KANE TOOK HIS TIME GOING THROUGH THE JEEP, IGNORING the cold. A thickening stream of people headed for lunch passed him, but no one stopped to ask him what he was up to. This lack of curiosity surprised Kane, until he remembered that in small towns people spent a lot of time not poking their noses into their neighbor’s business. That’s how Anchorage had worked when he was a boy, before it grew beyond all recognition. Restraint was one of the things that made small towns work.

He didn’t find so much as a gum wrapper. That was odd. Kane had been through the cars of dozens of young women, and every one of them had been a mess. Either Faith was very neat, or she didn’t want to leave evidence of anything lying around. Or somebody else didn’t.

The driver’s seat was where it should have been for a driver of Faith’s height, and when Kane inserted the key the engine fired right up. He examined the Jeep’s seats with a flashlight, nose to the upholstery, and didn’t find anything. If something bloody had happened to Faith, it hadn’t happened in this car.

He walked back into the building and into the cafeteria. The tables were nearly full, and several women and girls stood behind the long counter, ready to serve. Women seemed like amazing creatures to Kane after his years in prison. Seeing them made him nervous in some way, and talking to them even more nervous. Well, he’d have to get over that. He walked up to one of them, a willowy, dark-haired woman in her thirties with intelligent eyes. She was dressed simply, in a way that neither accentuated her feminine attributes nor hid them. Of course, Kane thought, hiding that shape would take some doing.

“Excuse me,” he said, “I’m doing some work here, and I was hoping to eat lunch.”

“You must be the detective, then,” the woman said. Her voice washed over Kane like a warm breeze. “Help yourself.”

Kane got a tray and loaded it with chicken and vegetables while the woman watched him.

“Excuse me again,” he said when he reached her. “Where will I find a hot drink?”

“I’m afraid we don’t drink coffee here,” the woman said, “but I can offer you a cup of tea.”

“Why one and not the other?” Kane asked.

“Tea is in the Bible,” she said.

“Then I’ll take a cup,” he said.

The woman came right back with a cup of hot water and a selection of tea bags.

“I’m afraid I don’t know enough to make an intelligent choice,” Kane said.

“Try the Earl Grey,” the woman said, “most people like that.”

She turned to go back to her work.

“Excuse me one more time,” Kane said, “but do you know Faith Wright?”

The woman turned and looked at Kane. She had a smile on her face. Kane felt happy to have put it there.

“This is a small community,” she said. “Of course I know Faith.”

“Then, if you can spare the time, perhaps you could talk with me while I eat my lunch,” Kane said.

She came out from behind the counter, and they took seats at the nearest table.

“You know,” Kane said, dropping his tea bag into the water, “I’m certain Elder Moses Wright told me that the community doesn’t allow stimulants.”

“Elder Moses Wright doesn’t run the cafeteria,” the woman said matter-of-factly.

“And you do?” Kane asked.

“Yes, I do,” the woman said with a smile.

Enough of those, Kane thought, and I might get light-headed.

“Then I’m sure the operation is in good hands,” he said, smiling himself.

“Did you ask me over here just to flirt?” the woman asked. “With a woman whose name and marital circumstances you don’t even know?”

“I’m sorry,” Kane said quickly. “I didn’t mean to flirt.”

“It’s okay,” the woman said, placing her hand on Kane’s. “Even we Angels recognize that the difference between men and women is a gift of God.”

Kane slowly slid his hand away, then picked up his fork and began to eat.

“It’s just that I’ve sort of forgotten how to behave around women,” he said at last.

“I’m not surprised,” the woman said. “We were told you’d been in prison. You killed somebody, didn’t you?”

The woman’s matter-of-fact attitude toward his history surprised Kane. It must have shown in his face.

“Don’t worry,” the woman said. She picked up Kane’s spoon, lifted the tea bag from the water, set it in the spoon’s bowl, wrapped the string around it and squeezed. Dark drops fell into the water. She unwrapped the tea bag, set it down on the table, and used the spoon to stir Kane’s tea. “We were also told that you served many years in prison for a crime but were finally cleared by the authorities.”

