Taking a final look around, she ducked into the first stall and, keeping an eye out for groundhogs, made her way to the rear. The ceiling was low with cobwebs hanging down like dirty cotton candy. She could hear the pigs grunting and moving around in the pens outside, their cloven hooves tapping like heels against the concrete. She reached the nearest hay chute. A quick check for spiders, and she pushed on the heavy wooden hatch with both hands. Dust and dirt and bits of hay floated down to land on her face and shoulders, but she muscled the hatch aside and, standing on her tiptoes, poked her head through the opening.

The barn’s interior stunk badly. There was just enough light for her to make out the pile of loose hay ahead, a lone bale of alfalfa, and some burlap bags full of cracked corn stacked against the wall. Heaving herself through the chute, Sally got to her feet, dusted off her jeans, and looked around. The door that looked out over the pigpens was to her right. To her left was the big sliding door at the front of the barn. There was a flatbed wagon parked just inside. Farther, a window looked out toward the house. She couldn’t believe she’d come this way all by herself. All she had to do now was find some sort of souvenir and then get the heck out.

Her sneakers were silent against the plank floor as she started toward the door that looked out over the pasture and the hogpens below. She caught a whiff of horse sweat and leather as she passed by a harness hung on a nail driven into a beam. Rounding a wheelbarrow full of horse poop and straw, she reached the door and peered out. From where she stood, she could see the mossy green water of the pond and, beyond, the creek. Twelve feet down, dozens of pigs—Hampshire hogs and big red ones with black spots—milled about, packed together by steel pipe fencing. A few of the animals looked up at her, beady eyes beseeching, and she looked around for some hay or corn to toss down.

“I bet you guys are hungry,” she whispered.

She was tugging a tuft of alfalfa from a bale, when the sound of voices spun her around. The big sliding door began to roll open. Gasping, she darted to the hatch, sat down, and stuck her feet through. She was in the process of dropping down, when some men entered the barn. Sally landed on her feet. Quickly, she stood on her tiptoes and poked her head back through the chute, grabbed the hatch, and dragged it back into place, ducking down as she lowered it over the hole.

But she didn’t close it completely. Resting the hatch on top of her head, she peered through the two-inch gap. She couldn’t see much, just three sets of legs, men’s work boots, and trousers.

“Sis alles eigericht,” one of the men said.