Irina raised a brow. “I have food for you to take with you,” she repeated.

Joining Irina at the stove to help, Daisy snickered. “Give it up, Rafe.”

Rafe sighed, knowing when to retreat. “Yes, Mom. Thank you, Mom.”

“Abigail,” Irina said, “I have a cake that you will love, but it’s also Mr. Karl’s favorite. Will you go tell him to come to the kitchen? If the movie is almost over, you all can stay to finish it.”

Abigail looked to her father for permission and Amos nodded. “You know where to find the office?” he asked.

“Of course, Papa,” Abigail said with an eye roll that would have made any teenager proud. “I’m not a baby.”

“No, you’re not.” Amos kissed her forehead. “You are growing up too fast. Now go and find Mr. Karl.” When Abigail had disappeared into the hallway, he immediately turned to Mercy. “That woman, Agent Molina. There are things she didn’t tell you.”

“I know,” Mercy said. “She’s like that. I hope she didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

Amos shrugged. “Her interview room was rather terrifying, but better than the back of DJ’s truck, so I can honestly say that I’ve had worse.”

“What did you tell her that she’s holding back?” Gideon asked.

“She seemed most interested in Pastor. She asked a lot of questions, and I gave her what little information I know.”

Rafe sat up straighter and noted Gideon doing the same. This was important. Rafe was after Ephraim—and now DJ—because they threatened Mercy, but the Feds were after Eden as a whole. “Like what kind of information?” Rafe asked.

“I was a member of Pastor’s church. Before Eden.” Amos smiled up at Irina when she refilled his cup with tea. “Thank you. It’s just what I needed.”

Mercy looked taken aback. “Pastor was an actual pastor? For real?”

“Pastor was his name,” Amos said, completely serious. “Of course he was a pastor.”

Mercy bit her lip. “I guess I assumed he was hiding from the law like Ephraim and Edward.”

“They robbed a bank,” Rafe added, not sure if Amos was aware. “Thirty years ago.”

Amos’s mouth fell open. “I didn’t know that. Good heavens.” He sipped on his tea with a thoughtful frown. “But the timing works, I suppose. I joined Eden when I was nineteen. That was thirty years ago and the Eden church was brand-new. I was raised by my grandfather, who had been an active member of Pastor’s congregation before Eden. It was a nondenominational church in L.A. But then, in the late eighties, Pastor was accused of embezzlement, of falsifying his résumé and stealing from the church’s accounts. He’d been the pastor in the L.A. church for at least ten years, and was accused of taking almost a hundred thousand dollars.” His smile was wry. “Which was a lot of money in those days.”

“It still is,” Gideon said. “Did you not believe the accusations?”

Amos sighed. “I didn’t, no. Mostly because my grandfather didn’t. He was one of the church elders and was devoted to Pastor and his family. The church itself was divided on the accusations. About a third believed them true and pushed for Pastor’s ouster. A third stood by Pastor, who maintained his innocence. The remaining third said we were all crazy and left the church. This left only the ‘for’ and ‘against’ groups and they fought for control. It was vicious. I remember some of the members threatening violence on their ‘enemies.’” He finger-quoted. “Finally, Pastor gathered his closest supporters together in secret and announced that he was starting a new church, that if he stayed in L.A. the government would seize his assets and make him an example.”