“He wanted to live here,” Eden answered simply. “It’s a good place.”

Mercy tilted her head. The last sentence sounded like a politician’s talking point. Easy to repeat. Full of vague meaning.

“It’s very beautiful,” Mercy agreed. “I grew up on a ranch and loved it. I was always jealous of the town kids, though. Seemed like they didn’t have a quarter of the chores that I did.”

“Everyone here has chores,” Eden muttered, kicking at a rock. “Or a job. I miss my friends and school. This place is boring.”

“But you have school classes here, right?”

Eden rolled her eyes just as Mercy had seen Kaylie do a hundred times. “They’re for little kids. I’m the oldest one here. I don’t want to learn stupid songs.”

“I bet it’s hard being the oldest. My brother Owen always complained that he had to do more work than the rest of us simply because he was the oldest.”

“He’s right. I watch the kids more than Sadie does. She’s always running off to do other things.”

“What does your dad do here at the camp?”

“Whatever is needed.”

That’s not helpful.

“What did he do before you moved?”

“Worked with cattle. He hadn’t worked for a while in John Day. Not many jobs were available. Times were tough for everyone.”

More talking points.

“Pete offered him a job?” Mercy asked carefully.

Eden wrinkled her nose. “No, Dad hadn’t met Pete before he came here. At least that’s what he says.”

Mercy’s ears perked up. “You think your father knew Pete before you moved?”

She lifted one shoulder. “I think so. Who packs up their family and moves without a job lined up? But it doesn’t matter. We’re here to stay.” She exhaled noisily and crossed her arms.

“Sounds like you’re making the best of a dull situation.”

“You have no idea how bored I am.” More eye rolling. She dabbed at a box of the hopscotch with her toe. “My mom and dad had a huge fight before she left.”

Mercy wondered if Eden had no one to talk to about her mom. “I’m sorry. What happened?”

“Mom had planned a trip to visit her sister in Pendleton, and Noah and I were going with her, but then Dad said we couldn’t.” She sniffed and wiped her nose with her forearm.

So much for claiming she was past her mom’s abandonment.

“Did she go?”

She appeared to not hear Mercy’s question. “They yelled and yelled at each other. They had to know that Noah and I heard every word.”

“I’m sorry,” Mercy repeated, realizing the girl just needed someone to listen.

“The next morning, she kissed us goodbye and said she’d be back in a week. She hated to leave us behind, but Dad was being stubborn. She needed to go,” Eden told Mercy earnestly. “She only got to see her sister once a year. They were really close.”

Eden doesn’t want me to be angry with her mother for leaving.

Even though she is.

“I can understand,” Mercy told her. “I went a long time without seeing either of my sisters, and it was awful.” I missed so much over those fifteen years.

“After a few days, Dad packed up the house. He said Mom had decided to live with her sister and wasn’t coming back.” She blew out a breath. The last sentence had tumbled out in a rush.

Mercy battled back her shock.

Eden’s father had moved the children while their mother was gone and made them believe they had been abandoned. Mercy doubted that was the entire story. Jason hadn’t seemed evil when she met him. He’d been a dad concerned for his son’s health.

How concerned can he be if he moved them to this backwoods camp?

She wondered if Eden’s mother was searching for her children. Had she notified the police? Had Jason not told anyone where they were going? Surely the police would have tracked down this family by now.

“Eden, did you get to say goodbye to your friends before you left?”

“No.” She took a quick look around them and leaned closer to Mercy. “I don’t think my dad told anyone where we went. I know he owed some bills. I don’t think he wants to be found.”

“I don’t think anyone who lives here wants to be found,” Mercy stated. “Eden . . . does your mother know where you moved?”

“Of course.”

“You’ve talked to her?”

“Well, no. Dad says she doesn’t want to talk to us, because it hurts too much. It wasn’t easy for her to leave.”

“Why do you think she left?”

“Because they fought all the time. There was never enough money. Dad did the best he could.” She wiped her eyes again.

