looked at her son, realizing not only that he had been listening, but that he was fascinated. “It’s a law enforcement agency, honey. A big, important one.”
“That’s what I thought.” He stuffed a French fry into his mouth. “Are you talking about that lady?”
Melanie frowned. “What lady?”
“The one who was muttered.”
Murdered. “What do you know about that?”
“I heard Aunt Mia talking with my teacher.”
Ashley made a sound of disgust and Melanie glanced at her son’s plate—it was clean save for the pickles he’d peeled off his burger and a hunk of the bun. “Honey, are you finished?”
He nodded, then yawned. “Can I watch TV now?”
She leaned across the counter and wiped his mouth with a napkin, feeling a pinch of guilt at having kept him up so late. “Sorry, sweetie, time to hit the sack. It’s already thirty minutes past your bedtime.”
“But Mom—” he dragged the words out, part plea, part whine “—I’m not tired.”
“I’m sure you’re not, but it’s still your bedtime.” She helped him off the tall stool and nudged him toward the door. “Tell your Aunt Ashley good-night.”
Casey did as she asked, managing to wheedle the promise of three bedtime stories from her before they cleared the kitchen.
Melanie glanced apologetically at her sister. “Be right back.”
Ashley smiled. “No problem. I’ll be here.”
When Melanie returned to the kitchen fifteen minutes later, she found Ashley standing at the sink, staring out the window above it, her expression almost unbearably sad.
Melanie took a step toward her, concerned. “Ash? You okay?”
Her sister turned, expression lifting. “Sure. Our little tiger asleep?”
“Not yet. He was so revved up.” She frowned. “I can’t believe I was so indiscreet earlier, talking about my work that way. He was listening to everything we said. I have to be more careful what I say around him, he’s not a baby anymore.”
“Sounds as if our sister and his teacher have to be more careful as well.” Ashley plucked a chunk of cucumber from Melanie’s salad bowl. “Now, tell me more about this FBI guy?”
“The way he worked was fascinating, that’s all. He looked at the crime scene, analyzed it, then drew a conclusion about what had happened. I found it nothing short of amazing.”
Ashley grinned. “Goodbye dog-poop patrol, hello homicide.”
Melanie thought of all the calls she had taken from citizens irate over a neighbor’s dog pooping in their yard, or trampling their flowers, or chasing their cat up a tree; she thought of all the traffic tickets she had issued and of how she had longed to do real police work. Now, finally, she had her chance.
But at what cost?
She looked at her sister, feeling guilty. “Being so grateful for this murder makes me feel like an awful person. You know what I mean?”
“Don’t be a dork.” Ashley reached around her and helped herself to a baby carrot. “You had nothing to do with Joli Andersen’s murder.”
“I know, I just—” She sighed and reached for the bell pepper. “One thing I already know, when this case is solved it’s going to be difficult to return to business as usual around the WPD.”
Ashley made a face. “You wouldn’t be stuck in that rinky-dink department if not for that bastard you married. Someone needs to teach that prick a lesson.”
“Ashley!” Melanie glanced over her shoulder toward the family room and bedrooms beyond. “First off, watch your language. Casey could hear. Second, remember, Stan is Casey’s dad.”
“And that’s the only reason we let him live.”
“Very funny.” Melanie sprinkled grated cheese on her salad, then held the bag out to her sister.
Ashley helped herself to some of the cheddar-jack. “I can’t help it, Mel. I hate him for keeping you out of the CMPD academy. That was your dream for as long as I can remember, and he stole it.”
“The Whistlestop force isn’t the CMPD, but I’m still doing police work.” She crossed to the refrigerator for the salad dressing, choosing Italian. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Which is a constant thorn in Stan’s side. He can’t stand the idea of the great Stan May’s ex-wife being a cop. The fact that I wear a uniform drives him nuts. I love when I’m wearing it and run into one of his colleagues’ wives.” She laughed. “They always look horrified.”
The truth was, she disliked the uniform almost as much as Stan did, and not because it was unflattering and too masculine, but because it identified her as a small-time, small-town cop. In the WPD, unlike the Charlotte/Mecklenburg force, there was no such thing as working “plainclothes.” Her chief wanted his force to be immediately recognizable to the community and for citizens to see his officers out and about, all the time.
She drizzled dressing over the salad. “Besides, who knows what the future might bring? If I distinguish myself in the WPD, I don’t think Stan’s influence with the CMPD will be as likely to keep me out. That’s why it’s so important for me not only to be working this murder, but for me to help solve it. Just taking up space isn’t going to cut it.”
“It never does.” Ashley’s smile faded. “Sounds like you have it all figured out. Of course, you always have.”
At the quiver in her sister’s voice, Melanie frowned. “So have you, Ash. You’ve always gone after what you wanted, what you believed in with heart and soul. It’s only Mia …” Melanie let the thought trail off, thinking of her other sister, of the predicament she had gotten herself into.
Melanie sighed. “You haven’t talked to Mia in a while, have you?”
“At least a week. Since our last coffee klatch.” Ashley drew her eyebrows together. “Why? What’s wrong?”
The salad that a moment ago had looked so appetizing suddenly lost its appeal. Melanie laid down her fork and shoved the bowl aside. “Boyd hit her,” she said, then filled Ashley in on her and Mia’s conversation.
Angry color sprang to Ashley’s cheeks. “That bastard! What did she do?”
“Take a guess.”
“Nothing, right? Because she’s scared.”
“You got it.” With a sound of distress, Melanie 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!