Kane was sure he was goggling at her by now. She laughed.

“We’re used to talking about sins here, our own and other people’s,” she said. “We have many members who came here to get away from what they’d done elsewhere, to start over. So if you’d like to talk about it . . .”

To Kane’s surprise, he found he wanted to tell her all about the shooting and the years in prison. But he shook his head.

“I don’t think we have time for that right now,” he said. “Perhaps you could tell me what you know about Faith Wright?”

The woman looked at him for a long time. As Kane looked back, he could feel something fluttering around in his stomach.

“Okay,” the woman said, “some other time, then.” She cleared her throat. “I’ve been here nine years now, so Faith was seven or eight when I arrived. She was bright, well-mannered, and seemed to be genuinely happy. She was a good student, and as far as I know didn’t cause her parents a moment’s worry.

“But then her mother, Martha, got sick. You could tell Faith was worried about her. The illness, cancer, moved along, and four years ago Martha died.

“About that time, Faith changed. She was still pleasant and well-mannered, but you couldn’t call her happy. She seemed to go inside herself, somehow. Most people thought she was grieving her mother’s death, but the change was permanent.”

“So you don’t think it was grief?” Kane asked.

“I don’t know what to think,” the woman said. “I have no training in psychology, but Faith’s trouble seems to be something besides grief. Or in addition to it.”

“Is she a popular girl?”

The woman seemed to think about that question.

“As I said, she is polite and quiet, she attends gatherings and behaves well, so I guess you could say she is popular among the adults. But she doesn’t seem to be very close to the girls of her age.”

“How about the boys?”

“Faith is a beautiful girl. She could be very popular with the boys if she wants to be. Several of them tried to get close to her, but she gave them no encouragement and they wandered off. Looking for a better reception elsewhere, no doubt.”

“You don’t seem to have a very high opinion of men,” Kane said.

The woman smiled.

“I’m realistic about men,” she said. “They want what they want.” Her smile got bigger. “But, then again, so do women.”

Kane found himself looking into the woman’s eyes. He felt warm and unfocused, as if she had given him some sort of very pleasant drug. He drank some tea. Its bitterness brought him back to himself.

“Were you surprised when Faith decided to attend school outside Rejoice?” Kane asked.

Again, the woman seemed to think.

“No, I guess not,” she said. “Faith is very much her own person, in a way that few people in Rejoice are. Oh, I mean, we’re all individuals, but in mostly acceptable ways. Rejoice is a place with few rules but strong customs, and going against the customs is something most won’t do. But doing so doesn’t seem to bother Faith.”

“How does she get along with her family?”

“With her father, you mean? They seem to get along all right, but on a superficial level. And sometimes, when he wasn’t looking, she would give him a look that might have been anger. But if she thought someone was watching, she covered it up quickly.”

“You seem to be very observant,” Kane said.

The woman inclined her head and said, “When I came here I saw that there weren’t really any written rules,” she said, “so I watched others to learn. It suited my personality, anyway. I like watching people. I think they’re fascinating. For instance, I think it would be fun to watch you do your investigation.”

“Probably not,” Kane said. “Most investigating is pretty tedious, asking the same questions over and over again. How did Faith get along with her grandfather?”

“All you want is the facts, eh?” the woman said. Again, she paused to think.

“You know, I don’t believe I see her much with her grandfather,” she said. “Oh, they are at meals and gatherings and so on, but they don’t seem to interact very often. Can’t say I blame Faith much. If he were my grandfather, I wouldn’t spend any more time around him than I had to, either.”

“You don’t like Elder Moses Wright?” Kane asked.

“Let’s just say that his view of the world is much more patriarchal than mine,” the woman said, getting to her feet. “I’m afraid I have to get back to work. And you need to finish your lunch before it gets stone cold.”

“Wait,” Kane said. “You never told me your name and marital status.”

“You’re a detective,” she said. “You find out.”

The woman gave him a big smile and walked back behind the counter and into what Kane assumed was the kitchen. Watching her walk made Kane want to jump on the table and howl. Instead, he picked up his fork and finished his lunch, then took out a notebook and wrote some notes on his interview with Thomas Wright. When he read them over, Kane realized just how little the man had told him.

