All Fall Down. Erica Spindler

exhausting, eye-opening day. She had learned more in the past twelve hours than she had from all her classes at the academy combined or from the police manuals she pored over at every opportunity.

      Homicide investigation, she had discovered, was a tedious process. It required patience, logic, intuition and tenacity, qualities that could be honed but not necessarily learned. Dealing with the victim’s family and friends called for not only a sensitive and deft hand, but a thick skin and quick mind as well.

      Those closest to Joli had painted the portrait of a happy, well-adjusted young woman, one who liked men and who liked to party. From those interviews, Melanie had assembled a list of the clubs Joli had frequented and of the men she had dated in the past year. The list of both had been extensive.

      Everyone Melanie had spoken with had either been in shock or been grieving. Dealing with their pain had been the most difficult part of the day for the Whistlestop cops, perhaps even more upsetting than the crime scene itself. She’d been unable to remain detached—she had looked into their eyes and felt their loss keenly.

      After a time, she had found herself avoiding their gazes.

      Melanie pulled up in front of her sister’s palatial, plantation-style home. Like Melanie’s ex-husband, her sister had chosen to reside in southeast Charlotte, an area populated by the very affluent and dotted with one exclusive, gated community after another. Melanie had always found the area too grand, almost overwhelming in its obvious wealth.

      She climbed out of the car. Casey was playing with action figures on the front porch; Mia was on the porch swing, watching him. Smiling, Melanie took a moment to drink in the picture they made. The breeze stirring Mia’s fair hair and filmy cotton dress, the gentle rock of the swing, Casey’s happy chatter. Nice. Domestic and warm. Like something out of an Andrew Wyeth painting.

      Melanie cocked her head. Most of the time, when she looked at her twin, she simply saw her sister, Mia. But sometimes, like now, she experienced a strange sort of déjà vu. A sense that she was looking at herself. A different version of herself, from her previous lifetime, before her divorce.

      Casey glanced up and caught sight of her and jumped to his feet. “Mom!” he shouted and tore down the steps to meet her.

      She opened her arms; he launched himself into them, hugging her tightly. She squeezed her eyes shut and hugged him back, his sweetness chasing away the ugliness of the day.

      She loved him so much it hurt. Before Casey she hadn’t believed such a thing possible. How could loving someone hurt?

      Then her obstetrician had laid Casey in her arms and against her heart, and she had understood. Instantly. Irrevocably.

      “Did you have fun?” she asked, loosening her grip on him and gazing into his eyes, eyes the same bright blue as hers and her sisters’.

      He nodded excitedly. “Aunt Mia took me for ice cream. Then we went to the park an’ she pushed me on the swing. I went down the big slide, Mom!”

      “The big slide?” She widened her eyes to show that she was properly amazed and impressed. He had been wanting to go down that slide for weeks, but each time he had started up the ladder he had chickened out before he reached the top.

      “I was really scared, but Aunt Mia followed me up. And she went down right behind me, just like she promised.”

      She kissed his cheek. “That’s my big, brave boy. You must be really proud of yourself.”

      He bobbed his head, grinning from ear to ear. “But you hav’to be careful, ‘cause you can fall like Aunt Mia did. She hurt her eye.”

      Melanie lifted her gaze to her sister, standing at the edge of the porch, facing them. Melanie made a sound of dismay. Her sister’s right eye was black and blue, the right side of her face swollen. “You fell off the slide?”

      “Of course not.” She smiled at Casey. “Silly Mommy. Actually, I tripped on a shoe.”

      “One of Uncle Boyd’s big, stupid boots,” Casey chimed in.

      “We don’t say stupid,” Melanie corrected, frowning at her son, then returning her attention to her sister. “It’s not like you to be clumsy.”

      Mia ignored the comment. “Have time for a glass of wine? Boyd has a meeting tonight, so I’m fancy-free.”

      As when they’d spoken on the phone earlier, Melanie picked up on something in her sister’s tone that troubled her. “After this day?” she said lightly. “I’ll make time.”

      She ruffled her son’s hair, an unruly mop of golden curls, then nudged him toward the porch. After collecting his toys, the three went inside. Melanie switched on the Cartoon Channel, then headed into the kitchen where she found Mia opening a bottle of Chardonnay.

      Melanie sank onto one of the iron and wicker bar stools that lined the breakfast counter. “You want to talk about it?” she asked.

      “Talk about what?” Mia poured a glass of the chilled wine, slid it across to Melanie, then poured another for herself.

      “I don’t know. Whatever it is I’m hearing in your voice. Something’s bothering you.”

      Mia gazed at her a moment, then turned and crossed to the breakfront, slid open the middle drawer and came out with a pack of cigarettes. She shook one out and, hands shaking, lit it.

      Melanie watched as her sister took a deep drag, holding the smoke in a moment as if it had medicinal powers before she released it. She said nothing, though she despised her sister’s habit—one Mia resorted to only when troubled. “It must be bad,” Melanie murmured. “I haven’t seen you with a cigarette in months.”

      Mia took another drag. She looked at Melanie. “Boyd’s cheating on me.”

      “Oh, Mia.” Melanie reached across the counter and covered her sister’s hand with one of her own. “Are you sure?”

      “Pretty sure.” She sucked in a trembling breath. “He’s out at night, a lot. Sometimes until really late. He always has a plausible excuse for going out. A meeting with the hospital administrators. Or the hospital board. Or one of his medical societies.” She made a sound of disgust. “It’s always something.”

      “And you think he’s lying?”

      “I know he is. When he comes home … the way he looks … the way he … smells.” She made a sound of shame, turned and crossed to the sink. She bowed her head. “Like cheap perfume and … sex.”

      Melanie dropped her hands to her lap, angry for her sister. She hadn’t wanted Mia to marry Boyd Donaldson, had tried to talk her out of it. Despite his good looks and professional reputation, something about the man had always seemed off to her, like a picture slightly out of focus. She hadn’t trusted him, had resented the prenuptial agreement he had forced Mia to sign.

      Now she wished she hadn’t been quite so vocal with her criticisms. If she hadn’t been, maybe Mia would have felt free to come to her for help sooner.

      “Have you checked up on him?” Melanie asked. “Hired someone to follow him or called the hospital when he’s supposed to be there? Anything like that?”

      “No.” She flipped on the water, doused what was left of her cigarette, then dropped it in the trash. “I’ve been afraid to. It’s like a part of me … doesn’t want to know for certain.”

       Because faced with proof, she would be forced to act. Not exactly her twin’s strong suit.

      “Oh, Mia, I understand. I do. But you can’t stick your head in the sand with this one. If he’s cheating, you have to know for certain. From the standpoint of your health alone—”

      “Don’t start with me. Please, Melanie. I feel awful enough already, thank you.” Mia passed a hand over her face. “It’s my life and my marriage and I’ll muddle my way through somehow.”

      “So butt