Indigo Ridge (The Edens)

Why had I kissed him? Over the past three days, that question had bounded through my mind like a sugared-up kid on a trampoline.

I’d lived in Quincy for eight days and I’d kissed Griffin at two of our four encounters. Questioning my decision to move—questioning my sanity—had become a regular part of my daily routine. And nightly, since sleeping had been difficult. This morning while brushing my teeth, I’d considered for a split second going home to Bozeman.

Except there was no home.

And quitting wasn’t in my nature.

Time. What I needed was time. I’d survive the second week like I’d survived the first. If I could make it through the next eight days without kissing Griffin Eden, maybe I’d be able to get that man out of my head.

Work demanded my full attention. My focus was on building any kind of positive rapport with the officers. So far, things at the station were . . . strained. Eventually the staff would warm up to me, right?

“Good morning.” I walked into the break room and conversation stopped.

The three officers standing around the coffeepot scattered, each nodding as they passed me on their way to the bullpen.

I swallowed a groan and refilled my mug before retreating to my office, closing the door behind me. Then I sagged against its face. “I’m not quitting.”

The attitude in the station had grown colder. Even Janice had given me a few sideways looks when I’d started asking questions about Lily Green, Indigo Ridge and the abundance of suicides in the last decade.

Apparently it was a no-touch topic. Everyone looked at me like this was a no-touch subject. Maybe Griffin was right. Maybe I needed to let it go and accept it at face value. I didn’t want to drudge up painful memories and make it worse for families and friends.

But it just felt . . . off.

The best cop I knew had once told me to always follow my instincts.

Files were scattered over the surface of my desk again, despite the hour I’d spent organizing last night. I still hadn’t made it through the past three months’ worth of cases, but I’d asked Janice to pull another three anyway, expanding my window to six months.

Janice had delivered this morning. On top of them were the files of each suicide in Quincy.

Seven deaths.

I’d read through each report three times already, hoping that it would squash this uneasy feeling. It hadn’t. What was I missing? Something, right?

I shoved off the door and walked to my chair, setting my coffee aside. Then I picked up the phone and dialed the number I’d been meaning to call for a week.

“Cole Goodman,” he answered.

I smiled at his warm voice. “Hey.”

“Who is this?”

“Funny,” I deadpanned. “You better not have forgotten about me already.”

He chuckled. “Never. Is this your new work number?”

“Yep. I think my personal phone was swallowed up by the unpacked boxes at home. I haven’t seen it for days.”

“Sounds about right,” he teased.

Cole had spent many hours listening to me complain that I’d lost my personal phone. In my defense, I had yet to misplace my station cell or a radio.

Organization wasn’t necessarily a weakness. I could be organized. But I didn’t mind a little chaos either. When my focus was on one lane, everything else became a little blurry. Unpacking and finding my phone just didn’t seem as important as wrapping my head around Lily Green’s death.

“I was just thinking about you,” he said. “How’d the first week go?”

“It was, um . . . interesting.”

“Uh-oh. What’s going on?”

I sighed and the truth came rushing out. “No one likes me here. I keep getting looks like I’m too young for this job and only got it because of Pops.”

“You knew this wouldn’t be easy.”

“I know,” I muttered. “I just . . . hoped.”

“Hang in there. It’s only been a week. You’re a great cop. Give them time to see that.”

All things I’d told myself, but somehow hearing them from Cole gave me a boost of confidence.

Cole had been my mentor in Bozeman. When I’d been promoted to detective, he’d been there to help me every step along the way. Whenever I had a difficult case, Cole was my go-to person to talk it through.

In our years working together, he’d become more than a colleague. He was also a cherished friend. His wife, Poppy, owned my favorite restaurant in Bozeman. Their kids were the sweetest souls on earth. When I’d lost my own family, his had been there to see me through the darkest days.

“I miss you guys. I’m homesick for the Goodmans.”

“We miss you too. Poppy was talking about taking a weekend trip to visit.”

“I’d love it.” For them, I’d actually unpack my house.

“Tell me about the station.”

“Actually, if you have a few minutes, can I run something by you?”

“Always.”

I spent the next fifteen minutes telling him about Lily Green and the other suicides. I’d told him how Lily’s mother had collapsed into my arms when I’d gone to her home and told her the horrific news. Her scream had been so full of agony that I’d never forget that noise.

Heartbreak was an ugly, black sound.

I’d stayed with Melina Green for hours that night. I’d held her hand as she’d called her ex-husband and told him about Lily. Then I’d waited with her as he’d driven the two hours from Missoula. When he’d arrived, his eyes red rimmed and his soul broken over his daughter’s death, I’d given him my condolences, then left them to grieve.

