seen his daddy's shotgun," Jeff said, finally speaking up on Jeremy's behalf. "Seen him take out a rabbit with it. Blasted the critter clear across the yard." He took a gulp of soda, then crushed the can and tossed it over his shoulder.

Mark considered Jeremy. "Got a job tonight," he said at last. "You in?"

"What kind of job?"

Tim snorted. "Either you're with us or you ain't."

Jeremy knew that Tim didn't like him. He also knew that if he didn't join them tonight, they wouldn't give him another chance. He couldn't take that risk.

"Yeah," Jeremy said. "I'm in."

"Meet at the school at ten o'clock," Mark said. "And don't be late."

"I'll be there."

"And leave your brother at home." Mark settled into the room's only chair and stretched out his legs. "Now get lost, kid. We got plannin' to do."

Jeremy did as he was told, pulling the door shut behind him. He was halfway down the stairs when a familiar voice brought his head up.

"Jeremy?"

"Billy! What are you doing here?"

"I came to get you, Jeremy." Billy's too-thin body fit neatly between a pair of errant sunbeams. "He's mighty mad, Jer'."

Jeremy sighed. "What'd I do this time?"

"He says you were supposed to mow the yard."

"I had to do somethin' first."

Billy glanced up the stairs. "What'd they want?"

"None of your business." Jeremy stepped off the bottom stair and moved across to his brother, taking him by the elbow. "Come on."

"Ow!" Billy pulled away and glared at his brother. "That hurts!"

"Don't be a baby," Jeremy said, but his voice lacked conviction. "And where are your other shoes?"

"Hid 'em."

"Why?"

"So Dad wouldn't see. He'd a wanted to know where I got 'em."

"You kidding? He don't care what you got on your feet."

"Mebbe not." Billy scuffed the dirt with a well-worn shoe. "But I wanna save the new ones fer school. 'Case you don't find another pair."

As much as Jeremy hated Mark and his cronies, they'd made it possible for him to get things Billy needed; things his stepdad wouldn't buy, and his mom couldn't. Now winter was on its way, and Billy's only jacket was about three sizes too small. He sighed. He'd be there tonight. He'd do whatever he had to do to look after his brother. It was what his dad would've wanted.

"Come on," Jeremy said. "We better hurry."

----------

----------

Having made the decision to leave town, Joe and Maria didn't waste time. By noon, their car was packed. Lingering wisps of smoke curled up from the smoldering ruins as they said their goodbyes.

"You sure we can't change your mind?" Harm asked.

Joe shook his head. "Sorry, my friend."

Mac stepped up to hug Maria. "We'll miss you."

"No, you won't." Maria smiled through her tears. "You will only miss my cooking."

"You do make the world's best chili rellenos," Harm said.

"I will send you the recipe. You can make them yourself."

"They'll never be as good as yours."

Maria shook her head. "You should save those compliments for your wife."

"Oh, God," Mac said. "Don't get him started on my cooking."

Harm chuckled. "Don't sell yourself short, Mac. You make a mean salad."

"Yes, and it may be all you get for dinner tonight."

"Good thing I'm doing the cooking, then."

Mac rolled her eyes, and Joe and Maria laughed.

Bill pulled up in his patrol car and climbed out.

"Leaving already?" Bill asked as he joined them.

"Yes," Joe replied. "I trust you'll call us with any news?"

Bill reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. He handed it to Joe. "Let me know when you're settled."

"I'll do that," Joe said. He tucked the card into his pocket and turned back to Harm and Mac. "Take care, my friends." He shook Harm's hand and gave Mac a warm hug. "And thank you for all that you've done for us." He waited while Maria said her goodbyes, and then held her door for her while she settled herself in the car.

"Take care of each other," Harm said. "And keep in touch."

"We will."

A few minutes later, the three friends watched the car pull away, waving until it turned the corner and disappeared from view.

"I need to check in with the arson team," Bill said, turning back to Harm and Mac. "Join me?"

"They're already here?"

Bill nodded. "Got here about an hour ago."

Mac looked at her watch. "I've got an appointment with a client at two," she said. "But I'd like to know what their first impressions are."

"So would I." Harm looked around the nearly empty parking lot. "Mac? You game for a walk?"

"Doesn't make sense to take the car," she answered. "It's just down the block."

"I'll see the two of you there, then." Bill grinned. "That is, unless you'd like to ride in the squad car..."

Mac laughed. "I think we'll pass."

"Suit yourselves." Bill touched a finger to the brim of his hat and left.

"Think it was Jeremy?" Mac asked as they crossed the elm-shaded street. "Joe's description would match."

"That description fits a lot of people, Mac."

"If it was Jeremy, Bill's going to have to arrest him."

Nearby, church bells began to chime their familiar hourly melody, and Harm tilted his head to listen. "I don't think I'll ever get tired of that."

"Can you hear the bells all the way out at the airport?"

"Sometimes, yeah."

"You know…" Mac kicked an acorn, watching it spiral down the walk in front of them. "I used to worry that we'd be bored here. We're both so used to city life...I thought we'd go stir crazy in a small town."

