A dusting of snow covers the porch. No footprints, just the paw prints where a cat walked. Two old-fashioned, shell-backed chairs with a plain wooden table between them. Someone left a mug with an inch or so of coffee inside that’s now frozen solid. I cross to the door and rap the wood with my knuckles, then turn to take in the view, listening for footsteps. The wind whispers through the boughs of the spruce trees. At the foot of the hill, a sparrow chatters from atop a fence post. It’s peaceful and pretty here, the perfect place to sit and look out over the land.

When no one comes to the door, I knock again. Vaguely, I wonder if the couple is in the barn, feeding the stock. I’m on my way to the steps to check when I glance through the window to my right. Black curtains cover the glass, but there’s a gap where one of the panels has caught on something and is pulled away. A closer look reveals the curtain rod has come loose from the wall. Odd that someone would leave it like that …

Bending, I peer through the gap. Something on the floor snags my attention. At first glance I think it’s a dog, lying on a rug. As my eyes adjust to the semi darkness I discern a hand against the wood plank floor. A burst of alarm in my gut. Instinctively, I reach for my radio, but it’s not there.

“Shit. Shit.”

The first thought that strikes my brain is that someone has had a heart attack or succumbed to carbon monoxide poisoning. The latter scenario is all too common in the winter months, when people use kerosene space heaters. If the heater isn’t properly vented, carbon monoxide can reach dangerous levels and cause unconsciousness and death.

“Mr. and Mrs. Beiler!” I slap the window with my open palm, then move to the door, striking it with the heel of my hand. “Rebecca! It’s Kate Miller! Open the door!”

I try the knob, but it’s locked. I rush to one of the shell-backed chairs, pick it up and smash the window. The sound of breaking glass seems deafening in the silence.

“Mr. and Mrs. Beiler! Is everyone okay?”

Even as I call out, I drag the chair along the bottom of the window to knock out the remaining shards. Simultaneously, I yank the phone from my pocket and hit the speed dial for Suggs.

Before he can even utter his name, I shout, “I’m at the Beiler farm. I got one person down. Maybe CO poisoning. I see a space heater.”

“I’ll get an ambulance out there. They alive?”

“No one’s moving.” Inside, an Amish female lies on her side in front of the sofa. I can see the legs of a male near a doorway. “Two down, Dan. I’m going in.”