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“Your sister is special to you,” she says instead. “I would have done the same thing for my own family.”
“Yeah, well, look where that landed me.” I laugh bitterly and roll away from Lace, sitting up on the bed to pull my shirt and jacket back on. “When she came to visit today, she refused to go to the police. Said they wouldn’t believe her anyway, so it wasn’t worth the time.”
Lace is quiet for a moment, but I can tell she’s itching to say something she knows I might not like. Still, I wait for her to speak.
“She doesn’t sound like family to me,” she says finally, averting her eyes to the ground. “I have a better family here, in prison.”
“Lucky you.”
“You can too,” she says, sounding mildly offended. “Ronnie is right, you know. Family can hurt you in ways that even your worst enemy can’t.”
“She’s my sister, Lace.” I shake my head and look at the wall, focusing on a peeling paint chip to keep from crying. “Whatever she has planned, it will help me. I trust her.” I stand from the bed and take Lace’s hands in my own, rubbing the back of her hand with my thumbs. “Just … have faith.”
“Faith?” Lace scoffs and drops her hands from mine. “In here? There’s no such thing.”
Chapter Seven
“Hi, Joey, how are you?”
I sit back in the hard metal chair, folding my arms over my chest, and shrug.
“As good as can be expected, I guess,” I mutter.
My public defender stares at me, her nostrils flaring above an unconvincing, forced smile.
“It must be rough,” she agrees, clearing her throat. Her name tag reads Beth. I’ve only met her once, just before I was sentenced to one year due to aggravated assault.
But now she’s here again, and we both know why. She wasn’t much help then, and I don’t expect her to be much help now.
“Are you prepared to face the court tomorrow?” she asks, eyes scanning over the notes she’s scratched into the legal pad she carries with her.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” I swallow, aggravated with the sore tickle in my throat I can’t seem to get rid of. “Do you have any advice?” I ask Beth. “You know, as my lawyer and all.”
“Yes.” Beth drops her pen and folds her hands in front of her, blue eyes searching my face for something, anything that might help with the case. “My advice,” she says, rubbing her temples. “Is for you to plead guilty.”
“Guilty?”
“For manslaughter.”
“Manslaughter? Really?”
“Manslaughter is what you want, Josephine,” Beth says. “It’s what the DA is offering if you plead guilty. Otherwise, you’ll be tried for second degree murder.” Her acrylic nails tap, almost impatiently, against the table top.
Even though I want to slam a large book down on her hand, I ignore it.
“Shouldn’t I be pleading not guilty? I didn’t volunteer for anything.”
“Did you do it?”
It’s a loaded question, but Beth doesn’t know that.
“I don’t know,” I say. Beth must think I’m intentionally being an ass about it, because her red-stained lips purse in displeasure, and she shakes her head, just a little bit. What am I supposed to say? That my twin sister is the real culprit, even though I took the fall and went to prison in the first place for her?
Yeah. Too little, too late, I think.
“What am I looking at for manslaughter?” I ask.
Beth glances down at her paper again, eyes reading the document. “It depends on your situation,” she murmurs. “It depends on the judge, the jury, the witnesses—”
