Pete stood on the curb and looked again at the letter Jackson had sent. The words were smudged from being carried in his jacket pocket, but he could make them out. The address on the page matched the one etched into a flat stone on the front of the tall brick building across the street.

Although he'd itched to come straight to his parents' apartment building upon arriving in Clayton yesterday, he'd carefully chosen today's mid-morning arrival. Since his pa worked from noon to eight, he'd be home in the morning. Plus, if he came during school hours, he could avoid subjecting his younger siblings to an altercation. No sense in getting innocent children involved in his differences with their folks.

After depositing Alice-Marie and Libby at Alice-Marie's parents' fine home yesterday afternoon, he and Bennett had rented a room in a cheap, run-down hotel on the riverfront. Bennett had slept soundly, his snore rattling the windows, but Pete lay awake far into the night, too nervous and restless to sleep. Antic.i.p.ation for the moment when he would confront his parents had robbed him of his sleep, but oddly he didn't feel tired this morning. He was ready.

Pete's pulse sped as he imagined his father slumped in a chair, drowsing away the hours prior to leaving for work, unaware that his oldest child planned to step back-albeit briefly-into his life. These last few hours of waiting had been the hardest.

Drawing in a fortifying breath, he stepped off the curb and crossed the street, his eyes traveling from the flat roof of the building to the cracked foundation. A slab of chipped concrete served as a porch. Two little boys with matching mops of blond hair sat on the edge of the slab, poking at a dead beetle with a stick. Frowning, Pete peeked at his pocket watch. Nine thirty. Why weren't these boys in school?

Uncertainty made him pause at the edge of the sidewalk. He'd counted on his parents being alone, no younger siblings underfoot tempting him to soften his words. Hardening his heart, he determined to proceed with his plan. He'd come too far to back out now. He'd ask his parents to send the youngsters outside for a while. If they refused, then he'd just have to shame Gunter and Berta in front of their other children.

Pete pushed the letter back into his pocket, smoothed the front of his suit jacket, and approached the concrete slab. Both boys looked up, fixing him with wary stares. Pete smiled at them. "h.e.l.lo. Is there a school holiday today?"

For several seconds, neither boy spoke. Then the older one, who appeared to be nine or ten, set his chin at a challenging angle and peered at Pete through a fringe of heavy, unevenly cut bangs. "You a copper?"

Pete chuckled. "Me? No. Just a university student."

"Didn't think so. Never saw a one-legged copper."

The younger boy licked his chapped lips, his eyes pinned on Pete's peg leg. With his thick shock of blond hair and dirty face, he reminded Pete of himself at that age. The boy pointed at Pete's leg. "That hurt?"

The phantom pain that never completely disappeared stabbed Pete with its presence, but he forced a smile. "Not anymore." The little boy's shoulders heaved in apparent relief, and Pete warmed toward the child. He repeated his earlier question. "Did your school close for the day?"

The older boy crunched his lips to the side, as if determining whether or not to answer. Finally he gave his s.h.a.ggy head a quick shake. "No. Just didn't go."

"How come?"

The boy used the tip of the stick to flip the beetle onto its back. "Didn't wanna."

"Don't your folks send you?"

The younger one continued to stare at Pete with round, unblinking eyes. He wrapped his scrawny arms around himself.

Although they were well into autumn, the child was barefoot and had no jacket. Pete swallowed. Memories from the past-of being thrust into the cold without the protection of warm clothes or a full belly or even a tearful good-bye-stung. He rested his hand on his good knee and bent forward, smiling at the little boy.

"You cold?"

The boy nodded wordlessly.

"Why don't you go inside? Get warmed up?"

The child's eyes flitted to his brother. The older one replied. "Ma told us to get. Pa's fractious today. Too much drinkin' last night. She'll call us when it's safe to come in." The detached recital pierced Pete deep in his soul. Children shouldn't live like this.