The Montaigne passage came to Kane’s mind. Wright had a contradictory character, all right. It must take some grit to run Rejoice, but when it came to his family he was diffident to the point of timidity. Unless he was hiding something behind his reserve.

Kane added some notes about his interview with the woman, then stretched his cup of tea out as long as he could in the hope that she’d reappear. She didn’t, so he carried his empty cup to the counter and went back to work.

Tom and Faith Wright lived in a log cabin about a quarter-mile from the cafeteria building. Kane decided to walk despite the cold. The sun was making its brief appearance over the mountaintops, painting the snow an almost painful white. As he thought about Faith and Rejoice, images of the woman in the cafeteria kept intruding. Stop acting like a damn teenager, he thought.

Kane kicked the snow off his boots and let himself into the cabin with the key he’d been given. The living room was small and tidy and missing something. A television set, Kane decided. Satellite TV had reached even the most remote settlements in rural Alaska. Few made the choice to forgo television.

The room contained a big, potbellied stove, a sofa that had seen better days, and a couple of chairs that looked handmade. Tacked to the walls were big, bright primitive paintings of tropical scenes, signed “Faith” in a childish scrawl.

Kane went through the room thoroughly, and found nothing but dust bunnies. The kitchen contained basic cooking and eating utensils, some canned and dried food and nothing more. Probably just emergency rations, Kane thought. Who’d cook with the cafeteria so close? He walked back into the living room.

To Kane’s right was a short hallway that ended in a bathroom. Bedrooms were to the left and right. He went into the one on the right and switched on the light.

The bed was covered with a wool blanket and made exactly the way they’d taught him to make one in boot camp. It was only when he opened the door to the small closet that Kane was sure he was in the girl’s room. A single dress hung there, a blue summer dress with white flowers. The rest of the clothes looked as if they’d been chosen for warmth.

The small chest of drawers contained utilitarian underwear, socks, a scant assortment of T-shirts, and a couple of pairs of jeans. A bottle of hand lotion and a tube of lip balm stood on top. Nothing under the mattress or under the bed. No hiding places were possible in the log walls. The floor had no obvious hollow spots. Without a hammer and a wrecking bar, he wasn’t going to find anything else.

Kane ticked off all the things that weren’t there: cosmetics, jewelry, CD player, computer, magazines, posters. The room suited a nun better than a teenage girl. Like the Jeep, it told him absolutely nothing.

“Just what is it you’re hiding behind all of this austerity, Faith Wright?” Kane asked the empty room.

Whatever it was, he didn’t find it in the bathroom, either. It yielded shampoo, soap, and tampons. In frustration, he decided to toss Tom Wright’s room, too. It was as bad as his daughter’s. The only personal items were a pair of photographs in a plain wooden frame on his nightstand. One showed a young, pretty, blond woman holding a baby. Next to her stood a younger Thomas Wright. The other showed a different family in an almost identical pose: a very young, very pretty blond, a baby, and a dark-haired version of Moses Wright.

Moses is definitely next on my list, Kane thought.

He walked back into the living room and stood there, trying to imagine where a teenage girl would hide things she didn’t want found. He looked into the stove, which was full of cold ashes, and into a medium-size wooden trunk, which held a collection of women’s clothes that Kane figured had belonged to Wright’s wife.

I don’t suppose you can afford to throw anything away out here, he thought. Even difficult memories.

He was halfway out the door when he realized there was something else he hadn’t found in Faith’s room. A Bible. There was no copy of the Good Book in her father’s room, either. Or anywhere else in the house.

“That’s strange,” he said aloud.

In fact, the whole situation was strange. And the more he looked, the stranger it got.

I hope this isn’t one of those investigations where I end up more confused than when I started, he thought, and looking like a dope in the bargain.

On his walk back to the main building, he thought about the tidy, empty cabin and how little it had told him. Or how much. It reminded him of his apartment, and his prison cell. None was a home, just a place where people slept and marked time. Maybe Faith got tired of marking time, he thought. Maybe I will, too.