Especially the adolescent girls.

What was Shaynda’s big sin? Wearing nail polish or makeup? Hanging out at the mall? Breaking away and being with the public-school kids? It seemed so harmless, but not in this community. It would give the locals the wrong idea about the girl, making it hard for her parents to find her a proper shiddach-a match for marriage.

The streets were lined with stores catering to the Jewish trade-kosher cafés, pizza joints and restaurants, kosher meat markets and butchers, produce markets advertising day-old sales, a dress shop featuring discount shaytles-wigs. There were stores that specialized in sepharim, or religious books, and there were smiths that forged esoteric silver objects like torah yads-pointers that a prayer leader would use while reading from the holy scroll. Decker noticed a studio for a sofer-a scribe. Every other establishment seemed to be a schtiebl, or a small storefront synagogue. Maybe some of the places had changed hands, but the overall gestalt of the area was the same-except that the population seemed even more religious than it had been ten years ago. How was that possible?

Jonathan pulled the van curbside in front of a small two-story brick home on a block of small two-story brick homes. This was the house of Lazarus, the abode of Rina’s former in-laws. As always, Decker wanted to wait in the car until it was over. The Lazaruses had gone through the ultimate tragedy, and he always felt as if he were a painful reminder of what shouldn’t have been. Yet, as soon as the motor died, the short, squat couple flew out of the doorway with smiles so wide that they almost bisected their faces. They greeted Decker with a generosity of spirit that defined them as the lovely people they were. Heavy-breasted, apron-wearing, Mrs. Lazarus hugged and kissed Rina; white-bearded Rav Lazarus pumped Decker’s hand with vigor that defied a man of eighty-six. Both of them fussed over Hannah as if she were a blood granddaughter, greeting her with a plate of cookies and several wrapped presents. The little girl smiled, thanking them shyly, calling them Bubbe and Zeyde.

After everyone made nice, Decker took the suitcases into the house. The small living room was hot and stuffy and enveloped in the aromas of chicken soup, roasting meat, and the sweet smell of chocolate-chip cookies, reminding Decker’s stomach that a bagel hadn’t been much of a breakfast. But he’d satisfy the hunger pangs later. He looked at his watch, wondering when he could make a graceful exit. Rina caught it and came to his rescue.

“I know you have work to do. Go. I’ll make excuses.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. The brother’s still dead and the girl’s still missing.”

“Try to have a good time,” Decker told his wife.

“You know, that just might happen. They’ve completely taken over Hannah’s care. They even bought her a TV.”

“That’s right,” Decker said. “These people don’t have TVs, do they?”

“These people!” Rina elbowed him. “Well, now they do have a TV. So there!” Her smile was wide. “I think I’m going to take a hot bath. Then I’m going to relax!”

Decker felt content. It was good to see Rina so happy. She always seemed calm and content in this ultrareligious environment. He had always thought of himself as the one and only giver, the person who had completely changed his ways to please her. Now he was aware that she, too, had adjusted her life to make a home with him. He kissed her modestly on the cheek. “I want you to promise me something.”

“What?”

“That after you relax, you take off your shoes and relax some more.”

Her blue eyes were dazzling. “That’s a very good idea. I’ll see you in about six, seven hours.”

“That’s right. It’s Shabbos tonight.”

“How much can you really find out in six hours?”

“Depends. I’ve solved cases in thirty minutes.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“What’s the longest it ever took you to solve a homicide?”

Decker laughed. “Don’t know. The files are still open.”

Quinton was a town divided. On one side of the main municipal park-Liberty Field-was an upscale upstate rural suburb. Two-story Federal-style brick houses were perched on large lots with SUVs and Mercedes parked in the driveways. Sinuous lanes and roadways were edged by tall trees and old-fashioned street lighting with fixtures that looked like a sprig of flowers. Some of the sidewalks weren’t even paved. There were lots of big sycamores and oaks that would provide much-needed shade in the summer, although they were bare at the moment. The exceptions were the pines, and a few stately early bloomers with budding branches, greening the wood as if it were covered in moss.

Taft, Taylor, and Tyler streets held the local shopping. Lots of the usual names-The Gap, Banana Republic, Star$s, Ann Taylor, Victoria’s Secret, Pottery Barn-chains, yes, but at least they were individual stores, not units housed under one big roof with adjacent parking lots the size of Lake Tahoe. Here, the parking was the diagonal kind-on the streets and free. Decker commented to Jonathan about the absence of a mall and asked where Shayndie found one.

“There’s one in the next town-Bainberry.”

“It’s pretty here… old-fashioned.”

“This side is, yes.”

“This side as opposed to…”

Jonathan stared out the window.

“How far away are we from the religious side?” Decker asked.

“Don’t worry. You’ll know when you’re there.”

Tree studded and filled with multicolored tulip beds, Liberty Field contained the requisite courthouse, the hall of records, the main police and fire stations, and a library. There was also a small lake, a botanical garden, an indoor skating rink, a bowling alley, and a community center, where the Quinton High School production of The Pajama Game was playing.

Traveling past the park, Jonathan steered the van onto a road sided by copses of denuded trees. Minutes passed; then new groupings of houses came into view. These were smaller, less adorned, and more functional. The driveways held cheaper cars and vans-sometimes even two vans. The lots were smaller and barer, and the shopping district was quite different from its upscale cousin. Except for the word “Quinton” every now and then, it could have been interchangeable with the religious stores and shuls and same-sex parochial schools of Boro Park. The residents were also identical, down to the wigs and black-hat dress. It was hard to reconcile the two areas as a single town. Decker asked why the two populations chose to share, when each area had such a distinct identity.

“At this point, the municipality needs every single bit of property tax to keep Quinton going. If the Frummies seceded, there wouldn’t be enough money to keep the services going.”

“Are there problems between the two halves?”

“Yes,” Jonathan said. “But they need each other. There have been some compromises. But there have also been some nasty wars. At the moment, the Frummies want their own school district, but they want the city to pay for it. They don’t understand the concept of separation of church and state. Even worse, they don’t understand why it’s good for them in the long run.”

“They have a point,” Decker said. “They pay in taxes, but don’t get anything back.”

“You’ve been talking to Rina. All the Orthodox like the voucher system.”

“Yes, she likes the voucher system, but she’s come to realize that there’s a point in maintaining a strong public-school system.”

“Well, then she’s a first,” Jonathan said. “The Frummies get the fire department, the garbage pickup, the police department. And lately, there’s been some talk about their using the public schools in the morning, then going to the yeshivas in the afternoon so the yeshivas wouldn’t have to hire teachers for secular studies.”