Harm shook his head. "I knew I'd be okay. My grandmother's farm was always one of my favorite places to visit. I wasn't sure about you, though."

"There are some things I miss."

"We're overdue for a visit to Mattie," Harm said, glancing over at her. "Maybe a dose of city life would be good for us after all this peace and quiet."

"I'd like that."

They'd arrived at the ruins of the Delgado home, and Bill waved them over. When they reached him, he introduced his companion, a burly man with soot stains on his white shirt and a pencil behind his ear.

"Harm and Mac, this is Lee Meyerson. He's heading up the arson investigation."

"Pleased to meet you," Harm said.

Lee shook their hands, and then turned back to Bill. "No doubt it's arson," he said. "We found evidence of an accelerant in the kitchen. If I had to guess, I'd say probably gasoline, but it'll take a while to get the test results back."

"Was there any sign of a timing device?" Harm asked.

"Not that we've found yet, but we aren't quite finished poking around in there." Lee gave Harm a sharp look. "Is there something I should know?"

"Not at all," Harm said, glancing over at Mac. "I just wondered."

No timing device meant that whoever started the fire had to have been present to light the match. It was another black mark against the person seen running away the night before.

Lee nodded and turned to gaze at the blackened mess. "Terrible thing," he said.

Bill nodded. "Joe and Maria are good people. They didn't deserve this."

"Nobody does." Lee nodded toward the group of chattering townsfolk on the other side of the property. "Those people are like vultures," he said. "They're just waiting for us to leave so they can pick over the remains." The harsh pronouncement startled Mac.

"I doubt that," Bill said firmly. "Most of them are just hoping the same thing doesn't happen to them."

Lee looked at Bill, eyebrows raised. "How many of those 'good folks' offered to help rebuild?"

The unpleasant answer to that was that none of them had.

An uncomfortable silence descended on the group until Mac cleared her throat. "I need to get to the office," she said. She looked at Harm. "Can you get a ride home? This meeting's probably going to take a couple of hours, and I've got another one after it."

"I'll run him out," Bill said. "We done here, Lee?"

Lee nodded. "I'll give you a call when the test results come in."

"I appreciate that."

"Looks like I get a ride in that squad car after all," Harm said.

Bill laughed. "Don't worry. You can ride up front."

"I can live with that." Harm gave Mac a quick kiss. "I'll see you at home later." He turned to Lee. "Nice meeting you," he said.

Lee nodded. "You, too."

One of Lee's people called to him, and with a nod to the others, he left.

"Want a lift back to your car?" Bill asked Mac.

"No thanks. I'll leave it there until I'm finished at the office. I'd better get going, though. I don't want to be late."

----------

----------

Jeremy pushed the lawnmower into the shed and looked around. When he was certain nobody was watching, he ducked inside and pulled the door closed. He worked his way to the back, swatting aside dust-encrusted cobwebs and the occasional startled spider. A stack of old magazines spilled out of a mildewed cardboard box in the corner, and Jeremy dug through it, searching. His fingers finally closed around a small, solid object.

His heart raced, and his skin grew clammy with nervous sweat as he pulled it out. He knew he was alone, that nobody could possibly see what he was doing, but he couldn't help the furtive glance behind him at the closed door. For long seconds, he held the wadded newspaper in his hand and listened for the sound of approaching footsteps. All he heard was the freight-train huff of his own labored breathing.

He glanced down. How, he wondered, could something so small feel so heavy? He pulled at the frayed bits of paper until the jewel-encrusted edges of the pin glinted in the dim light. For a moment, he imagined that the cameo woman glared up at him. The thought made him clench his fist, hiding his guilt from that ice-perfect profile.

Jeremy thought about what the lady in the park had told him, about how this pin had been passed down for generations, through famine and war and world travel, to somehow end up on an old lady's dresser. Why, he wondered, couldn't he have grabbed something else, something less valuable? He'd seen the TV and the ancient VCR, but he'd passed them both up, heading for Miss Emily's bedroom and the pin she wore to church every Sunday. A small voice at the back of his mind whispered the ugly truth. He'd wanted to prove his worth to the others, wanted to prove that he was just as bad as they were.

In Heaven, Dad was disappointed in him. Jeremy was certain of it. Dad would never steal, would never understand why Jeremy had done it. Sudden tears filled his eyes, spilled over, washed down his cheeks, and melted, unheeded, into Jeremy's worn cotton t-shirt.

"Damn you!" he yelled. "Why'd you leave me?" He sank, sobbing, to his knees.

The pin dug into his palm, its sharp edges gouging his skin. Jeremy squeezed harder, welcoming the pain. Then, in a burst of rage, he flung it across the shed, watching through tear-blurred eyes as it bounced off the wall and dropped into a rusty bucket with a dull clang.

A quiet knock at the closed door startled Jeremy, and he swiped at his eyes with the back of his arm.

"Jer'?" Billy's voice drifted through the panel. "You in there?"

Jeremy sniffed. "Yeah."

