Page 46 of Indigo Ridge (The Edens 1)

I grinned and sipped my beer.

“So what are these questions?” John asked, leaning a hip against the bar.

“I’m trying to learn more about Lily Green. She was—”

“I know who she was.”

Winn stiffened at his sharp tone. “Do you remember seeing her here on Saturday or Sunday night?”

“No, she wasn’t here.”

“Did she come in often? Her mother said that since she turned twenty-one, she came to the bars often on the weekends.”

John shrugged. “No more than any of the other kids around here. They come down. Have a few drinks and play pool. Mix with the tourists.”

“Was there anyone in particular you saw Lily with more than once?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Her regular group of friends.”

Who Winslow would have known had she been from here. It was a dig on John’s part. He could have just as easily rattled off the list of friends’ names.

But he didn’t need to. Because Winn did it for him.

“Frannie Jones. Sarina Miles. Conor Himmel. Henry Jacks. Bailey Kennedy. Clar

issa Fitzgerald. Those friends?”

I took a drink to hide my smile as the smug expression vanished from John’s face.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

“Did you notice Lily with anyone else?” she asked. “Like a boyfriend?”

“No. She wasn’t that sort of girl. She’d come down, have a drink or two. Always responsible about calling a cab or catching a ride with a designated driver. I can’t think of a time when she left here with a guy.”

A crease formed between Winn’s eyebrows, like she was disappointed in that answer. What was she after? Conor would know if Lily had been seeing someone. So would Melina.

“Anything else?” John asked. “I need to check on the other tables.”

“No, thank you. I appreciate the help and it was nice to meet you.”

“Same.” John tapped on the bar, then left to take another order.

“What are you after?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

“Like I said on the ridge, I just want to retrace her steps and figure out what she was doing before she died. But sounds like she wasn’t here.”

“John would know.”

Winslow took another drink, then dug through her pocket, pulling out a twenty. “Bye, Griffin.”

She slapped the cash on the bar and headed for the door.

I ditched my beer and followed, catching up to her before she’d even stepped outside. “Let’s head to the Old Mill. Maybe she went there.”

“I don’t need an escort,” she said but fell in step beside me down the sidewalk.

“The two bars on Main bookend the touristy section of Quincy.” The Eloise Inn was almost exactly in the middle. “Want to know why?”