How lonely is this girl that she’s telling a complete stranger her story?

“Eden.” Mercy waited until the girl looked up at her. “Nothing is harder for a mother than to leave her children, and usually there is a much deeper reason for leaving than fighting with a spouse.”

Do I tell her I suspect her mother is looking for her?

No. I can’t stir up trouble.

“I hate her.” Tears leaked from the blue eyes.

“There’s nothing wrong with being angry in this situation. And there is nothing wrong with loving your mother even though you’re bitter. You can do both.”

Eden nodded, but Mercy doubted her words had penetrated the girl’s grief. Her wounded gaze had ripped something apart inside of Mercy. She set a comforting hand on the girl’s shoulder and then was stunned when the teen immediately stepped close and wrapped her arms around Mercy’s middle, burying her face in Mercy’s shirt.

She has no one.

Guilt touched Mercy as she remembered her idea to get the girl alone to question her about the camp. That could wait for another day. Right now she had a broken teenage heart to console. She patted Eden on her back and let her cry. As Mercy waited, her gaze fell on the odd hopscotch drawn in the dirt. Then she saw it.

It doesn’t have numbers.

Hopscotch had boxes numbered one through ten. These squares were blank.

Cold fear wrapped around her lungs. Do the children not remember their numbers?

No books. Oral lessons.

An uneducated society was a malleable society.

That day they visited the sick boy, Mercy’s mother had been angry because that family wouldn’t help their son. No medicine, no doctors. “If he’s meant to be healed, God will heal him,” the boy’s mother had stated, ignoring Mercy’s mother’s pleas.

He died that night.

Mercy shivered and wondered how the woman’s other children had fared.

Kids would not be left to die as long as Mercy breathed.

Heavy boot steps made her and Eden look up. The lieutenant who had watched Mercy earlier that morning was marching toward them. Eden stiffened, and Mercy tightened her arms around the girl. He didn’t meet their gaze as he passed and strode into Sadie’s cabin, his AR-15 still slung over a shoulder.

Mercy and Eden exchanged a glance.

“Who—” Mercy started.

“Polk!” The lieutenant stepped out of the doorway. “You’re with me.”

Eden let go of Mercy and stepped away, an alarming fear in her eyes.

“Where are we going?” Mercy asked.

“Pete needs to see you.”

“Can it wait for—”

“No. Now.”

“I need to—”

“Hell, woman! Get moving!”

Mercy clamped her mouth shut. Don’t rock the boat.

“My dad said she could give Noah the medicine.” Eden put her hands on her hips, glaring at the man.

Surprise filled Mercy. Is that what this is about? Tylenol?

“She can tell it to Pete.”

He can’t be serious. Mercy considered the uptight lieutenant. She suddenly remembered the name of the actor he’d reminded her of. “Has anyone ever said you look like a younger Kiefer Sutherland?”

Amusement flashed. “Walk,” he ordered.

She walked.

THIRTEEN

That afternoon after the autopsy, Truman rested his chin in one propped-up hand as he studied the bullet hole images from both John Does on his computer screen.

Executions?

Dr. Lockhart’s word echoed in his head. His mind was fixated on the image of these men kneeling as they took a bullet to the head. Had the killer looked them in the eye before he shot? Had the same man murdered both victims?

Truman worried this train of thought was keeping him from considering other possibilities. It was too early to jump to the conclusion of a serial killer in Deschutes County. They could have nothing to do with each other.

Then why does my gut say they do?

He closed the images, rubbing his eyes with both hands. He needed to focus on Eagle’s Nest issues. Speeders. Loose livestock. Minors with alcohol. His priority was the safety of his residents, not looking over Evan Bolton’s shoulder.

Although he appreciated the courtesies Bolton had extended him.

A soft knock on his closed door made him frown. No one in the office knocked like that.

“Come in,” he said loudly, quickly straightening some papers on his desk.