Page 60 of The Wrong Side of the Law

“So, did you meet a lot of new people this week?”

“No, not really,” I answer, cutting a piece of pancake and flipping it over, looking for traces of anything that I see in the frying pans on the stove. “Why do you ask?”

“I was wondering if you’d maybe had a chance to meet the prosecutor who’s going to be handling Francis Junior’s case?”

“I know all the ASA’s in the Narcotics Unit, Margaret. When I said I didn’t know the one that would be prosecuting, what I meant was that I didn’t knowwhichone. Frank’s case hadn’t been assigned to anyone yet.”

“Frank.” Margaret’s mouth twists—as much as it can—in disgust. “That sounds so- socommon. I wish you wouldn’t call him that. Francis Edwin Wilson, Junior. That’s his name. It’s dignified.”

“He wants to be called Frank, Margaret,” I say, giving up on the pancakes. I don’t know where they came from, and I’m not going to risk it. “And so that’s what I’m going to call him.”

Another flash of anger in her eyes, quickly hidden. I’m almost glad she got the cheap cosmetic injections now: if her facial muscles worked, I probably wouldn’t rely so heavily on her eyes for emotional context and wouldn’t recognize the underlying feelings driving my stepmother.

“Anyway,” she says, struggling to make her voice sweet again. “Has it now?”

“Has what now?”

“Your brother’s case. Has it been assigned to someone?” Margaret speaks slowly, dragging out every word, pronouncing every syllable distinctly.

“Yes. It has.”

“And did you go and speak to him?” she asks, still speaking as if I’m the dumb one in the conversation. She cocks her head to the side, touching a pensive finger to rigid lips as an idea struck. “Him… or her?” she continues, not waiting for my answer. “It would be wonderful if the prosecutor was a woman,” Margaret muses.

“Why would that matter?” In spite of myself, I’m utterly fascinated by my stepmother’s train-wreck mental processes. Awful to watch, yet somehow fascinating and I just can’t look away.

“Oh, you know your brother,” she says, slyly. “Francis Junior has a way with girls. He’s a real charmer when he wants to be, and… well, he’d have a lot of incentive here. He’d want to be.”

“It’s not a woman,” I tell her, shaking my head. What a scheme. Is Margaret really that abjectly stupid? “I can’t tell you anything else, though.”

“Damn,” she says, trying to cover up the exasperation in her voice. “Who is it? What did he say?”

“Margaret, what part ofI can’t tell you anythingwas unclear just now?”

I push the uneaten food around on the plate, hoping that Margaret doesn’t hear my stomach growl. I think I have a granola bar stashed in my car. I hope so. I’ll eat that on the way to work.

“You can at least tell me whatyousaid tohim, though?” Margaret asks, but another idea suddenly grabs her. “Hmmm.”

I don’t need to hear any more about whatever hare-brained scheme Margaret is cooking up now. Gathering up my purse and keys again, I hop down from the bar stool. My skirt catches on the seat, pulling up enough to show one leg almost all the way to the hip.

“Yeah, like that,” Margaret says, nodding slowly at first, then faster and faster. “Exactly like that.Youcan make him see that this is all a huge mistake, can’t you? Show a little leg? Leave some buttons undone?”

“That’s disgusting, Margaret,” I say, my heart dropping like a rock into the depths of a bottomless pit. I feel suddenly dirty, like I need to take a second shower. “You can’t be serious.”

“Emily, Francis Junior’s life is just getting started,” she pleads. “If he goes to prison for this, he’s never going to be able to recover from it. And besides, it’s your responsibility to take care of him,” she says, folding her arms in front of her and putting every ounce of moral authority possible into her tone. “You realize that, don’t you?”

Moral authority? You want me to use my body to get Frank out of trouble? That’simmoralauthority, you ridiculous bitch!

“Myresponsibility? Let’s be clear on this,” I bark at her, stunned and furious. “You’re saying it’smyresponsibility, as hissister,to use sex to get Frank out of trouble?What aboutyourresponsibility? What part of this is onyou, as hismother?”

“Well, of course I’m responsible, in a way. I am his mother, after all,” Margaret admits. “But still. You’re his sister. And you’re the eldest, and you’re so pretty. You could do it, if you really cared about him.” Margaret glances over at the back door leading to the pool, then leans close to me. “And you’re also the smartest one.”

Right. If guilt doesn’t get the job done, try flattery. I’m smart, all right. Smart enough to see right through you.

I head for the front door, but Margaret blocks my escape down the hallway.

“Move,” I say. “Now.”

“Please, Emily,” she begs. “Pleasehelp him!”

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