Page 93 of Indigo Ridge (The Edens 1)

“Other than the fact that he’s losing his damn mind and no one seems to care that he drives around town with rifles in his truck window? No.”

So Griffin and his family weren’t the only ones who’d noticed Briggs’s dementia. I kept my mouth shut because it wasn’t my business.

Frank put his hand on my shoulder. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m all right. Tired.”

“How about you head on home? I’ll stick with Covie for a while.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. But maybe charge your phone so I can actually get ahold of you if something happens.”

I nodded. As of last night, I vowed to never let that phone go dead again.

The two of us walked into Pops’s room, and after a long hug goodbye, I left him with Frank and headed for the parking lot.

Except the moment I slid behind the wheel, my brain decided to go into hyperdrive. There’d be no napping, not after what Frank had just told me.

Was Frank just out to create drama today? Or had Briggs abused his wife? Griff had been so forthcoming about Briggs’s dementia. Why wouldn’t he mention anything about Briggs’s ex-wife? Unless maybe Griff didn’t know. Depending on when Briggs had been married, that might have been when Griffin was a little kid.

But Briggs was the only person who lived anywhere near Indigo Ridge. His mental health was deteriorating, and if he had a history of violence, well . . . that changed everything.

I pulled out of the parking lot and drove to the station. Word around Quincy had traveled fast and I was inundated with questions about Pops when I walked through the door. Janice was practically in a panic.

After assuring everyone that he was fine, I retreated to my office, where I closed the door and logged on to my computer.

Pulling a background check on Briggs Eden felt like a betrayal. My skin crawled as it loaded and I squirmed in my seat. But the moment the report appeared on my screen, I began sifting through the information.

Birthdate. Addresses. Phone numbers. Known relations. And then the criminal record.

It was empty. No domestic abuse. No speeding tickets. No

t even a parking ticket in the past ten years.

I closed the screen and stared, unfocused, at my desk. “Huh.”

Maybe Frank had it wrong.

I picked up a pen for no reason other than to tap it. The steady click, like the sound of my fifth-grade piano teacher’s metronome, grounded my thoughts. It let me block out the noise and just . . . think.

If there had only been a minor scuffle, no actual abuse, then it was unlikely the police would have been notified to arrest him. Or maybe if Briggs’s wife had only told Rain. Maybe she’d kept it secret, fearing for her safety.

I grabbed my phone from my purse and pulled up Griffin’s name, my finger hovering over the screen. But I set it aside.

This was his family. His life.

If he didn’t know about Briggs, this was not how I wanted him to find out. Not from Frank’s gossiping. If he did know, then there was a reason he hadn’t told me about it.

Tonight. We could talk about it tonight.

After I made a visit.

Guilt plagued me as I drove out of town. A knot formed in my belly the closer and closer I got toward the ranch. By the time I turned onto the gravel road that led to Briggs’s cabin, I was sweating, even with the air conditioner blasting.

Griffin had known for a while now that I’d planned on talking to his uncle. I’d told him as much the day he’d brought me Lily Green’s boots. So why did I feel like I was breaking his trust? He couldn’t come along. This was an official visit.

This was me doing my job.