Page 37 of Indigo Ridge (The Edens 1)

“That’s one way to put it.” She looked to a box set on the counter, then trudged over, opening the top with a sigh. “As you can see, unpacking hasn’t been a priority.”

She’d put her life on hold to ask questions about Lily Green and visit a grieving mother. “This is a nice place. Good neighborhood too. One of my buddies in high school lived in the green house three down.”

“Is that how you knew where I lived?”

“No, I asked my mom. One of her best friends was your realtor.”

“So much for privacy,” she muttered.

“Small town. Privacy is relative.”

“I guess that’s true.” She pulled a glass from the box and put it directly into the dishwasher.

“Want some help?”

“No, but thanks.” She finished with the glasses, and because it wasn’t in my nature to stand around when there was work to be done, I collected the empty box from her and folded up the packing paper, then broke down the box.

“Where do you want this?”

“There’s a stack of empties outside my bedroom down the hallway.”

“Got it.” I strode that way, taking the box and paper along.

My boots seemed twice as loud as normal on her hardwood floors. There were two rooms down the narrow hall. On the right was her bedroom. The mattress rested on the floor, the blankets unmade. Three suitcases were pushed against the far wall, open and overflowing.

Winslow seemed so put together. Did it bother her living in a mess? Because it sure as hell would have bothered me.

Opposite her room was another crammed with boxes. I added mine to the short stack of flattened cardboard, then returned to the kitchen.

The dishwasher was running. Winn had retreated to the living room. Beside her, on the center cushion of the leather couch, was the purse she’d carried in earlier and a stack of files.

The couch was the only piece of furniture in the room, maybe in the whole house. It sat at an odd angle beneath the center light fixture. Beside it was an unopened box that Winn had shoved beside an armrest to use as a makeshift end table.

Had her ex taken the other furniture? Was it still being moved? I was about to ask when a manila file folder caught my eye from beneath her purse. Walking closer, I read the name on the tab.

Harmony Hardt.

The girl I’d found at the base of Indigo Ridge.

There were likely photos in that folder. Photos of the images forever burned into my brain. The dark hair matted with blood. The limbs askew. The blood. The death.

“You’re looking into the suicides,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to.”

“They’re suicides, Winn.”

She stayed quiet, not agreeing or disagreeing.

“It’s sad,” I said. “Horrific. I get why you want to find a different explanation. Most outsiders do.”

“You know, you keep reminding me that I’m new in town. But I’m not all that new. I’ve spent a lot of time here, especially when I was a kid. This was my father’s hometown.”

“There’s a difference between visiting Quincy and living in Quincy.”