Lila Brooks lived in a white house outside Milford Run, behind her father’s garage. The house was not poor. That was what people said, as if a proper roof and clean curtains meant safety. They had a lawn, a swing in the yard, a doorbell, a kitchen with blue tiles. Her father, Harlan Brooks, had two trucks, customers, a permanent seat in church, and a voice that made men go quiet when he entered a bar.