Page 21 of Indigo Ridge (The Edens 1)

“Seven total.”

“Seven?” My jaw nearly dropped. “That’s almost one a year.”

Allen’s shoulders slumped. “It’s been like this domino effect. One kid does it. Another decides to do it too.”

I pointed to the ridge. “And this is where they come?”

“Not always,” Griffin said.

I took in the girl’s bare feet. The smocked sundress. Had she been in shorts or jeans, I might have thought this had been a hiking accident.

“Do we know who this is?” I asked.

“Lily Green,” Griffin answered. “Conor thought so, at least. They are about the same age. I think they were friends.”

There was nothing left of the girl’s face. So how had Conor recognized her? Maybe from the blue butterfly tattoo on her wrist.

“Allen, are you good to take photos of the scene?”

“Yes. I was, um . . . I was here for the last one.”

The last one. My stomach rolled. “All right. I’ll call the station and get the medical examiner out here so we can get the body moved. The sooner we can identify her, the sooner we can notify next of kin.”

“You got it, Chief.”

“I’ll need to talk to your employee now,” I told Griffin.

He answered by retreating down the rocks.

My head was spinning as I followed.

Seven suicides in ten years. That was crazy. That was too many. Suicide rates were higher in rural areas than cities, but seven suicides in ten years . . . that was too many.

I knew it happened with young kids. And Allen was right, sometimes it could become this domino effect. We’d had the same thing happen at the high school in Bozeman for a few years. Three kids had attempted suicide, two had died.

The principal and teachers had jumped all over it after the second death, making sure they were watching the kids more closely and providing outlets for other students to report friends who might be at risk.

Seven suicides.

In this tiny community.

How had I not known about this? Why hadn’t Pops told me? Why hadn’t this been brought up during my interviews? I’d asked plenty of questions about past criminal cases. Though maybe they hadn’t considered these crimes. Had these at least been documented?

The questions rolled through my mind as I followed Griffin to the fence and climbed over. Then I put them all away when we joined the other two men at the trucks.

“Conor, this is Winslow Covington.” Griffin crouched beside the young man. “She’s the new chief of police and she’s going to ask you some questions.”

The kid looked up from his spot on the ground, his face etched in sheer heartache and terror.

I bent so he wouldn’t have to stand. “Hi, Conor.”

“Ma’am.” He sniffled and dragged a forearm across his nose.

“Mind if I ask you some questions?”

He shook his head.

The man with the mustache clapped Conor on the shoulder, then stood and walked to the truck’s