It pays to be paranoid around here.

Sheriff Suggs’s words echo the entire time. That place is beginning to sound more like a damn cult …

It’s evident I’m not going to get anywhere with her tonight. At least she knows who I am. She knows I’m a fellow rule breaker. While those two things don’t exactly make us kindred spirits, she knows the door is open if she wants to talk.

I finish the sandwich and head for the ladies room. Inside a stall, I pull out my cell phone, call up a map app and punch in the address for Rebecca and Levi Beiler. They live a few miles south of Roaring Springs. If I hurry, I’ll make it before dark.

I’m loathe to go back outside and into the cold, but I don’t have a choice. Pulling on my gloves and wrapping my scarf around my head and neck, I go through the door and get on the scooter. I’m losing daylight, so I set a brisk pace, traveling back through town where the lights of The Dutch Kitchen glow with warm light. The Calico Country Store windows are darkened, but I can just make out the pretty window display and, thinking of the time I spent there earlier, I’m warmed.

Main Street forks at the east end of town. I go right and set a fast pace toward Bear Creek Road. Despite temperatures in the twenties, I break a sweat beneath my layers of clothing. Two miles into the trip, I shake the scarf from my head. Another mile down the road and I catch a whiff of cattle and manure. I round a curve and the dairy farm comes into view. The two-story brick house sits atop a hill. A split rail fence surrounds a large yard crowded with blue spruce. Despite the lack of formal landscaping, the abundant trees and rustic fence make the old house a pretty sight to behold.

I turn into the long lane and muscle the scooter bike through snow. A big white barn stands tall behind the house. In the side pen, a dozen or so Holstein cattle stare at me through the fence rails, bawling. The big sliding door stands partially open and I wonder if it’s feeding time. Maybe a good chance to catch Rebecca alone inside.

Leaning the scooter behind a hay wagon loaded with loose timothy, I follow the sidewalk around to the front door and take the steps to the porch. The daylight is waning, the cloud cover ushering in dusk earlier than usual. There’s no lantern light inside and I hope I haven’t missed them.