Tom spun in his seat to stare back at Amos and Daisy leaned forward to hear more. “You wired money to Pastor? What’s your attorney’s name?”

Amos leaned back, eyes wide. “That was thirty years ago. You won’t be able to find that money. Can you?” he added as a stunned afterthought. “That attorney was really old in 1989. I’m sure he’s long dead by now.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Tom said excitedly. “It’s another place for me to start hunting.”

Amos’s frown deepened. “I can’t remember his name, though. I haven’t thought about this in too many years.” But his brow remained furrowed, thinking so hard that Mercy could almost hear it. “His name was like food.” His lip curled a little in distaste. “Something gross that I didn’t like, but that my grandfather did. It was a joke between them. Every Christmas the lawyer would send my grandfather a case of the stuff. It came in little cans and you spread it on sandwiches. Like Spam, but not. Had a . . . devil on it.”

They all stared at Amos, completely confused, then Daisy broke the silence.

“Oh, oh!” Daisy exclaimed. “I know this one! Is it Underwood? Like the deviled ham?”

Amos snapped his fingers. “That’s it. Underwood.” He made a face. “I hated that stuff. I had to pack deviled ham sandwiches in my lunch for months after Christmas because my grandfather never let food go to waste.”

Rafe turned to stare at Daisy. “How did you know about that?”

Daisy made a face identical to Amos’s. “My stepmother loved it, and it keeps forever, so we always had it on hand.”

“What are you doing?” Gideon asked Tom, who was now typing frantically on his laptop.

“Starting a records search on that attorney,” Tom answered. “This could be really important, Amos.”

“I hope so,” Amos murmured. “It’s the least I can do after everything.”

Mercy squeezed his hand. “You’ve already helped. You warned us about DJ and gave us information we didn’t have before, like Pastor’s name. The FBI knows who murdered poor Ginger too, so stop kicking yourself.” Which was easier said than done, of course. Mercy knew that better than most, so she changed the subject. “What about the safe-deposit box key, Tom?”

“Warrants are being signed off as we speak,” he said. “Hopefully we’ll know what’s in it by the time we get back to Sacramento.”

“He’ll be expecting me to have a key,” Mercy said grimly, bringing her mind back to the confrontation ahead. “What if it comes down to that? What should I do?”

Rafe pulled out his own key ring and slid off a key. “This opens my safe-deposit box in Sacramento. It won’t look exactly like his, but it may be close enough that you can fool him momentarily. And sometimes momentarily is all you need.”

Mercy took it and put it in her pocket. “Thank you.”

Rafe pursed his lips, then whispered, “Promise me you won’t confront him.”