All Fall Down. Erica Spindler

stood and crossed to the window. She stared out at the night for a moment, then turned back to her sister. “What are we going to do?”

      “What can we do?” Ashley lifted a shoulder. “It’s her marriage, Mel.”

      “But he’s hitting her! We can’t allow it.”

      “She’s the one who’s allowing it. Not us.”

      “How can you say that?” Melanie shook her head, angered by her sister’s attitude. “You know how dangerous this is for her. It would be for any of us, because of our pasts. All three of us are susceptible to the victim mentality and to being sucked into a relationship of escalating abuse.”

      “Speak for yourself.” Ashley plucked another wedge of cucumber out of Melanie’s salad and popped it into her mouth. “Our father was a monster. But he’s dead now and I’m over it.”

      “Right. That’s why you steer as far away from men and relationships as possible.”

      Ashley narrowed her eyes. “This isn’t about me and my dating habits.”

      “No, it’s about helping our sister. Something you don’t seem interested in doing.”

      For a moment, Ashley was completely still. Then she rose to her feet. Melanie saw that she was shaking. “I love our sister as much as you do, Melanie, so don’t you even think about going there.”

      “I wasn’t suggesting—”

      “Yeah, you were. In your way.” Ashley looked her straight in the eyes. “You want the truth? You’ve made her too dependent. You’re always taking care of her, rushing in to save the day. You’ve been doing it since we were kids. What does she expect you to do this time? End her marriage for her? Arrest him? Shoot to kill?”

      “Very funny, Ash.”

      “I’m not laughing. You’ve got to let her grow up.”

      Melanie stiffened, fighting to keep her temper in check. “So, you think I should just stand back and let her be victimized. Very nice, Ash. Sisterly.”

      “Until she does something to help herself, yes, that’s exactly what I think you should do. Be there for her, sure. Offer advice. But stop trying to save her.”

      “Maybe you can do that, but I can’t.”

      Ashley sucked in a sharp breath. “Cut the sanctimonious act. The reason you’re so protective of her is because you feel guilty.”

      “Guilty?” Melanie repeated, arching her eyebrows in exaggerated disbelief. “What do I have to feel guilty about?”

      “Silly question, Mel. You feel guilty because Mia was Dad’s whipping girl.”

      “That’s nonsense. Why should I—”

      “Because even though the two of you looked exactly alike, he picked her to hurt.”

      Feeling her sister’s words like a blow, Melanie took an involuntary step backward, then swung away from her sister. Legs shaking, she crossed to the door to the family room, listened for Casey, then carefully eased the door three-quarters of the way shut. “That wasn’t my fault,” she said finally, heavily. “It was Father’s. I have no reason to feel guilty over it.”

      “Of course not. But you do. You’re still trying to make up to her for you being the golden child.”

      “You don’t understand. You’ve never understood.”

      Ashley’s mouth thinned. “Because I was never a member of your little twin’s club. Right? Not Ashley, the one who was different.”

      “Mia and I don’t have a club and we’ve never excluded you, Ash.”

      “Oh, please.” Her voice thickened. “I was the third sister. The third wheel. I still am.”

      Melanie made a sound of frustration. “You make me crazy when you’re like this.”

      Ashley took a step toward her, then stopped. “Has it ever occurred to you that it’s because I’m different that I see so clearly? You, Mia, Dad … everything?”

      “Mia needs me. She’s more sensitive than either of us. More vulnerable. That’s why Dad singled her out, he knew she wouldn’t fight back. And that’s why I had to stop him.”

      Ashley opened her mouth to respond, but the phone rang, cutting her off. Melanie answered. “Oh, hello, Stan.”

      Ashley made a face and grabbed her purse. “I should go.”

      “Stan, could you hold a moment?” She put her hand over the mouthpiece. “Please stay.”

      Ashley shook her head, her expression—for one fleeting moment—lost. “I’ll call.”

      Melanie held a hand out, regretting their argument. “Coffee on Friday?”

      “I’ll try. No promises.”

      “I love you.”

      Ashley smiled. “Ditto, kiddo.” She started out the door, then stopped and looked back, her expression wicked. “Tell the prick I said hello and to burn in hell.”

      Melanie watched her go, then turned her attention back to the phone. “What can I do for you, Stan?”

      “Which one of your sisters is there?” Stan asked, ignoring her question. “Wimpy or bitchy?”

      Melanie dismissed his barb. “Ashley was. She just left. She asked me to tell you hello.”

      “I’ll bet. More like, to burn in hell.”

      Melanie choked on a laugh. “What do you want, Stan?”

      “That thing today, the murder, were you involved?”

      “Involved?” she repeated, purposely playing dumb.

      He made a sound of annoyance. “With the investigation. Are you involved?”

      “The crime occurred in Whistlestop. Yes, I’m involved in the investigation.” She smiled to herself, aware of his ire. “But as I’m sure you can understand, I’m not at liberty to discuss the details.”

      He swore. “I couldn’t care less about the details. I don’t want my wife having anything to do with—”

      “Ex-wife,” she corrected. “You’re Shelley’s problem now, thank God. You haven’t forgotten about her, have you?”

      “Cut the crap, Melanie. Of course I haven’t forgotten about Shelley.”

      “And as your ex,” she went on, “you have absolutely no say in my life. None. What I do is my business. Only mine. Got that?”

      “Except when what you do is potentially harmful to my son.”

      “Our son is fine. Happy, healthy and loved. My involvement in a murder investigation is no more harmful to him than your legal wranglings are.”

      “That’s where our opinions differ.”

      She laughed without humor. “Our opinions differ on everything, Stan. If there’s nothing else, it’s late and I’m hungry and tired.”

      “Oh, but there is. We need to talk about the future, Melanie. Casey’s future.” He paused for a moment, then went on. “He’s starting real school next year.”

      She glanced at her watch, then longingly at her salad. “I’m aware of that, Stan.”

      “Then you’re also aware that I live in the city’s best school district?”

      It took a second for his words to sink in. As they did, a flicker of fear burst to life inside her. She tamped it down. He couldn’t mean what she thought he did—she was jumping to conclusions, overreacting. After all, they had been divorced three years, and in