Yesterday, I’d stopped by Melina’s house to check on her. She’d answered the door wearing a bathrobe and tear-stained cheeks. And once again, she’d fallen into my arms, and I’d held her as she’d cried.

But Melina was a strong woman. She’d collected herself and begun to talk about Lily. For an hour, she’d told me about the bright, beautiful light her daughter had been.

Lily had been twenty-one and living with her mom to save money. When I’d asked Melina if she’d found a suicide note in Lily’s room, she’d confessed that she hadn’t had the emotional strength to check. But her ex had gone into Lily’s bedroom while he’d been in Quincy and hadn’t found anything.

“I’m trying to be sensitive and not push too hard with the mother,” I told Cole. “But my impression was that she and Lily were very close. She’s shocked. Truly shocked that Lily would kill herself.”

“I can’t imagine her pain,” Cole said. “She might not want to think about the signs that she missed. Or that her daughter was hiding anything from her. You need to talk to other people who knew Lily.”

“That’s my plan. I started with the officers and staff here.”

“And what did they say?”

“No one knew her well. One of the officers said that her son graduated with Lily, but they’d lost touch when her son moved away for college. Most of the others just knew her from the bank where she worked as a teller. Everyone says that Lily was always smiling. That she was a happy young woman.”

That didn’t necessarily mean anything. I knew how it felt to feel entirely lost and alone but force a smile for the outside world.

“What about the other suicides?”

“The reports are thin.”

The former chief hadn’t been a stickler for details. That was something the staff here was going to have to change because I wasn’t going to let short, hurried reports be the standard.

“Last year, a seventeen-year-old boy hung himself in his basement. Before that, it’s all been women. Three, including Lily, jumped to their deaths off a cliff. Another slit her wrists in the bathtub. Another downed a bottle of prescription pills. And the first, ten years ago, shot herself with her father’s pistol. I guess he was a cop.”

No one in the station had wanted to talk about that case.

“Damn.” Cole blew out a long breath. “That’s a lot for such a small town. Especially because it’s mostly women.”

“Exactly.” Suicide rates were over three times higher in men. Yet in Quincy, it was like the statistics had flip-flopped.

“It’s not unheard of but it gives me pause.”

“Me too. It’s not necessarily out of the normal range, but the girls were all in their twenties. Typically, I would have expected them to be younger. Dealing with high school stuff, you know? These girls were all working and transitioning to their adult lives. The high school problems should have largely been behind them.”

“Were they all from Quincy?”

“Yes.”

“Even though they were older, they were probably still connected to it. Their old acquaintances, good and bad. The town.”

“True.”

“What does your gut say?” he asked.

“It’s unsettled,” I admitted. “Maybe if we had found a note or a journal or anything that showed this girl was struggling, I wouldn’t feel so uneasy.”

“Keep looking. Keep talking to people.”

“I’m ruffling feathers.”

He laughed. “You’re quite good at losing your phone and keys. But you’re fantastic at ruffling feathers.”

“Ha ha,” I muttered, a smile on my lips. I’d missed Cole’s teasing.

“Rile ’em up, Winnie. If that’s what it takes until your gut stops screaming, ruffle all the feathers you need.”

“Thanks.” A knot of anxiety loosened in my stomach. Cole often told me what I already knew. That didn’t make his words any less powerful.

“Call me if you need to talk it through again.”

“Okay. Give Poppy a hug for me. Brady and MacKenna too.”

“Will do. I’ll shoot you a text with some weekends that work for us.”

“Can’t wait.” We said our goodbyes and then I sat back in my chair, staring at the mess of files to review.

Maybe I was reading too much into Lily Green. Quincy was a small town and I had to think that my officers had a good pulse for what was happening. If there was any reason to suspect foul play, they would have seen it, right? And Pops too. He hadn’t mentioned a thing about the suicides.

Except what if the reason no one had questioned these suicides was because they were from Quincy? I was the only person who hadn’t spent years working in this department. Not only that, but every staff member had been born and raised in this county.

Maybe to them, this was normal.

The saddest truth would be if they were right.

A knock came at the door.

“Come in,” I called.

Janice poked her head inside. “Emily from the newspaper is on line one for you.”

“Would you please tell her I’m in a meeting and take a message?”

“Sure thing.” She eased the door closed, leaving me to my own thoughts.

I swiveled in my chair, right then left, right then left. My eyes never wandered from the stack of files.

Why? Why was Lily’s death bothering me?

“No note.” That was the biggest missing piece.

