Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
WINSLOW
Why had I kissed him? Over the past three days, that question had bounded through my mind like a sugared-up kid on a trampoline.
I’d lived in Quincy for eight days and I’d kissed Griffin at two of our four encounters.
Questioning my decision to move—questioning my sanity—had become a regular part of my daily routine.
And nightly, since sleeping had been difficult.
This morning while brushing my teeth, I’d considered for a split second going home to Bozeman.
Except there was no home.
And quitting wasn’t in my nature.
Time. What I needed was time. I’d survive the second week like I’d survived the first. If I could make it through the next eight days without kissing Griffin Eden, maybe I’d be able to get that man out of my head.
Work demanded my full attention. My focus was on building any kind of positive rapport with the officers. So far, things at the station were . . . strained. Eventually the staff would warm up to me, right?
“Good morning.” I walked into the break room and conversation stopped.
The three officers standing around the coffeepot scattered, each nodding as they passed me on their way to the bullpen.
I swallowed a groan and refilled my mug before retreating to my office, closing the door behind me. Then I sagged against its face. “I’m not quitting.”
The attitude in the station had grown colder. Even Janice had given me a few sideways looks when I’d started asking questions about Lily Green, Indigo Ridge and the abundance of suicides in the last decade.
Apparently it was a no-touch topic. Everyone looked at me like this was a no-touch subject. Maybe Griffin was right. Maybe I needed to let it go and accept it at face value. I didn’t want to drudge up painful memories and make it worse for families and friends.
But it just felt . . . off.
The best cop I knew had once told me to always follow my instincts.
Files were scattered over the surface of my desk again, despite the hour I’d spent organizing last night. I still hadn’t made it through the past three months’ worth of cases, but I’d asked Janice to pull another three anyway, expanding my window to six months.
Janice had delivered this morning. On top of them were the files of each suicide in Quincy.
Seven deaths.
I’d read through each report three times already, hoping that it would squash this uneasy feeling. It hadn’t. What was I missing? Something, right?
I shoved off the door and walked to my chair, setting my coffee aside. Then I picked up the phone and dialed the number I’d been meaning to call for a week.
“Cole Goodman,” he answered.
I smiled at his warm voice. “Hey.”
“Who is this?”
“Funny,” I deadpanned. “You better not have forgotten about me already.”
He chuckled. “Never. Is this your new work number?”
“Yep. I think my personal phone was swallowed up by the unpacked boxes at home. I haven’t seen it for days.”
“Sounds about right,” he teased.
Cole had spent many hours listening to me complain that I’d lost my personal phone. In my defense, I had yet to misplace my station cell or a radio.
Organization wasn’t necessarily a weakness. I could be organized. But I didn’t mind a little chaos either. When my focus was on one lane, everything else became a little blurry. Unpacking and finding my phone just didn’t seem as important as wrapping my head around Lily Green’s death.
“I was just thinking about you,” he said. “How’d the first week go?”
“It was, um . . . interesting.”
“Uh-oh. What’s going on?”
I sighed and the truth came rushing out. “No one likes me here. I keep getting looks like I’m too young for this job and only got it because of Pops.”
“You knew this wouldn’t be easy.”
“I know,” I muttered. “I just . . . hoped.”
“Hang in there. It’s only been a week. You’re a great cop. Give them time to see that.”
All things I’d told myself, but somehow hearing them from Cole gave me a boost of confidence.
Cole had been my mentor in Bozeman. When I’d been promoted to detective, he’d been there to help me every step along the way. Whenever I had a difficult case, Cole was my go-to person to talk it through.
In our years working together, he’d become more than a colleague. He was also a cherished friend. His wife, Poppy, owned my favorite restaurant in Bozeman. Their kids were the sweetest souls on earth. When I’d lost my own family, his had been there to see me through the darkest days.
“I miss you guys. I’m homesick for the Goodmans.”
“We miss you too. Poppy was talking about taking a weekend trip to visit.”
“I’d love it.” For them, I’d actually unpack my house.
“Tell me about the station.”
“Actually, if you have a few minutes, can I run something by you?”
“Always.”
I spent the next fifteen minutes telling him about Lily Green and the other suicides. I’d told him how Lily’s mother had collapsed into my arms when I’d gone to her home and told her the horrific news. Her scream had been so full of agony that I’d never forget that noise.
