LITMIR.BIZ

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sorry, sweetheart. I guess he forgot.”

      Deidre put her arm around her son to draw him close, taking comfort from his sturdy little body. She held the picture he was waving so she could see it. Kevin had drawn himself, holding a handful of flowers in all sorts of unlikely shades of crayon. He’d printed his name at the top in uncertain letters.

      “But my picture...” He clouded up. “I made it especially for Grandma.”

      “We’ll put it in an envelope and mail it to her right now, okay?”

      That restored his sunny smile, and Kevin ran to the drop-front desk in the corner of the living room. “I’ll get an envelope.”

      “Good job, Kev. I know this will make Grandma feel better.”

      She hoped. A report that Sylvia was ill usually meant that she’d gotten hold of something to drink. Once started, she couldn’t seem to stop. Much as Deidre grieved for Sylvia, she didn’t mean to expose Kevin to the difficulties inherent in living with her.

      That was one more reason why the judge’s plan was impossible. She just wished she could get rid of the sinking feeling that Judge Franklin Morris didn’t give up on anything until he had what he wanted.

      * * *

      JASON GLASSMAN HAD been in Echo Falls, Pennsylvania, for less than twenty-four hours, and already he was wondering what he was doing here. He’d elected to walk the few blocks from his new apartment to the offices of Morris, Morris and Alter, Attorneys-at-Law, so he could get a close-up look at the town that was supposed to be home from now on.

      Small, that was one word. He’d imagined, given that Echo Falls was the county seat, that there’d be a bit more to it. It was attractive enough, he supposed. Tree-shaded streets, buildings that had stood where they were for over a hundred years and would look good for a hundred more, a central square whose fountain was surrounded with red tulips on this May day.

      He passed a bookshop and spotted the law practice sign ahead of him. Morris, Morris and Alter would, if all went as planned, be changing its name to Morris, Alter and Glassman before long. He should be grateful. He was grateful, given that the alternative would have been practicing storefront law in a city where everyone knew he’d escaped disbarment by the skin of his teeth and where disgrace dogged him closer than his shadow.

      He didn’t often let the memories flood back, keeping them away by sheer force of will. Now he let them come—a reminder of all he had left behind in Philadelphia.

      He’d gone to the office unsuspecting that morning, kissing Leslie goodbye in the apartment building lobby as they headed toward their separate jobs—he at the prosecutor’s office, she at a small, struggling law firm.

      And he’d walked into a firestorm. The materials that had been so painfully collected as a major part of the prosecution of George W. Whitney for insider trading and racketeering had unaccountably been compromised. Someone had given away their source, who was now swearing himself blue in the face that he’d never been in touch with Jason Glassman, that the records had been altered, presumably by Glassman and that the whole case was a put-up job designed to vilify a valuable and civic-minded citizen.

      The case lay in shreds at their feet. All the hours of tedious work, all the manpower that had been poured into it, were wasted. The district attorney had needed to find someone to blame, and he hadn’t gone far. Jason had found himself out of a job and lucky to escape arrest.

      Disappear, the district attorney had said. Don’t give statements to the press, don’t try to defend yourself, and we won’t pursue criminal charges or disbarment.

      A devil’s agreement, he’d thought it, but he hadn’t had a choice. He’d left the office, driven around in a daze, had a few drinks, which hadn’t helped, and finally headed for home, trying to think of how to explain all this to Leslie.

      But Leslie hadn’t been there. All of her belongings had vanished, and she hadn’t bothered leaving a note. Clearly she’d heard and decided it was too dangerous to her career to continue an association with him.

      He’d thought that was all it was, and that disappointment had been bad enough. It was three days before he learned that Leslie was now an associate at Bronson and Bronson, the very firm defending George W. Whitney.

      So all those nights when he was working at home, when she’d leaned over his shoulder looking at his progress, offering suggestions and support, had just been so much camouflage for an elaborate betrayal.

      He’d been incensed. But when his first attempt to confront her had resulted in a protection-from-abuse order being filed against him, he’d had just enough sense left to cut his losses. The last he’d seen of her had been an elegant, expensively dressed back disappearing into the recesses of Bronson and Bronson while he was dragged away by security guards.

      And here he was in Echo Falls, Pennsylvania.

      Jase paused, hand on the door of the firm’s office. Franklin Morris had made a generous offer to his son’s law school classmate, especially since Jason and Frank had never been close. But Jase knew perfectly well that Judge Morris wanted something in return.

      The receptionist seated behind the desk in the spotless, expensively furnished outer office was fiftyish, plumpish and looked as if she’d be more at home baking cookies than juggling the needs of a busy law practice, but the judge had said she knew more about the law than most young law school graduates. She greeted him with a smile and a nod of recognition. Word of his arrival had obviously preceded him.

      “Mr. Glassman, of course. I’m Evelyn Lincoln. Welcome to Echo Falls. The judge is waiting for you.” Not pausing for a reply, she led the way to a paneled oak door bearing Franklin Morris’s name in gilt letters, tapped lightly and opened it. “Mr. Glassman is here, Your Honor.”

      He followed her in, not sure what welcome to expect.

      “Jason, I’m pleased to see you again.” Morris’s smile was polite but restrained, suggesting that it was up to Jase to be sure this was indeed a pleasure. “Come in.” Without rising from behind the massive cherry desk, he nodded to the leather client’s seat.

      “Thanks. And thank you, as well, for lining up the apartment for me.”

      Judge Morris waved the gratitude away. “Evelyn took care of all that. You’ve met her already. Trey Alter, my associate, is out of the office today, dealing with another matter for one of our clients.”

      “I look forward to meeting him.” He’d been wondering how Alter would react to the judge’s hire.

      “You’ll want to take some time to move into your office and get up-to-date on the cases we have in hand,” he continued briskly. “Trey will be relieved to have someone to share the load, since my judicial responsibilities keep me from taking a more active role.”

      Jase nodded. Judge Morris couldn’t be involved in anything that might conceivably appear before his court, but that still left plenty of work. It had been assumed that the judge’s son would take over, but his death had changed things. There was obviously a need here.

      He just wasn’t convinced that he was the right man to deal with it. He suppressed a grimace, thinking that old sayings became clichés because they were true most of the time. Beggars can’t be choosers.

      “I’ve gone over the case material Alter sent me, and I’m ready to dive in right away.” He hesitated, but it had to be said. “As for the other matter we discussed, it’s not going to be easy to investigate your daughter-in-law in a town this size, not without making people suspicious.”

      Morris’s jaw tightened. “I don’t expect you to mount a stakeout. Something a little subtler is required.”

      “I see that, but I’m not sure what you think I can do.” Jason tried to keep his distaste for the strings that had been attached to the job offer from showing in his voice.

      Swinging his chair around, the judge reached out to grasp a framed

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