"You better come out, Jer'. He's lookin' for you."

Jeremy sighed. "Why?"

"Dunno." There was a pause. Then, "He's mad, Jer'."

"He's always mad." Jeremy got to his feet. "I'll be out in a minute."

"'Kay."

Jeremy moved across to the bucket, looking down at the jeweled pin. It didn't belong here, didn't belong in a rusty bucket or a wad of mildewed paper or a rickety old shed. It belonged in a fur-lined jewelry box on an old lady's dresser.

He lifted his eyes, searching the dim recesses of the shed for something...there. He picked up the pin, wiped it on his shirt, and wrapped it in a clean piece of newspaper. Picking up the pencil stub he'd spied on the shelf, he scribbled a few words on the faded paper. Then he tossed the pencil away, shoved the package into his back pocket, and pushed out of the shed.

----------

----------

The light knock on Mac's office door brought her eyes up from the file she'd been working on. "Come in," she called.

Jeanne Westerman had been Jeremy's seventh grade teacher. Pale-haired and freckle-faced, she looked much younger than her thirty-something years. When Mac had called to ask if she had time to talk, Jeanne had readily agreed to meet Mac at the office. Now she offered an apologetic smile from the open doorway.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she said. "I was at the library, and I guess I lost track of the time."

Mac stood and crossed to meet her. "It's no problem, really. Thank you for coming in." She shook Jeanne's hand and indicated the chairs in front of her desk. "Have a seat," she said. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"No, thanks." Jeanne sat down, crossed her slim legs, and got right to the point. "You said you wanted to talk about Jeremy. Is he in some kind of legal trouble?"

"Not yet," Mac said, sitting down in the other chair.

"I don't understand."

"He's been in some trouble. Nothing serious yet, but my husband and I are worried about him. We want to help."

Jeanne nodded. "What can I do?"

"You had Jeremy in your class last year. What was he like?"

"He was one of those kids who sort of lives on the fringes of life, you know? Average student, average behavior... Nothing really stood out."

"Did he seem unhappy?"

Jeanne shook her head. "Not really, but I wouldn't say he seemed very happy, either. He was kind of a loner."

"No problems with the other students?"

"Most of the time, the other kids ignored him. Poor kid; I felt sorry for him. He seemed like such a lost soul. I tried to talk to him a few times, but he never really opened up."

"Did you ever meet his parents?"

"Once," Jeanne said. "At a parent-teacher conference. His mom seemed nice enough, but his dad was a jerk."

"How do you mean?"

"Loud. Bossy. I remember wondering why he came since he spent the whole time complaining. He didn't seem the least bit interested in how Jeremy was doing, and he was insufferably rude."

"Rude?"

Jeanne nodded. "Told his wife to shut up at one point. Everybody in the room heard it. The poor woman must've been mortified."

"Was Jeremy's brother there that night?"

"Billy. Yeah. Looked like he hadn't eaten in a week. I had some refreshments in the room, like I always do." Jeanne shook her head. "I've never seen a kid try to cram so much food into his pockets."

"Was Jeremy undernourished?" Mac was starting to wonder if the boys were victims of child abuse, but if that were the case, how come the authorities hadn't been contacted?

"He was thin, but I don't know that I'd call him malnourished."

There wasn't an easy way to broach the next question, so Mac didn't bother trying to sugar-coat it. "Did he ever show up with unexplained cuts or bruises?"

Jeanne didn't flinch, and Mac wondered how many cases of abuse she'd witnessed in her career. "No. Nothing like that. I'd have reported it."

"Did Jeremy ever talk about his father?"

"You mean his real dad?"

Mac nodded.

For a moment, Jeanne was quiet, thinking back. The she shook her head. "No, but I do remember one essay he wrote for English. I'd asked them to write about their role models, and Jeremy wrote about his dad. It was one of the best assignments he ever did for me. I wanted to put it in the end-of-year anthology, but Jeremy wouldn't let me. He said it was private."

"So he was a good writer?"

"He had a lot of potential," Jeanne said. "I knew it was there, saw it in that one essay, but he was pretty stubborn about keeping his talents hidden from the world. I'm not sure why."

"Maybe he didn't want to draw attention to himself."

"Maybe." But Jeanne sounded doubtful.

Mac stood up. "Thanks for coming, Jeanne. You've been very helpful."

"I wish I knew more, but he was so closed off from the world, didn't let anybody get close except his brother."

"They got along well?"

"Yeah. Jeremy and Billy were always together when they weren't in class. It was sweet. You don't often see that between siblings."

Mac grinned at that. "No, you don't. Usually they're trying to kill each other." Then she grew serious. "But problems at home can change kids in all kinds of ways."

"True." Jeanne stood and glanced out the window. "It's getting late. I should be going." She looked back at Mac. "I hope you can do something for Jeremy. He seems like such a sweet boy."

"We'll do what we can," Mac promised. She showed Jeanne to the door, then closed it and leaned her back against the solid wood. Jeanne hadn't painted a happy picture of Jeremy's home life, but she'd given Mac a few clues that might prove useful.