“Her car.” Why had it been miles away from Indigo Ridge? Who’d taken her up there?

“Her shoes.” If she’d walked, where were her shoes?

On Saturday, after a fitful night’s rest on Friday thanks to the man who’d kissed me dizzy, I’d returned to Indigo Ridge. I’d canvased the area, hiking the ridge not once more, but twice. Then I’d walked the path to where we’d found Lily’s car again.

No clues in sight, certainly no missing pair of shoes.

What I really felt like doing with my day was heading out to the trail again, but the stack of files wasn’t getting smaller, so I took a sip from my now-cold coffee and got to work.

Eight hours and too-many-files-to-count later, there wasn’t anything particularly noteworthy, though I had added three more items to my list of new paperwork requirements. Janice had scheduled one-on-one meetings with every officer in the department, and starting tomorrow, I’d sit down with each to talk on an individual basis.

I had positive praise for each person—except Officer Smith—but there were critiques too. I doubted I’d win many friends by the time these meetings were complete, but whatever. This was my department now, damn it, and we were going to start creating reports worth reading.

By the time Janice came in to say good night, I was exhausted and starving. I was in the middle of packing up a few files to take home for the night when my phone rang. “Hey, Pops.”

“I’m grilling burgers for dinner.”

“I’m on my way. Need me to pick up anything?”

“Cold beer.”

“On it.” I smiled and hustled out the door. After a quick stop by the convenience store for his favorite, Coors Original, I headed across town.

Pops lived on the outskirts of Quincy, in a neighborhood nestled against the river. The house had been his and my grandmother’s before she’d died fifteen years ago. In all my life, the house hadn’t changed. The outside was still the same pea green. The interior was a symphony of beige.

My grandmother had loved chickens, and her collection of rooster and hen statues sat proudly above the kitchen cabinets. Walking through the front door was like walking into my childhood. His love for her clung to the outdated floral curtains, crocheted afghans and cross-stitched toss pillows she’d left behind.

“Pops?” I called from the entryway.

He didn’t answer, so I headed toward the back deck. The smoky scent of his barbeque greeted me as I stepped outside, along with another familiar face.

“Well, there she is.” Frank, my grandpa’s neighbor and friend, popped out of a deck chair. He clapped once, then opened his arms. “I’ve been waiting for you to come over here and visit.”

I laughed and walked into his embrace. “Hey, Frank.”

“Missed seeing your face, cutie. Welcome. Glad you’re one of us now.”

Was I one of them? Because I felt like an outsider, and the niggling in my stomach warned me that it might always be that way.

Frank let me go, putting his hands on my shoulders to look me up and down. “You’re all grown up. Still can’t believe you’re our chief of police. I look at you and see that little girl in pigtails who’d come over and make mud pies in Rain’s garden.”

“How is Rain?”

“Come on over. See for yourself. She’d love to visit.”

“I’ll do that,” I promised, feeling bad for not stopping by already.

Rain and Frank had moved in next door when I was little. We’d come to visit Pops and Nana that weekend and I remembered thinking how cool it was that their U-Haul had been from Mississippi.

They were older than my parents and younger than my grandparents, but after Nana had died of a sudden heart attack when I was fifteen, Frank and Rain had adopted Pops. They’d been here for him through his wife’s death.

And when he’d lost his son and daughter-in-law.

Frank and Rain had been here for Pops when I couldn’t. They were part of the family. Frank was my grandfather’s best friend. Now I was here and we could all be a family.

“Are you staying for dinner?” I asked.

“Can’t. I’ve been fixing up this old Jeep for Rain. The new fender just got here, so I need to do some tinkering.” He smacked his flat stomach. “And she promised me paella for dinner.”

Frank, like Pops, was a silver fox with a broad physique and muscled frame. The two of them went hiking together nearly every weekend in the summers, and during the week, they’d carpool to the local gym.

“I’d better get on,” he said.

“So good to see you, Frank.”

“You too, Winnie.” He gave me a kind smile, then turned and shook hands with Pops. “Feel like fishing tomorrow after work?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good deal.” Frank waved, then walked down the deck’s stairs, crossing the lawn to disappear into his garage.

“How’s my girl?” Pops came over and wrapped me in a bear hug.

“I’m okay.” I sagged into his broad chest. His heartbeat was strong beneath my ear, a comforting rhythm that had been a steady beat my entire life. “How are you?”

“Hungry.”

I laughed and let him go. “What can I do?”

“Fetch me that cold beer.”

While he grilled burgers, I readied the buns, toppings and napkins. Then the two of us ate on the deck, the river beyond the yard providing the evening music.

