Until the night, when the memories crept into your sleep.
“You said she didn’t have a boyfriend. But could she have been seeing someone new? Maybe a first or second date with a guy?”
“Not that I know of. Why?”
“I’m just trying to find out who she spent time with.” Normally I believed in full transparency, but until I had more answers about Lily and whoever she’d been with before her death, I didn’t want to leave Melina with unanswered questions.
“Lily liked to head downtown on Friday and Saturday nights with her friends. They usually met up at one of the bars. I always felt like I was walking a fine line. She lived here and I loved that she lived here. But she was an adult, so I tried to keep my mouth shut about the partying.”
If Lily was like most twenty-one-year-old women, she’d probably met a guy at the bar. Hell, I was thirty and had done the same with Griffin.
“I didn’t ask too many questions,” Melina continued. “I tried not to pester her about coming home before two. Maybe that was my mistake. But she was young and once, a long time ago, I was young too.”
The tears began to fall and Melina did her best to wipe them dry with her garden gloves, leaving streaks of dirt on her cheeks.
“I, um . . .” She pulled off her gloves. “I’d better wash up.”
“Of course.”
When she excused herself to go inside, I saw myself out of the yard. Any other questions would have to wait, but Melina had given me a place to start.
I’d spoken to many of Lily’s friends but I hadn’t asked about her at the local bars. They would be my next stop. But first, before the sun went down, I wanted to pay Indigo Ridge one more visit.
Leaving Melina’s house, I drove toward the mountains, navigating the gravel path to Indigo Ridge. My shoes weren’t the best for hiking, but I parked at the base of the trail and started my climb anyway. Step by step, I made my way up the dirt path. I was panting and sticky by the time I reached the top. The breeze that threaded around the rocks cooled the sweat between my shoulder blades.
Inching to the edge of the trail, I leaned forward to stare over the cliff. Her body wasn’t on the jagged rocks below, but I could still picture it there. Her blond hair. That blood-soaked dress.
One jump. One step. That was all it would take. One trip. One fall.
And a life shattered.
“What the fuck are you doing?” A hand clamped over my elbow and dragged me away from the edge.
I whirled around, my heart in my throat as I threw a fist toward Griffin’s nose. I managed to stop the punch before it landed, but just barely. My knuckles grazed his skin and his eyes widened that I’d moved that fast.
“Jesus, Winn.” He released my elbow. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Me? What the fuck is wrong with you? You scared the shit out of me. I could have fallen.”
“Then don’t stand so goddamn close to the edge,” he bellowed, dragging a hand through that thick hair. “Fuck. We don’t need you having an accident.”
“This should be blocked off,” I barked, pressing a hand to my thrashing heart.
“That’s what I’m doing here.” He jerked his thumb toward the trail. “I came up here to build a fence along the path and spotted your rig. Followed you up here just in time to see you leaning over the edge.”
I frowned up at his scowl. “I was just looking.”
“Look from back here.” He grabbed my arm again, hauling me back against him. “I can’t find your body down there too.”
The plea in his blue gaze, the fear in his expression, chased away any anger, and my shoulders slumped. “Okay. Sorry.”
He blew out a long breath, shaking away his frustration. “It’s all right. Why are you looking?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I know you think it was suicide. I don’t even know what to think myself, I just . . . something feels off. And I need to figure out what. For Lily. For her mother. Sometimes when I can’t make sense of something, I start at the end and work my way backward to the beginning.”
So I’d stand here until I could retrace her steps.
Which was what I did. I stood there, staring out to the nothing beyond the trail.
Griffin stood beside me, unspeaking. Unmoving. He simply stood at my side while I thought.
She’d come up here, terrified. Desperate. Likely alone.
I took one step closer to the edge.
Griffin grabbed my hand, holding it tight.
I let him be my tether as I glanced over the cliff, putting myself in Lily’s place.
She’d had a good job. She’d had loving parents. She’d had friends in Quincy. Something had pushed her over this edge.
“A broken heart?”
“What?” Griffin asked, pulling me away from the edge once more.
“Nothing,” I muttered. The autopsy was confidential, and Griffin hadn’t earned the details. “I’d like to know what Lily was doing up to the time of her death. If she’d been hanging out with friends. A boyfriend. Where would someone her age hang out on a Sunday night?”
“Willie’s,” he answered.
“Would you have noticed her if she’d come in?”
“You and I were the only people there.”
“Anywhere else?”
He rubbed that strong jaw. “The bars downtown. The younger crowd usually hangs there in the summers with the tourists. And you’re in luck.”
“Am I? Why?”
He took my arm, tugging me yet another step away from the cliff. “I was just thinking about heading downtown myself.”
“Oh, were you?” I raised my eyebrows. “I thought you were going to put up a fence on this trail.”
“Change of plan.”
Chapter Eight
Griffin
“You don’t need to come with me.” Winn paused outside Big Sam’s Saloon. “Aren’t you busy?”
Yes, I was busy. But I grabbed the door’s handle and opened it for her anyway. “After you.”
She frowned but walked inside, then I was forgotten as she soaked in every detail, from the wagon-wheel chandeliers to the seams in the wood-paneled walls.
The owners had done a major remodel about ten years ago. They’d moved to Quincy from Texas and the longhorns they’d brought along were hanging behind the bar. The tables were whiskey barrels with glass tops. The stools were upholstered in black and white cowhide.
They were playing up the Western theme for the tourists, and country music crooned from the jukebox in the corner.
I loathed Big Sam’s.
“It’s packed,” she said, scanning the room.
“Most days are in the summer.”
A few familiar faces jumped out from the crowd, and as we walked to the bar, I lifted a hand to wave at one of the guys who worked at the hardware store.
I jerked my chin to the bartender as he came over, his bald head catching the glare from the light that reflected off the mirrored liquor shelves. “Hey, John.”
“Griffin.” He reached over the bar to shake my hand. John had trimmed his white beard since the last time I’d stopped in about a month ago. It brushed against his heart instead of his protruding beer belly. “What brings you in?”