Page 62 of Indigo Ridge (The Edens 1)

“Have you seen anyone else up there?” My question came courtesy of Winslow’s doubts.

“No. It’s always just me. Why?”

“Just curious.”

If Briggs had seen someone, would he even remember?

We finished our waters and I took the glasses to the sink, looking out over the yard.

Briggs had been busy, keeping the grass around the house trimmed. He’d put in a small raised garden bed. The beginnings of vegetables sprouted from rich, black soil. Around it was a tall deer fence, seven feet high in hopes they wouldn’t jump it and eat his crop. There was a pair of cowboy boots next to the fence, each filled with dirt and a ruby red flower.

“Love the boots, Briggs. Clever idea.”

He chuckled and stood from his seat, walking over to stand beside me. “Thought it was pretty clever myself. Pretty nice pair of boots but way too small for my big feet. Found them on a trail a while back. Felt like a waste to throw them away, so I decided to turn them into my flowerpots.”

My stomach dropped. “You found them?”

“Yeah. Was out shed hunting.”

“Where?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Some trail not far from here.”

A trail on Indigo Ridge most likely. Because there was pink stitching along the brown leather shaft. There were plenty of men’s boots with pink stitching, but the delicate square point of the toe box and the arch of the heel . . . those were women’s boots.

Winslow had been looking for Lily Green’s shoes.

> The sinking feeling in my gut said I’d just found them.

“We’d better get going,” I told Mateo. “Thanks for the water, Briggs.”

“Stop by anytime. Gets lonely up here.”

I nodded, my throat thick. “Hey, do you mind if I borrow those boots for a spell? Mom might like to do something like that herself.”

“Not at all. If she likes ’em, she can keep ’em.”

“Thanks.” I left the house and grabbed the boots.

They were dusty but on the newer side. The leather on the vamp and instep was stiff. I put a finger through each of the pull straps, hoping not to leave a bunch of fingerprints behind, then hauled them to my truck.

“Uncle Briggs is messed up.” Mateo blew out a long breath as we started down the road. “The whole drive up here he kept calling me Griffin.”

“I’ll talk to Dad.” Again.

“Think he’s got what Grandpa had?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

“What’s going to happen?”

“I don’t know.” But if Dad didn’t act sooner rather than later, I’d step in and do what needed to be done.

Briggs needed to see a doctor. We needed to know what we were dealing with here. Maybe medication would help. Maybe not.

I drove us back to Mom and Dad’s place, dropping Mateo off at the shop.

“Are you coming in?”