Holstering his gun, DJ checked Smythe’s pockets, finding an engraved lighter, a half-smoked pack of Lucky Strikes, and the keys to the Lexus.

Excellent in more ways than one. DJ hadn’t had a smoke in over a month and he’d missed it. He lit up a cigarette and inhaled, feeling his body relax. Now that Smythe was taken care of, he’d finish mounting the camera on the tree outside and get out of here.

Or . . . if the house was truly empty until Mrs. Smythe returned, he could hole up here.

Like Ephraim did in the house across from the Sokolovs?

Well, shit. Except DJ knew there was a wife who’d be arriving home at some point. If he could keep track of the wife’s movements, it could work. For a day or two, at least.

He looked at Smythe’s phone and cursed. It was locked again. But . . . Examining the phone’s make and model, he was encouraged. Some of those phones had a major glitch—the facial recognition software worked even when the phone owner was asleep, unconscious, or even dead.

This, he’d determined on his own and had shared with Kowalski. Kowalski had been very pleased to learn this tidbit.

DJ held the phone screen over Nelson Smythe’s face and, bingo, the phone unlocked. It wasn’t a permanent solution, but he could at least find the wife’s texts and Facebook and figure out where she was. As long as she wasn’t headed to this house anytime soon, it could work.

He scrolled through the man’s phone. She’d gone to her daughter’s house. She’d been gone for a week and would stay through Memorial Day, returning home on Tuesday.

DJ was always mildly surprised when holidays like Memorial Day happened. Only Christmas and Easter were celebrated in Eden. All of the other holidays were either ignored or reviled. Valentine’s Day was ignored. Halloween, the devil’s day, was reviled. Fourth of July was also reviled, as it celebrated the government. Which Pastor said was evil.

It was the best way to frighten and manipulate his congregation.

Why are we moving? The government is coming. They destroyed the Branch Davidians. They will destroy us, too.

He’d believed Pastor’s words until he was seventeen. Until DJ had killed his father and taken over as Eden’s shopper. One glimpse at the real world and DJ had known Pastor’s lies for what they were.

But he still didn’t buy into the holidays. They were only good because sales of narcotics skyrocketed over long holiday weekends.

He’d take Memorial Day, though, if it meant he had the house through Monday. It wasn’t like he planned to stay forever anyway. Just until he could figure out where Mercy was living.

The Smythes appeared to communicate through texts. There had been no calls between them, either incoming or outgoing, which was encouraging. It was less likely that the wife would be worried if her calls went unanswered, and as long as the dead man’s face continued to unlock his phone screen, DJ could text back, keeping her from becoming suspicious.