“You probably wouldn’t approve,” she tells me, “but from where we come from, Detective, it has served us well. Our children are taught that there are consequences for misbehavior. Rules provide the structure for a holy life.”

“What kind of discipline?”

“The usual,” she says. “Spankings when small. That kind of thing. Withholding privileges when older. Extra chores.” Ruth fidgets with her wallet. I notice that she carries no purse. She takes in more air and considers what to say. I give her the space, the time to continue. “We are Christian. Good people. We’re not a part of some fundamentalist group that lives in a commune.”

“I didn’t mean anything by that,” I say, though I did. “I was just thinking about the children. Wondering if you knew what school they attended. It might be the best place to start. We can do that with a phone call.”

She looks at me right in the eye. “There is no school, except what Ida teaches. Her kids, like mine, and like my sister and me before them, are homeschooled.”

Of course.

“All right,” I tell her, getting up, “I’ll drive out to Snow Creek for a welfare check. See what I can find.”

“I’m going with you.”

“Not a good idea,” I tell her.

“You couldn’t find it on your own. I’ve been there. Trust me. You need me to come along.”

I don’t really trust anyone.

“I’m pretty good with GPS,” I say.

“That won’t help you. It’s my sister. I have to go.”

I give in. “Fine. You’ll stay in the car the whole time. All right?”

She agrees.

I still don’t trust her.

After letting the dispatcher know I’m headed out on a welfare check-up in Snow Creek, I poke my head into Sheriff Gray’s office to tell him what’s up, and he mutters something that sounds like approval from the online game he’s playing on his phone.

“You want me to ride along?” he asks, looking up, over his glasses.

“No need. I can see you’re busy.”

He smiles at my jab.

In some ways, though I would never tell him, he’s like family to me. He and his wife have me to dinner occasionally. We exchange not-too-personal gifts for the holidays. Candy. A windsock. A book.

I met him at the academy. He was teaching a class on the intricacies of small-town law enforcement—which it turns out isn’t so intricate after all. The cases I’m assigned here are mostly domestic violence and property crimes. The domestics are easy. The property crimes almost never get solved. Meth-heads are brazen, though lucky too.