“Thanks for cooking dinner,” I said when the dishes were done, and we set off for an after-dinner stroll down his block.

“Of course. Glad I could track you down. I tried calling your other number. It said your voicemail box was full.”

The messages were probably all from Skyler. Our breakup had been four months ago, and the constant calls were wearing thin. “I can’t find that phone. I don’t even know when I lost it.”

“I figured as much.” He laughed. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m . . . okay.” Not great. Not bad. Just okay. “It’s been a week.”

“I still can’t believe sweet Lily Green. Breaks my heart.”

“Mine too.” Melina’s distraught face popped into my mind. “You never said anything about the suicides.”

He tucked his hands into his khaki pockets. “Didn’t want to put that on you while you were dealing with so much in Bozeman. And awful as it is, that’s part of life. Here and anywhere else.”

“Seven in ten years. Don’t you think that’s a lot?”

“Of course I do. Each time, we put more resources into counselors at the school. We’ve got two available for community members, free of charge. But if these kids don’t reach out, if we don’t know they’re hurting, how are we supposed to help?”

I sighed. “I’m not trying to criticize. It’s just . . . it’s been a long week.”

He untucked a hand and put his arm around my shoulders. “Sorry.”

“Do you think there’s a chance they aren’t suicides?”

“I wish I could say yes. I wish there was another explanation. But each of those deaths was investigated. Most came with notes.”

“Lily didn’t leave one.”

“Or maybe you just haven’t found it yet.”

“I’ll keep looking.”

“I know you will. I don’t like thinking of you dealing with this. It’s heavy and hard. But someone has to carry it, and I trust you above anyone else to do the right thing.”

“Thanks.” I leaned into his side. His faith in me was unwavering. I’d earned it. I’d keep earning it. Starting with giving Melina Green whatever answers I could find about her daughter.

“Change of subject,” he said. “I stopped at Willie’s on Saturday.”

“Um . . . okay.” Shit. Willie hadn’t struck me as a bigmouth. He wouldn’t have talked about Griffin and me, right?

“He saw your picture in the paper,” Pops said.

“You mean the gossip rag?” In the one and only newspaper I’d read, there hadn’t actually been much news. Not that I’d read the whole thing. I’d had to stop after the front page.

The article on my position as chief had basically called me a child cop and stated the only reason I’d gotten the job was because of Pops. But the paper had come out on Wednesday. I’d been at Indigo Ridge, then with Melina Green.

Pops had called and left me a voicemail, fuming and cursing the Nelsen name. By the time I’d listened to his message, then stopped by the grocery store to buy the paper, it had been after dark. When I’d finally sat down to read the article, I just hadn’t had many fucks to give.

“Willie mentioned that you and Griffin Eden were there together last week.”

Damn it, Willie. “Yeah,” I muttered.

“Want to tell me what’s going on there?”

“Nope.”

“I thought lunch was a little awkward.”

“Awkward is an understatement.”

He laughed. “Then I’ll assume I don’t want to know.”

“You really don’t.”

“Well, just be careful. Griffin is a good man, but he’s been known to break a few hearts.”

“No need to worry about mine. I have no interest in Griffin Eden.”

That wasn’t entirely true.

One night with Griffin and he’d become a constant on my mind. Maybe if I stopped kissing him, it would help. But he was too good-looking for his own good—certainly for mine—and my God, could he kiss.

The chemistry was off the charts. The man was magnetic. Never in my life had my body responded so strongly to a man’s touch, not even Skyler’s.

Replaying our night together had become an escape. When everything else in my head became too loud, I’d think of his kiss. Of his hands and his tongue, roaming across my skin.

It was alarming to think so much about one man. But since I had no plans of seeing him anytime soon, what was the harm of a few errant thoughts when I was alone in bed?

Pops and I finished our walk, mostly in silence. The streets of Quincy held a peace unrivaled. I hugged my grandpa good night to drive home, hoping to unpack at least one box before bed.

Except the minute my gray house and red door came into view, I spotted a familiar truck.

Two trucks, actually.

One was coated in dust. The other was gleaming black and freshly waxed.

“Damn it.” I really didn’t have time for this. He was going to ruin my night, wasn’t he?

I parked in the driveway, climbed out and slammed the door.

Two handsome faces waited for me on the front porch. One stood, arms crossed, legs in faded jeans planted wide. The other was in a suit. He hadn’t even loosened his tie.

They exchanged a wary glance, then focused on me as I stopped on the bottom stair and crossed my arms over my chest.

“What are you doing here?”