If they hadn’t died, a lot would be different.
At every turn, Quincy held a memory.
I had yet to decide if that was good or bad.
Pushing the past aside, I took in the tourists meandering down the sidewalks on Main. Because of our proximity to Glacier, Quincy would be bustling until fall with out-of-town visitors.
As the mayor, Pops loved the influx of cash to his small town. As a resident, the tourists tended to grate on his nerves. The abundance of visitors was the reason he loved whisking us away to the mountains for summer campouts.
It had been during the fall and winter visits that we’d actually stayed in Quincy to explore. Not much had changed since my childhood. There was comfort in the familiar.
As in most small Montana towns, Main Street was a segment of the highway that led in and out of town. Everything branched away from Quincy’s downtown, like arteries from a thriving heart. But the bulk of the commerce was right here, all clustered together in the town’s core.
Restaurants, bars and retail shops were the primary appeal for our seasonal visitors. Offices and banks filled the gaps in between. Mom’s favorite stop had always been the antique shop. Dad’s, the hardware store. The grocery store and two gas stations acted as the bookend to one side of Main. Quincy Farm and Feed was the other.
The community took pride in this street. The window displays were artful and charming. Flower baskets hung from lampposts in summer, holiday garlands and twinkle lights in winter.
I loved this town.
My town.
It hadn’t quite sunk in yet that Quincy was mine.
Maybe because I felt more akin to the tourists than the locals.
I slowed at a crosswalk, waiting for a couple to navigate the intersection. Between them was a little girl wearing a yellow jumper and an adorable smile. Her parents swung her between them after every count of one-two-three-yippee.
Once upon a time, I’d been that little girl.
“What is wrong with me today?” I shook my head, snapping myself out of the past, then I took the next side street on my route to home.
Mom and Dad had been a constant on my mind these past two days. Probably because I was in Quincy. Probably because so much had changed in just a week.
A new house. A new job.
Moving was the right decision, but that hadn’t made it easy. I missed my friends in Bozeman. I missed my old department and my coworkers.
Sure, I had Pops, and it was wonderful to see him every day. In time, I’d fit in here. But at the moment, being new felt a lot like being alone.
Was that why I’d slept with Griffin on Sunday?
I cringed for the hundredth time just thinking about his face at the restaurant.
Pops and Harrison Eden had chatted through the entire meal, carrying the conversation. Griffin had barely uttered a word. He’d simply sat there, glowering at his plate, while I’d forced a smile and done my best to make small talk with his father.
The tension radiating off of Griffin’s shoulders had grown exponentially over the meal. Regret had been so plainly written on his handsome face that I’d nearly faked a stomachache to escape.
Thankfully, he’d bolted first. The moment he’d finished his club sandwich, he’d excused himself from the table.
I was still mad at myself for checking out his ass as he’d walked away.
With any luck, a few months would pass before we bumped into each other again. Maybe by then I’d stop thinking about his naked body in the backseat of his truck.
Griffin Eden was a one-time mistake, and with any luck, not a soul in Quincy would find out I’d screwed him my first night in town.
My house was a single-story Craftsman painted dove gray with white shutters. I parked in the driveway and made my way up the brick porch steps to the red front door.
The door was the reason I’d bought this house—that and because there had only been three places on the market.
This two-bedroom, one-bathroom house was the perfect size for my simple life. I didn’t need a large yard. The extra bedroom would become my office because I didn’t need a guest bedroom—I rarely had guests.
I hurried inside and ignored the disaster that was the living room. Boxes crowded the couch in the center of the room. They’d gone untouched since Sunday because I’d spent every evening since reviewing case files.
My bedroom was in the same state—maybe worse.
On one side of the room, three suitcases were open, their contents spilling onto the hardwood floors. Somewhere under this roof there were hangers, I just had yet to find them. I dug through the closest pile of clothes, finding a new shirt, then stripped off my stained blouse, tossing it into the growing pile of laundry.
My new washer and dryer were arriving on Friday. The rest of the furniture I’d ordered had been delayed, so for now, my mattress was on the floor with my wardrobe.
Maybe tonight I’d search for the hangers. Maybe not.
Dressed and no longer smelling like stale coffee, I hurried outside and into the Durango, reversing onto the street. Then I retreated the way I’d come toward Main.
I was slowing at the intersection when a flash of red and blue streaked by, the wail of a siren splitting the air.
That was Allen’s cruiser.
I pulled my phone from the console, seeing nothing on the screen. He’d been doing paperwork today, not out on patrol, so where was he going? Something had happened. Why hadn’t anyone called me?
Instead of taking the left that would lead me to the station, I turned right, following Allen down Main. When he hit the edge of town, he punched the gas and shot down the road.
My heart hammered as I hurried to keep pace, driving with one hand while dialing into the station with the other.
“Quincy Police Department,” Officer Smith answered.
“Hi, it’s Winslow.”
He grunted.
“I’m following Allen out of town. Can you tell me where he’s going?”
“There was a call from out of town. Emergency in the mountains.”
“Okay.” I waited for more of an explanation. He didn’t give me one. “What emergency?”
“Someone found a body at the base of Indigo Ridge.”
I gasped. “W-what? Why didn’t you call me?”
“Slipped my mind.”
Asshole. “Officer Smith, you and I will be having a conversation when I return to the station.”
With that, I ended the call, tossing my phone aside so I could concentrate on catching Allen.
His brake lights glowed as he slowed for a turnoff. There was no road sign or marker, but I followed his trail of dust down the gravel road, the mountains growing closer with every minute. One cliff stood out from the rest, its vertical face daunting as it towered above the trees and meadows below.
Three trucks were clustered together in the grass ahead, parked on the other side of the fence. Allen slowed when he approached, easing the cruiser toward the ditch.
I parked behind him, snagging my phone and shoving it in a pocket. Then I rifled through my purse for a small notepad and pen before climbing out.
“Chief.” Allen stood on the side of the road, waiting for me to join him.
“What’s going on?” Officer Smith’s short explanation had been lacking at best.
“One of the ranch hands for the Edens stumbled across a body this morning.”
“This is the Eden ranch?”