There was very little hope in Joe Hardy’s heart as he parked in the Bayport High student lot – out of habit, parking in what had been his ‘usual’ spot – close to one side of the lot, and nearer to the doors of the locker rooms than to the doors that went to the main part of the building. As he got out and took his athletic bag from the back seat of the car, he looked around, and saw that many of the other members of the Bayport Community College Titans football team had arrived. He wondered how they were feeling.

Joe brushed his hair back with a resigned sigh, and walked toward the gym doors with dread occupying his stomach like a small leaden ball. They were scheduled to play against the Lutheran Heart College football team. A small college, to be sure – but they had a fiercely impressive reputation on the small college circuit. And an incredible win-loss ratio. Considering the state of the BCC football team…Sheesh, we don’t even have a chance!

But as he crossed the threshold of the Bayport High gymnasium, and went down the familiar corridor that led to the home team locker room, Joe felt a small upsurge of excitement fill him – accompanied by a surge of adrenaline – at the thought of playing football there again. The Bayport High locker room, with its familiar scents of sweat, liniment and well-used athletic shoes, reminded him of all the games they had played – and won – while he was in high school. He thought fondly of his old chums – Chet Morton, Biff Hooper, Tony Prito, and of course, Frank – who had played on the team with him. And he proudly recalled the great record their school had when all five of them had been on the same team!

Unfortunately, the Titans were NOT that same team. But still, he was excited to be playing college ball, and being here on the Bayport High field felt like coming home again. It wouldn’t be the same as playing on that new field at college…but still, it was exciting. He loved playing football. It was that simple.

Inside the noisy, echoing locker room, Coach Blankenship was calling for their attention, raising his voice to a shout to be heard over the excited chatter.

"All right, team! Gather round! Everyone gather round here!"

The young men sat on benches or kneeled near the coach, and turned their attention to him.

"We’ve got a long road ahead of us," Blankenship said, after a moment. "But we can do this. We may not have a whole team of ace players. We may not end up with a great win-loss record. We may not even be able to play on our home field – but we ARE a team. And we have heart. Now, listen up: Remember your plays – listen to, and watch your team leaders. PAY ATTENTION – to them, and to me and the other coaches! If you do those things, maybe – just maybe – we can do what we were told we can’t. We can WIN!"

The team let out a mighty roar, Joe joining in with them. The adrenaline he’d felt earlier was building now. He was going to play – play college football! And listening to Coach Blankenship, the preposterous idea that they might actually win the game didn’t seem so preposterous after all. Joe grinned as he slapped a few of his fellow players on the back, and looked around to see other teammates settling their pads into place and squaring their shoulders, jaws set in resolution. All the game faces were in place now – and the Bayport Community College Titans were nothing if not determined!

"We may have lost our new field," Coach Blankenship continued, "But we haven’t lost our dedication. Our drive. Our focus. We haven’t lost our desire, or our need to win. We’re what make the team. Where we play doesn’t matter. Now, on 3: One…two…."

On ‘three’, the team yelled: "ROLL TITANS!"

With another strident bellow, they ran from the locker room, cleats clattering loudly on the cement, and toward the field – to the shouts and whistles of the home crowd, who had come to encourage and cheer them on. Joe glimpsed Vanessa, standing with Frank and Megan in the front row of the stands, all of them waving their hands and cheering ecstatically. A familiar sharp whistle reached his ears: Frank’s customary signal. Joe flashed the ‘I Love You’ hand sign to Vanessa, who laughed and returned it, then blew him a kiss. He grinned, and turned back to his team.

By half-time, Joe was beginning to wonder if the Titans were better than he’d given them credit for – or if the opposition wasn’t as good as they were supposed to be! Had Lutheran Heart possibly made the mistake of overlooking the Titans; hadn’t brought their ‘A’ game? The score was surprisingly close – 3 to 5, Lutheran Heart having gotten two points on a safety; the rest of the points gained on two well-kicked field goals. Joe felt great; he’d made several decent plays; he’d gotten some good tosses from the quarterback for once, and he was feeling in general high spirits as they went through the half-time break, and refreshed themselves for the second half of the game.

Joe continued to occasionally watch the stands, when he wasn’t actually on the field; knowing that the S.F.E. members were there was making him jittery, even though Jacklyn and Dave had assured him that all they were doing was passing out informational fliers. He wondered uneasily whether whoever was behind the arsons would be brave enough – or stupid enough – to set a fire at Bayport High. He hoped not – he really hoped not. Whoever it is has been concentrating on the college, he reminded himself. Nowhere else. It’ll be fine….

Was it really Kirk Moncrief? Or the other guy that Jacklyn mentioned – what was his name? Joe frowned as he tried to remember, then nodded. Albert. Albert Shaunessy. He didn’t know anything about this Shaunessy guy, nothing at all – and that made him nervous. He wished he did. Was this guy a suspect they knew nothing about? Maybe he and Kirk Moncrief were working together! Although he’d talked briefly to the two guys Dave had wanted him to meet, Mitch and Harry, the ones who had mentioned ‘the weirdo,’ they hadn’t been very forthcoming. They’d admitted that both Kirk and Albert tended to fit that description, but they hadn’t felt confident about accusing either one of actually starting the fires.

Joe glanced again at the stands, looking for his brother. He spotted Frank sitting with the two girls, rubbing his arm above his cast and looking irritable, grimacing with distaste over something or other. Joe wondered what the problem was – ordinarily, Frank enjoyed football games, liked watching them even though he no longer played himself, and was always more than willing to attend Joe’s games. Maybe his shoulder was bothering him more than usual? He saw Frank look up, then stand up, staring at something over Joe’s head.

