Free Liberty...And Justice for All by Leigh James Page A

“Duh,” she said.
    We walked towards the center of town in search of a bar. I was thrilled to be outside, finished with the task of meeting my siblings. Although I wasn’t any closer to discovering the truth, I was at least certain that the thief could easily be one of them. They all hated me. They all thought the necklace should be returned, its value divided up for all the heirs. It wasn’t much of a lead, but at least I had something.
    We headed to a pub on the corner. Portsmouth was welcoming and adorable; it had brick-lined sidewalks and colorfully-painted antique houses. The river swept by behind us, the Naval Yard visible in the distance.
    “This is actually nice,” Catherine said, taking in the autumn leaves and the quaint shops. “Too bad your brother’s an asshole.”
    “Both of her brothers are assholes,” Matthew said, as we went in and took a corner booth in the dark bar.
    “Jacoby wasn’t that bad,” Catherine said, and shrugged.
    “You just liked his jeans,” I said.
    “And his fancy hair,” Matthew said.
    “And his piss-poor attitude,” I added.
    Catherine rolled her eyes at us. “Do you guys ever shut up?” she asked.
    “Not usually,” I said.
    “That’d be too easy on you,” Matthew said.
    “Waiter!” Catherine snapped. The bartender, heavily tattooed and pierced, raised his eyes expectantly to her.
    “I need vodka. Stat.”
    He came over with a vodka martini and I noticed that he had bulging biceps underneath his tattoos. Catherine must have noticed, too, because she beamed at him while he put the drink in front of her.
    “Can you start a tab?” She asked, tossing her hair. “Liberty, give the man your credit card.”
    Matthew and I smirked while the bartender and Catherine shot lustful looks at each other. “Let’s not get too hammered,” I said to my stepdaughter. “Michael’s picking us up in the chopper in an hour. You don’t want to have the spins while you’re in the air.”
    “Wearing those earmuff things that you look so hot in,” Matthew said.
    The bartender smiled at her in sympathy. “You should stay here, hang out with me,” he offered. “Avoid the earmuffs.”
    She smiled and stuck her chest out at him.
    “Oh, no you don’t,” I said to her.
    “We’ll take two beers. And the check,” I said to the bartender, effectively dismissing him. He gave Catherine one last wolfish smile and took my credit card.
    “Not gonna happen, young lady,” I said to her.
    “You have a lot of nerve,” she said. “He’s cute. And he’s alive—because you haven’t shot him yet.”
    Matthew burst out laughing and I glared at both of them as the bartender put our beers down and made himself scarce.
    “You told me to shoot Angel,” I hissed. “He was going to kill us both, Catherine.”
    Catherine took a long sip of her drink. “Just don’t get in the way of my social life,” she said. “That’s all I’m saying. You owe me.”
    “Owe you what—a husband?” I asked.
    “Yes,” Catherine said, thoughtfully. “Preferably a rich one. With tattoos.” She eyed the bartender.
    “What about my nasty brother?” I asked. “You liked him. He’s rich, but I didn’t see any tattoos.”
    “He has a few,” Catherine said, a faraway look on her face.
    “How do you know?” I asked, but I looked over and I saw Matthew laughing so hard that he almost spit out his beer.
    “You hit Liberty’s brother?” Matthew spluttered.
    “Technically, he hit me ,” Catherine said, smiling at the memory.
    I just looked at them both, my jaw slack. “When did you do this?” I asked, mortified.
    “Last night when we were in Charleston. I texted him after you guys were in bed, and we met up,” she said, dreamily.
    “I think I’m gonna throw up,” I said to Catherine, my stomach rocking. “Aren’t we related enough for you?”
    Matthew put his arm around me and squeezed. “You’re like, steps and in-laws, all at the same time. You guys put the fun in dysfunctional