Pete jerked upright. "Well, your brother here needs a jacket and something on his feet. Don't you think you could go in and-"

"You sure you ain't a copper?" The older boy glared at Pete.

Pete looked directly into the boy's hostile face. "I'm not a copper. My name is Pete Leidig."

Both boys jolted, and the younger one's eyes flew wide. He grabbed his brother's arm and the stick went flying. "Dennis! You hear him? His name's the same as ours. Marta used to say we had a brother named Pete, but I never believed her." The child bounded to his feet, his hand curled over his brother's shoulder. He stared, awestruck, at Pete. "Mister, are you really really Pete Leidig?" Pete Leidig?"

The older boy-Dennis-brushed the young one's hand from his shoulder and rose. He pressed protectively in front of the smaller boy, his skinny shoulders squared. "Stay back, Lorenzo." He growled the warning, and Lorenzo remained behind his brother, but he tipped sideways and peeked out with curious blue eyes. Dennis crossed his arms over his chest. "If you're really Pete Leidig, then what's our folks' names?"

"My folks are Gunter and Berta. Who're yours?"

Lorenzo danced in place, tugging at Dennis's shirt. "That's our folks, too! See? He is our brother, Dennis! He is!"

"Shut up, Lorenzo." Dennis jabbed Lorenzo in the ribs with his elbow. The smaller boy yelped and fell silent. Dennis's eyes squinted into sullen slits. "Why're you here? You never come before-not in our whole lives."

Pete's chest ached. Anger, resentment, and an underlying fear shimmered in Dennis's eyes-emotions Pete understood all too well. A hardscrabble life had ingrained those emotions into the core of the boy's being, but none of those feeling belonged in a child's life. Why hadn't he sought out his siblings sooner? He might have been able to help . . . somehow.

Swallowing the bitter taste of regret, he said, "I didn't come because I didn't live in Clayton. I lived in a town called Shay's Ford."

Lorenzo rose up on tiptoe to peer over Dennis's shoulder. "Why din'cha live with us?"

Dennis didn't hush his brother this time but looked at Pete expectantly.

Should Pete tell these boys how their father had sent him out to fend for himself? Knowing would only add to their insecurity. He didn't want to lie, but he couldn't tell the truth. Instead, he asked a question. "Are your other brothers and sisters here, too?"

Lorenzo answered. "Marta ain't-she's married. An' Oscar, he's gone, too. Ma don't know where. But Wendell an' Orel an' Elma live here. They went on to school, though."

Pete figured Marta must be seventeen now. He only had vague memories of Oscar, Wendell, and Orel as runny-nosed toddlers. Elma had been just a newborn when he'd left. He tried to picture what they might look like now, but no images would form. The thought saddened him. He had siblings-seven of them-and they were all strangers to him. All because of Gunter and Berta Leidig's hardheartedness.

Lord, give me strength. Despite the fury stirring his middle, Pete managed to speak kindly. "I need to talk to your folks. Can you take me to your apartment?" Despite the fury stirring his middle, Pete managed to speak kindly. "I need to talk to your folks. Can you take me to your apartment?"

Lorenzo turned and darted for the doors, but Dennis reached out and grabbed for Lorenzo's shirt. "We have to stay outside!"

A soft rip rip sounded. Lorenzo cried out, "Oh no!" He examined his shirt, and tears filled his eyes. "Look what you done, Dennis! sounded. Lorenzo cried out, "Oh no!" He examined his shirt, and tears filled his eyes. "Look what you done, Dennis!

Pa's gonna be so mad-he'll give me a whippin'!"

"Stop sniveling," Dennis ordered, but he bit on the corner of his lips, his eyes reflecting fear.

Pete moved toward the younger boy. "Let me see that, Lorenzo." Pete examined the shirt and smiled. "It's just a tear in the seam. This can be fixed easily. Don't worry."

But neither boy looked rea.s.sured. One plump tear rolled down Lorenzo's face, leaving a clean track on his dusty cheek. "Pa'll whip me for sure."

