I newer realize the depth of my midwestern roots so keenly as when I read John Sandford. In every one of his novels he includes a description or reference which makes me think, "Oh, yes, I know what you mean, or the place you're describing." In this one, near they end, Lucas Davenport describes a motel clerk who speaks with a Fargo accent. The details adds nothing to the plot, but I love such reminders of my old home. This novel begins with a horrifying opening scene, followed by a long flashback to the beginning of Lucas" career as a policeman. I was glad when the narration returned to the present for a thrill a minute (or page) finale. If you're not from Minnesota, or Fargo, you may not enjoy Sandford's books as much as I do, but he tells a gripping tale which you won't want to put down till you're finished.