Page 84 of Indigo Ridge (The Edens 1)

“Have a good day.” I kissed him goodbye.

“You too.” He propped a hip against the railing, his arms crossing over that broad chest as he watched me descend the stairs and head for my car.

It was early, the morning air fresh. The weather forecast promised it would be a scorcher, and as I started the Durango, I wished I had taken another day to enjoy the summer sunshine.

But there was work to be done, so I shoved the key into the ignition and headed into town.

Griffin had washed my clothes yesterday, and though I doubted anyone would notice I was in the same apparel as I’d worn on the Fourth, I made a quick pitstop home to ensure the place hadn’t flooded and swap out my clothes for something fresh.

The shift change was over by the time I arrived at the station. The night-shift crew were likely in their beds while I filled a coffee cup and surveyed the quiet bullpen. Now that the Fourth was over, we were trimmed down for a few days to give everyone some added rest.

Except for me. I stifled a groan at the files scattered on my desk when I settled into my office. I hadn’t earned vacation yet.

One file always seemed to rise to the top of the stack.

Lily Green.

I flipped it open, a photograph of her death on top. A month ago, this picture had made me cringe. But I’d stared at it long enough that now the only emotion I felt was soul-deep sadness.

“Oh, Lily.” I turned the gruesome photo on its face, then skimmed the edge of the one beneath. It was the last selfie she’d posted on Instagram for Memorial Day.

Lily Green was a beauty, her blond hair like strands of spun sunshine. Her smile was as bright as the stars. Maybe it was all an illusion. Maybe the smile and the sparkling eyes had been the façade she’d put on for the world.

It was easy to force smiles. It was simple to lie and tell people you were doing great when the truth was that every heartbeat caused you pain.

I’d spent a month searching for signs that Lily might have been depressed. I’d questioned friends and family. I’d gone on an unsuccessful quest to find a boyfriend. I’d dug into all of her social media accounts and even pulled her text records and credit card statements.

But there’d been nothing to find.

Maybe because there was nothing to find.

No hidden confessions. No secret boyfriend. Chances were, she’d gone out with her friends to have some fun, then met a guy to hook up with. Considering I’d done the same with Griffin on my first night in town, it definitely wasn’t out of the question.

Maybe he’d gone his own way and she’d stayed behind, suffering in silence.

Until it had just been too much.

I touched the edge of her photo one more time, then closed the lid on the folder.

Obsessing over Lily’s suicide wasn’t getting me anywhere. Because of their age, there was a limit to the number of questions I was willing to ask about the other suicides. My job wasn’t to reopen wounds unless absolutely necessary. If parents, friends and loved ones were healing, I respected that process.

I was living that process.

Some of my worst moments over the past year had been in Bozeman when I’d been going about my normal day only to have someone walk up to me on the street and tell me how sorry they were for my loss. Even if they meant well, each time was like a slap in the face.

People handled grief differently. Some welcomed the outpouring of affection and support. Others, like me, held it close to the heart and only let sma

ll pieces go when they were ready.

Yesterday, telling Griffin about Mom’s and Dad’s deaths, I’d let a piece go.

Lily Green deserved as much energy as I could give her. But Melina Green deserved space to heal. Today, that meant giving the case some room to breathe.

So I tucked the file into my desk drawer, adding the other suicides beside it, and I went about clearing my desk.

By the time I left the station at six, my inbox was nearly empty, I’d had three meetings, and every report that I’d needed to review and approve was finished. The officers had taken my critiques of their reports better than expected. The lack of detail was less noticeable now, though there was still room for improvement.

Two of the files I’d been given, both having to do with incidents on the Fourth, needed some revisions, so I left them with notes on the officers’ respective desks. The bullpen was quiet again. The evening shift had clocked in, and besides the dispatcher at the phones, the other officers were out on patrol.