Pete glanced toward the building. He had to visit his parents today; he needed to return to Chambers tomorrow.

But how could he leave the boys to face their father's wrath? He felt partially responsible for the damage done to Lorenzo's shirt. With a sigh, he curled his hand over Lorenzo's shoulder.

"Tell you what, partner. I know how to fix that shirt."

Dennis squinted one eye. "Men don't do st.i.tchin'."

Pete laughed. "Haven't you ever seen a tailor?"

The boys stared at him blankly. Their clothes were probably hand-me-downs from older brothers. Why would they ever have visited a tailor's shop? He told them, "The lady I lived with taught me to st.i.tch so I could sew on my own b.u.t.tons and fix things like rips." For the first time, he appreciated Isabelle's insistence that he learn to wield a needle and thread. "Come with me to my hotel, and we'll get your shirt fixed. Then I'll come back here to visit your folks, all right?"

Without a moment's hesitation, Lorenzo slipped his grubby hand into Pete's. Pleased more than he could understand by the child's trust, Pete turned to Dennis. He sensed Dennis wouldn't be so easily won. "You coming?"

Dennis drew in his lips and stood unmoving for several seconds. Then he kicked at a stone on the ground. "Ain't gonna let you take off with Lorenzo without makin' sure you bring 'im back. Yeah, I'm comin'."

Pete held out his free hand, but Dennis ignored it and crowded on the other side of Lorenzo. With his little brothers scuffing along beside him, Pete headed for the corner to hail a cab.

[image]

"Unless you're that boy's court-appointed representative or a family member, you ain't gonna visit him." The scowling guard folded his arms over his portly belly. His jowls quivered as he added, "Now scoot on outta here, missy, before I arrest you for bein' a public nuisance."

Libby twisted her lips to the side, knowing such a charge would be dismissed without a second glance. The bas.e.m.e.nt of the courthouse was hardly a public gathering spot. Besides, she'd come a long way to see Oscar Leidig, and one overweight jail guard was not going to best her. Lifting her pad of paper and pencil, she smiled sweetly over its top edge. "Very well. Your name, please?"

The man's forehead puckered into a series of deep furrows. "Why?"

"I'll need it for the article."

"Article?"

"Why yes, sir." Libby aimed the pencil tip at the paper. "I'm sure my readers will be very interested in the name of the man responsible for guarding such a vicious felon as Oscar Leidig."

The guard scratched his flubbery cheek. "You say you got readers?"

She nodded. "Yes. I'm a journalist." At least, I will be At least, I will be. "And I'm here to doc.u.ment this case. Of course, the article will be dreadfully short and no doubt relegated to the last page of the paper unless I have the opportunity to interview the prisoner, but . . ." She dangled her bait, watching to see if the man would pounce.

The guard looked her up and down, his lips curled in skepticism. "You're awful young to be a reporter."

Libby drew herself as tall as possible and pinned the man with a regal look. "I can a.s.sure you I am very qualified. As a student from the University of Southern Missouri, my publishing credits are quite expansive." She'd stretched the truth, but how else would she convince this bulbous-nosed dunderhead to let her talk to Oscar Leidig? "So . . . your name?"

Her heart pounded. Would vanity reign supreme or would he send her away? Please, please. I must speak to this boy. Please, please. I must speak to this boy. She thought her lungs might explode while she waited for the man to make up his mind. She thought her lungs might explode while she waited for the man to make up his mind.

"It's Holloway. Wallace Holloway."

Hiding her smile, Libby dutifully recorded his name. "Wallace Holloway. And you've been employed with the Clayton justice system for how long?"

His chest puffed. "Seven years." Leaning forward, he added in a whisper, "But this is the youngest murderer I ever seen come through. He's a bad'un, I tell you. A real bad'un."

Libby's mouth went dry at the man's statement. Did she dare proceed? Yes, she must gather every fact she could.

