“Did he try to make it so that you didn’t have to marry Ephraim?”

“He did. He was supposed to get a new wife after I was married, because I’d done the cooking and cleaning after Mama went to Ephraim’s. But he didn’t get one, at least not for the year I was with Ephraim. I think they punished him by giving the woman to someone else. I’d forgotten about that.”

“I think you blocked a lot of things out. Probably kept you sane.”

“My shrink says the same thing.” She began typing again. “We also made dolls.”

He frowned, trying to keep up. “Dolls?”

“Yes, the girls made them. Dolls and some ceramics. Some quilts, too. A lot of them had a tree or an angel hidden somewhere.”

Rafe sat up straighter. Dolls, quilts, and furniture were things they could track. “Did the leaders know you all were hiding Eden symbols in your crafts?”

“I don’t think so. It was always done with a wink, you know? And we had our own signatures. Nobody spoke of it, because it would have been considered vanity and that was a sin. So we just did it and planned to claim ignorance if we got caught.” She typed more, paging through catalogs and Pinterest boards, her expression growing more intense as the minutes passed. And then she blanched, the color in her cheeks draining away.

“What?” Rafe asked, unable to maintain his silence a moment longer. “What do you see?”

Again she turned the laptop and again Rafe was impressed by the quality of the workmanship. The quilt was a starburst design, with Mt. Shasta front and center, the sun either rising or setting behind it. “That’s incredible,” he said.

“I know.” She traced a fingertip over the photo of the quilt. “I remember this one, actually. It was made by one of Mama’s friends.” She sighed. “Eileen’s mother.”

Eileen, who’d escaped back in November only to be kidnapped by a serial killer the following month. Abruptly he wondered if Eileen’s family had been killed by Eden as well, or if they were being tortured like Mercy and her mother had been.

“Where is it?” he asked, wanting to comfort her, but having no clue how to do so.

“The quilt?” She scanned the screen. “Here’s the user who tagged it.” She looked up, her eyes suddenly bright. “We could contact them and ask where they bought it. Same with Amos’s furniture.”

He grinned at her, in perfect accord. “Let’s make up a dummy account and send out a few e-mails.”

She grinned back. “Let’s.”

SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

SUNDAY, APRIL 16, 6:30 A.M.

Ephraim lounged against the pillows on Granny’s bed with a satisfied grin. “Yes,” he hissed to the article on his laptop screen. It was titled 10 Things to Know About Mercy Callahan, and had, at least for a little while, included a damning video showcasing Mercy’s inner slut.

He’d banished his fury at the thought of Mercy willingly submitting to another man’s sexual demands when she’d been so unresponsive with him, but then felt vindicated when he read her more recent boyfriend’s “colder than a fish” statement.