Prologue

Sanderson, Idaho. A bustling little town on Route 12, several hours from the border with Washington, nestled between the national mountains and forests of the state. It wasn’t the most direct route to the ideal camping and hiking spots, which ran further north and south, so only locals really frequented the town.

What the town lacked in tourism, it also lacked in telecommunication, which was a few decades behind the rest of the country. This suited the population just fine, as the aforementioned hiking and camping were the primary past times of the town.

My wife’s family lived here. Rather, they had founded the town. Generation after generation, the Sanderson women led the town fiscally, spiritually, and, as my wife put it, morally.

Her great-grandmother had established the Sanderson Church, focusing on community and charity.

Her grandmother had founded the Sanderson Private School for Women’s Enrichment and Etiquette, providing young women the skills and opportunities to flourish.

Her mother, the mayor, had fought off the advances of major corporations, mostly, and allowed the local shops to thrive and develop the downtown area into something reminiscent of the 50’s. Soda shops, tiny bookstores, cafes, all of these lined the clean streets and made the town feel homey.

I say this now, but it had driven me crazy when we’d first moved here. Everything was so slow-paced, and everyone was in everyone’s business. As a city boy, it had been a hell of a transition. But I had come to love the freedom I had found here.

Amy and I had met in Boston while we were in undergrad and married shortly after graduating. We lived in Houston for many years and had both come to love the bustle of the city. That was, of course, until the recession of 2007.

Amy lost her job as an accountant, and I was put onto part-time with my consulting firm. Between rent and a toddler, we just couldn’t afford it. Her mother had insisted we move to Sanderson. They set us up with a house, got the girls into the Sanderson school, even got Amy involved in the Sanderson Church and various charity organizations. Her sisters, Candice and Bethany, were over all the time to help and support us, even as they managed their own families. They were over so often that our daughter, Allie, practically thought of them as parents. We grew so close, that I could never imagine moving away.

It was all perfect. Or so I thought. It wasn’t until much later that I realized what churned beneath the surface.