She a.s.sumed a friendly yet professional air. "I know my readers will be most interested in your bravery in protecting society from this dangerous criminal." She tapped her chin with the pencil. "Of course, the article would hold much more interest if we could determine how this young man became so hardened at such an early age. Perhaps the information I uncover today might a.s.sist those who work with our youth, even provide ideas for preventing another young man from making a similar mistake."

Pacing back and forth in the dank concrete-block hallway, Libby hugged the pad and crunched her forehead as if deep in thought. "Just think, Mr. Holloway . . . someday, there could be a criminal-prevention program named in honor of the man who guarded Oscar Leidig. The Holloway Plan." She scrawled the t.i.tle in the air with her pencil, then swung a beaming smile at the man. "Why, you could become famous!"

"The Holloway Plan?" The man's eyes glazed. Then he shook his head. "But I don't have no ideas on how to keep these young mutts from performin' crimes."

"That's where Oscar Leidig comes in." Libby scurried to the man's side. "He certainly knows why he was in the drugstore with a gun. He knows what led him to that point in time. He can tell me . . . er, us . . . everything we need to know." She pointed at the guard with her pencil. "But we can't name the prevention plan for him him. It would be indecent to credit him-after all, he's a criminal. You're a respected lawman . . ."

Defining a jail guard as a lawman took liberties with accuracy, but her words had found their target. The man threw back his shoulders and patted the gun at his hip. "You betcha, missy."

"So of course we'll give the plan your name," Libby finished. "Now-" she inched toward the barred cell door-"all that's left is to ask questions of Mr. Leidig."

Mr. Holloway lurched into her path. "You ain't goin' in that cell."

"But, Mr. Holloway, how can I possibly-"

"You ain't goin' in alone." He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket. "Boy like that . . . who knows what he'd do if he had you all to hisself in there. Nope. I'm goin' in with you!"

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR.

Bennett roused and sat up in the lumpy hotel bed when the doork.n.o.b squeaked, signaling Pete's return. Yawning, he greeted, "Hey, Pete, that didn't take long. I figured-" Frowning, he pointed at Pete's scruffy young companions. "Who're they?"

Pete put his hand on the head of the smaller boy and gave the other one a gentle push into the room. "Dennis and Lorenzo. Boys, this is my friend Bennett."

The boys stared at him, wide-eyed.

"What're they doing here?"

Pete looked at the pair, a funny smile on his lips. "They're . . . my brothers."

Bennett shot off the bed as if fired from a cannon. "Brothers?" Why had Pete brought them to the hotel room? Surely he didn't intend to keep keep them! them!

Pete guided the smallest boy to the table and chair in the corner, sat down, and stood the boy between his knees. "Lorenzo's shirt has a tear. We're going to repair it." He turned to the older boy, who was standing next to the door with a sullen look on his face.

"Dennis, bring me the bag, please. I need the needle and thread we bought."

Dennis shuffled forward, dropped the little paper bag within Pete's reach, and then returned to lean against the door. The kid looked ready to bolt at any minute. If he did, Bennett wouldn't stop him.

Bennett inched closer to the table. "You brought him here to fix his shirt?" Had Pete gone completely batty?

"That's right." Pete nipped off a length of thread and squinted at the needle. He jabbed the thread through the eye and then tied a knot at the dangling end. "All right, Lorenzo, off with that shirt."

Lorenzo backed away, shaking his head wildly. "Huh-uh."

Pete chuckled softly. "I can't fix it while you're wearing it." He held out his hand. "Come here."

But again, the little boy shook his head. "No."

Bennett rolled his eyes. "For pete's sake . . ." The sooner that shirt was fixed, the sooner Pete would get these kids out of there. The last thing they needed was a couple of dirty-faced urchins underfoot. He reached for the kid. "Gimme your shirt so Pete can-"

"No!" The boy raced to his brother.

Dennis shot Bennett a murderous glare. "Leave 'im alone."

Bennett folded his arms and laughed. "Well, well, aren't you the feisty one?"