Heartbreak was an ugly, black sound.
I’d stayed with Melina Green for hours that night.
I’d held her hand as she’d called her ex-husband and told him about Lily.
Then I’d waited with her as he’d driven the two hours from Missoula.
When he’d arrived, his eyes red rimmed and his soul broken over his daughter’s death, I’d given him my condolences, then left them to grieve.
Yesterday, I’d stopped by Melina’s house to check on her. She’d answered the door wearing a bathrobe and tear-stained cheeks. And once again, she’d fallen into my arms, and I’d held her as she’d cried.
But Melina was a strong woman. She’d collected herself and begun to talk about Lily. For an hour, she’d told me about the bright, beautiful light her daughter had been.
Lily had been twenty-one and living with her mom to save money. When I’d asked Melina if she’d found a suicide note in Lily’s room, she’d confessed that she hadn’t had the emotional strength to check. But her ex had gone into Lily’s bedroom while he’d been in Quincy and hadn’t found anything.
“I’m trying to be sensitive and not push too hard with the mother,” I told Cole. “But my impression was that she and Lily were very close. She’s shocked. Truly shocked that Lily would kill herself.”
“I can’t imagine her pain,” Cole said. “She might not want to think about the signs that she missed. Or that her daughter was hiding anything from her. You need to talk to other people who knew Lily.”
“That’s my plan. I started with the officers and staff here.”
“And what did they say?”
“No one knew her well. One of the officers said that her son graduated with Lily, but they’d lost touch when her son moved away for college. Most of the others just knew her from the bank where she worked as a teller. Everyone says that Lily was always smiling. That she was a happy young woman.”
That didn’t necessarily mean anything. I knew how it felt to feel entirely lost and alone but force a smile for the outside world.
“What about the other suicides?”
“The reports are thin.”
The former chief hadn’t been a stickler for details. That was something the staff here was going to have to change because I wasn’t going to let short, hurried reports be the standard.
“Last year, a seventeen-year-old boy hung himself in his basement. Before that, it’s all been women.
Three, including Lily, jumped to their deaths off a cliff.
Another slit her wrists in the bathtub. Another downed a bottle of prescription pills.
And the first, ten years ago, shot herself with her father’s pistol. I guess he was a cop.”
No one in the station had wanted to talk about that case.
“Damn.” Cole blew out a long breath. “That’s a lot for such a small town. Especially because it’s mostly women.”
“Exactly.” Suicide rates were over three times higher in men. Yet in Quincy, it was like the statistics had flip-flopped.
“It’s not unheard of but it gives me pause.”
“Me too. It’s not necessarily out of the normal range, but the girls were all in their twenties.
Typically, I would have expected them to be younger.
Dealing with high school stuff, you know?
These girls were all working and transitioning to their adult lives.
The high school problems should have largely been behind them. ”
“Were they all from Quincy?”
“Yes.”
“Even though they were older, they were probably still connected to it. Their old acquaintances, good and bad. The town.”
“True.”
“What does your gut say?” he asked.
“It’s unsettled,” I admitted. “Maybe if we had found a note or a journal or anything that showed this girl was struggling, I wouldn’t feel so uneasy.”
“Keep looking. Keep talking to people.”
“I’m ruffling feathers.”
He laughed. “You’re quite good at losing your phone and keys. But you’re fantastic at ruffling feathers.”
“Ha ha,” I muttered, a smile on my lips. I’d missed Cole’s teasing.
“Rile ’em up, Winnie. If that’s what it takes until your gut stops screaming, ruffle all the feathers you need.”
“Thanks.” A knot of anxiety loosened in my stomach. Cole often told me what I already knew. That didn’t make his words any less powerful.
“Call me if you need to talk it through again.”
“Okay. Give Poppy a hug for me. Brady and MacKenna too.”
“Will do. I’ll shoot you a text with some weekends that work for us.”
“Can’t wait.” We said our goodbyes and then I sat back in my chair, staring at the mess of files to review.
Maybe I was reading too much into Lily Green. Quincy was a small town and I had to think that my officers had a good pulse for what was happening. If there was any reason to suspect foul play, they would have seen it, right? And Pops too. He hadn’t mentioned a thing about the suicides.
Except what if the reason no one had questioned these suicides was because they were from Quincy? I was the only person who hadn’t spent years working in this department. Not only that, but every staff member had been born and raised in this county.