Joe turned slowly and looked – then saw what Frank had been staring at. Kirk Moncrief was standing at one end of the football field, watching the stands.

*****

"Frank? What is it?" Megan could see that Frank was bothered by something.

The little redhead was feeling much better than she had a week ago, and the excitement of the game was a good distraction. She’d gotten the forehead stitches out the previous day, and although she still had some bruises that hadn’t yet faded, and her nose hurt to touch, Megan was considerably happier about the world. She had been sitting with hands tightly clasped in her lap, occasionally unclenching them to clap in appreciation of a good play, cuddled against Frank, but with her attention focused on the game – until he suddenly sprang out of his seat and leaned forward on the railing that went around the stands. She stood up too, moving to his side.

He turned to give her a distracted smile and pursed his lips in the pantomime of a kiss – and then motioned towards the end of the playing field, returning his attention to that spot. "Kirk Moncrief," he muttered. "He’s been watching us. Well – not just us. Just standing there, watching, for some time."

"Mmmm." Megan made an uncertain, dubious noise, and looked where Frank indicated. Yes, Kirk was there, all right. "Frank, darling, he’s allowed to be at a football game, you know…."

"I have an idea," Frank said now. "I want to try and search his car."

"Do you really think that’s a good idea?" she demurred. "Suppose someone catches you? Worse, suppose Kirk catches you? And for that matter, do you know what his car looks like? You can’t go around breaking into a bunch of cars on the off chance!"

"All right, smarty, what does he drive then? I know it’s a dark blue compact." Frank frowned. He’d seen it at Megan’s, pulling out….

"It’s a Focus hatchback, and I don’t think it’s been washed in months," she told him, smiling impishly. "I can’t give you the full license number, but I know it starts ALC. That help? But again, what if he catches you?"

"Well, then I’ll need a distraction. One of you two will just have to distract Kirk, if you see him leaving his spot." Frank grinned down at her. Oh please, let it be Vanessa who distracts him! he thought, but didn’t say anything out loud. I don’t trust Kirk around Megan! Not at all!

"Somehow, I’d expected that," Megan muttered. She beckoned Vanessa to join them, and quietly explained what was needed. "We may not have to do anything at all," she concluded. "Only if Kirk looks like he’s leaving the field area…."

"Okay, we can do that," Vanessa replied cheerfully. "We’ll both watch him and – if necessary – distract him. After all, two of us are better than one."

"Double whammy," Frank grinned. "Who could resist a blonde-redhead combo, after all? But remember – distract him, don’t beat him up!" He moved out of the stands cautiously, taking care to keep his arm from being jostled by the crowds of people coming back from the concession booths.

Frank sauntered out to the Bayport High parking lots, hoping to spot Kirk’s car, remembering glumly that he’d seen it more than he’d cared to, at Megan’s house! To his delight, he soon found it, the dusty blue hatchback with the ALC plate, and he walked towards it as casually as he would have walked to his own Saturn, which was parked near the backside of the lot.

He passed Kirk’s car without a glance, and actually did walk to his Saturn – where he retrieved his lock pick set from the bag in his back seat. He took out the two tools he’d need to get into Moncrief’s car, and returned the set to the bag. He relocked his car, and strolled over to Kirk’s car – and then paused, scowling.

Why is it everything I’ve always taken for granted seems to need two arms? Frank frowned, and then very carefully, he slipped the sling off his bad arm. Immediately, he caught his lower lip in his teeth, fighting back a groan as his not-yet-healed shoulder had to take the weight not only of his arm, but the cast, too. Grimly, he forced himself to concentrate as he bent forward and set to work.

He was rewarded a few seconds later, when there came a clicking sound, and the hatchback sprang open. Frank stared into the interior of Kirk Moncrief’s car.

He wasn’t surprised – not really – to find himself looking down at the one piece of evidence they had been searching for all along. A brown fake-leather backpack, ‘Recycle’ sticker prominently visible, sat there…next to a dark green, hooded sweatshirt with an environmental logo on the front.

Bingo!

And then, after a moment, he slowly closed the hatch, careful not to leave prints on the car, a frown creasing his forehead. This is all great, but…but we can’t use it! It’s all circumstantial – so Kirk has a dark green sweatshirt with a hood, and a brown backpack. So might a whole lot of other people! I broke into his car to find it; that automatically means it can’t be used as evidence against him.

Frank shook his head and walked slowly from the parking lot, his thoughts continuing to churn. I can’t even tell Con Riley about it. And even if I did – what could he do? Tomorrow’s the sting at the park to try and catch whoever’s been after Mom and Erica Ranson. That’s more important right now than the fact that Kirk Moncrief owns a green hooded sweatshirt….Damn it! Well, at the very least, we can try to keep an eye on him, though. We can do that much.

Dispiritedly, he climbed the stadium stairs and rejoined Megan and Vanessa, who were still dividing their attention between the game and Kirk Moncrief.

"Well?" Megan’s eyes were wide with curiosity. "Tell me!"

"A green hooded sweatshirt and a brown fake-suede backpack, all right," Frank informed them. "But even with that, we can’t do anything! It’s all still just suspicion." He looked across the field. "I take it Kirk didn’t do anything you felt was worth messing with, since he’s still there and you’re still here?"

"He just watched the game," Vanessa reported, sighing. "He never left his spot – ah!"

For even as she spoke, the crowds in the stands surged to their feet in anticipation of a long pass catch, Frank and the girls with them – and Kirk Moncrief was blocked from their view. When Frank looked again, the boy was gone…he had simply melted into the crowd.