“Okay,” Rafe said, writing that down. “Who was the man who was allowed out of the compound?”

“Before Gideon left, it was a man named Waylon Belmont. After Gideon left, Waylon died. It was just a few days later.” Her gaze hardened. “His son, DJ, took over his route.”

It took him only seconds to realize what she was saying. He knew the basic elements of her story. He knew her mother had smuggled both Gideon and Mercy out, four years apart. He knew that whoever had driven them had let Gideon go, but had shot Mercy and killed their mother.

Waylon had let Gideon go, but Waylon’s son, DJ, had shot Mercy, leaving her for dead. Rage exploded inside Rafe, but he shoved it back. He had a name now. He’d get more later. And he’d find DJ Belmont eventually, and make the man sorry he’d ever been born. But not today. Not now.

Now she needed him to help her dredge up her worst memories. So he made himself nod levelly, addressing a less obvious element of her statement. “Waylon helped your mother get Gideon out. And then he died a few days later.”

She blinked at that. “I guess so. I never made that cause-and-effect connection before.”

“How did he die?”

She looked troubled. “I don’t know. It was sudden and I remember Amos being devastated. Well, mostly because Mama was gone because Gideon had ‘betrayed’ us, but also because he and Waylon had been friends for years. Amos wasn’t a Founding Elder at Eden, but he was among the first to join up. Waylon would sell the . . .” She trailed away, her gaze suddenly gone somewhere else.

Rafe perked up. “Would sell what?”

“Furniture,” she said thoughtfully. “Amos was a carpenter. He built the houses and made furniture for new families in Eden, but he also made furniture to sell. He had a very specific style—and he marked each piece with a little olive tree. Y’know, for Eden.” She abruptly focused. “Can I use your laptop?”

“Of course.” He grabbed it from the little end table, typed in his password, then handed it to Mercy.

She typed quickly, frowned, then typed some more while Rafe watched her intently. After more than twenty minutes, she looked up with satisfied triumph. “Like this.” She turned the laptop and he leaned in close to see. “Found this on Pinterest.”

“Oh wow.” There were three photos, one of an amazing wood table, a second photo showing the intricate carvings on each leg, and the third, the stylized mark of a tree carved into a corner of the table’s underside. “Just like Gideon’s tattoo and the locket.”

She nodded. “Amos told me once that he’d designed the symbol and had carved the model for the mold that Edward McPhearson used to use to produce the lockets. But it was our secret. He told me a few days before my wedding. Told me never to mention it, especially to Ephraim, but that every time I would look at my new locket, I could remember my father. Amos always considered himself my dad.” She smiled sadly. “I called him Papa.”