He was done by a little after ten-thirty. He called the number at Pass/Go and asked for Stefanie Winslow. When she came on the line, he told her he was coming over to see the Wiz. She advised him that Simon wouldn’t be available until late in the day, if then. He assured her he understood, he had heard about the fire and knew what Simon must have been going through, but he needed only a few minutes and it was imperative they meet immediately. He added it involved the matter they had discussed yesterday, and he was sure Simon would want to see him.

She put him on hold. When she came back on, she said he could come right over.

Andrew Wren put down the phone, pulled on his rumpled jacket with the patches on the elbows, picked up his briefcase, and went out the door, humming softly.

Ten minutes later, he was climbing out of a taxi in front of Pass/Go. The educational center was situated right next door to Fresh Start, but separated by a narrow alleyway. Before last night, the two buildings had looked substantially the same—1940s brick buildings of six stories facing on Second Avenue with long glass windows, recessed entries with double wooden doors, and no signs. But Pass/Go had survived the fire where Fresh Start had not. Fresh Start was a burned-out, blackened shell surrounded by barricades and yellow tape, its roof and floors sagging or collapsed, its windows blown out by the heat, and its fixtures and furnishings in ruins.

As he stood staring at the still-smoking wreck, Stefanie Winslow came out the front door of Pass/Go.

“Good morning, Mr. Wren,” she said cheerfully, her smile dazzling, her hand extended.

As he offered his own hand in response, he was shocked to see the marks on her arms and face. “Good heavens, Ms. Winslow! What happened to you?”

She gave a small shrug. “I was involved in getting people out last night, and I picked up a few bumps and bruises along the way. It’s nothing that won’t heal. How are you?”

“Fine.” He was somewhat nonplussed by her attitude. “You seem very cheerful given the circumstances, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

She laughed. “Well, that’s my job, Mr. Wren. I’m supposed to put a good face on things, my own notwithstanding. We lost the building, but all the clients got out. That doesn’t help much when I think about Ray, but it’s the best I can do.”

She filled him in on the details of Ray Hapgood’s death and the efforts of the fire department to save the building. Ross had been present when it took place, but he had been sleeping earlier and she’d had to wake him to help her, so it didn’t look like he was involved in any way. Wren listened without seeming overly interested, taking careful mental notes for later.

“The building was fully insured,” she finished, “so we’ll be able to rebuild. In the meantime, we’ve been given the use of a warehouse several blocks away that can be brought up to code pretty easily for our purposes and will serve as a temporary shelter during the rebuilding. We’ve been given a number of donations already to help tide us over and there should be more coming in. Things could be much worse.”