Page 64 of Indigo Ridge (The Edens 1)

“You got it. Want me to check with her mother to see if she recognizes them?”

“Please.”

Allen walked out of the office, coming back with two evidence bags. I helped him put a boot in each, then closed the door behind him as he left.

“I’ll be visiting your uncle,” I told Griffin, returning to my chair.

“Figured you would.” Griffin stood and walked to the bookshelf in the corner.

I hated how good it was to see him. His faded jeans draped over his strong thighs. They molded to the curve of his ass. The T-shirt he wore today was dusty, like he’d been out working all morning.

The scent of his soap and sweat filled the room. I’d washed my sheets yesterday, erasing him from my bed. I regretted that decision now because that smell was intoxicating.

He picked up a framed photo on the middle shelf. “Who’s this?”

“Cole.”

“Cole.” His eyes narrowed. “Another ex?”

“A mentor. We worked together in Bozeman. And he was my sensei.”

In the photo, Cole and I were standing together, each wearing white gis at the dojo in town where I’d taken karate. When I’d been promoted to detective in Bozeman, Cole had suggested I learn martial arts. Not only as a way to keep in shape but as a way to protect myself.

“You have a black belt.”

“I do,” I said.

“And these are your parents.” He pointed to the photo on the next shelf. Not a question, but a statement, like maybe he’d seen their picture before.

Mom and Dad stood beside me on the day I’d graduated from the police academy. I was wearing a black uniform and a hat. The smiles on all three of our faces were blinding.

“Your dad looks like Covie,” he said. “I’ve seen him around town before. And you look like your mom.”

He couldn’t have known what a compliment that was. My mother was the most beautiful woman I’d seen in my life, inside and out.

For a while after they’d died, I’d put their photos in storage. It had been too hard to see them frozen in time, laughing and smiling and happy. I’d walk into my bedroom, see their photo on a shelf and burst into tears. But then the nightmares started, so I’d put the photos back, because even though it hurt to see them, to miss them, I’d take their smiles a million times over their deaths.

Griffin moved to the last picture on the shelf, one of me and Pops fishing when I was a teenager. “You had more freckles.”

“Summers in the sun. That was before I wore sunscreen every day.”

He hummed, then resumed his seat, leaning forward once more. His eyes stayed glued to the edge of my desk, and once again, I waited until he was ready. “Do you still think that Lily’s death might not have been a suicide?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

As the days went on, the uneasy feeling hadn’t faded, but the logical part of my mind had begun to yell. There was no evidence pointing to anything but suicide. At some point, I’d have to let this go.

Maybe the boots would help.

Maybe not.

Griffin looked up and there was desperation in his eyes. Like he needed me to give him a different answer.

“It’s still not sitting right,” I said. “Every time I talk to someone who knew her, they are shocked. Friends. Family. No one had a clue that she was struggling.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what I’m hearing too.”

> “It doesn’t mean she wasn’t hiding it. Mental health is usually a well-kept secret. But I would have expected to find one person she’d confided in.” Either there wasn’t that person. Or I hadn’t found them yet.