II
Clare hoped she would miss Janet when she took Amado back out to the McGeochs' to get the rest of his stuff. It was Memorial Day Monday, after all, and most reasonable people were taking the day off.
No such luck. Russ's sister came running out of the barn as soon as Clare's Subaru pulled in the dusty yard. Clare and Amado hadn't gotten out of the car before the apologies started.
"Oh, my God, Clare, I'm so, so sorry! I had no idea when that man showed up that he was-well, I thought it was odd that he knew Amado, but I was so distracted-when Russ told me, I nearly died, I was so…" Apparently, there wasn't a word big enough, so Janet threw her arms around Clare and hugged her. "Thank God, thank God you weren't hurt. I thought Russ was just being-well, cranky, when he said you're as tough as an army boot, but he was right!" She hugged her again. "Oh, there's Amado!"
Clare listened while Janet repeated her whole apology to the young man, who looked at her with alarmed incomprehension, protecting his cast with his good hand. Smart kid, Clare thought. If she hugs any tighter she'll rebreak that bone.
"I thought, all things considered, that Amado should stay at the rectory after all," Clare said, loudly enough to catch Janet's attention. "The Christies will probably make bail as soon as court opens tomorrow." She made a go on gesture to Amado, who needed no encouragement to escape. He took off around the barn at a trot.
"Are you sure that's safe?" Janet, having disgorged the apologies she must have been holding in for two days, visibly settled. "I mean, what if they come back?"
"It's a lot less likely in the middle of town than out here in a trailer."
Janet ran her hand through her Medium Golden Blond No. 5 hair. "Is it true you broke Donald Christie's nose?"
Clare rubbed her own nose. "I didn't mean to."
Janet whistled. "You go, girl."
Clare held up her hands. "Violence is not the answer, to paraphrase… a whole bunch of people. Including your mother."
"Mmm. So, have you seen Russ since that night?"
Oh, God. What did he tell her? But no. He wouldn't have spoken about the two of them. Or about the bodies they found at the Muster Field. Janet didn't know her John Doe had been reclassified as the first of a series of murders.
She was saved from coming up with a truth that told nothing by the thrum of tires along Lick Springs Road. Janet craned her neck and shaded her eyes. "Shit," she said under her breath.
Clare twisted around to see the squad car speeding down the long sweep of hill toward the McGeochs' barnyard.
"I gotta call the men," Janet said. She raced toward the barn, leaving Clare alone at the end of a train of dust puffs rising and falling in the air.
Her heart rose in her chest to sink again when she glimpsed the red head through the driver's window. Not fair. She wasn't going to hold it against the rest of the MKPD just because they weren't Russ.
"Hey! Reverend Fergusson!" Kevin waved jauntily as he unfolded from his cruiser. "What're you doing out here?"
She gestured toward the barn and, by implication, the bunkhouse that lay somewhere beyond it. "I brought Amado out to get the rest of his things. I'm moving him into the rectory."
Kevin considered that. "Does the chief know?"
She resisted the first comment that came to mind. "I think he's got a little more on his mind than my interim sexton's living arrangements, don't you?"
He hooked his thumbs over his gun belt in a perfect copy of Russ. "Those Christies will be making bail tomorrow, you know."
"That's why I'm out here today. How about you?"
His face lit up. "I suggested we ought to find out what migrant workers might have been in the area last year, when the other two were killed, and the chief agreed with me." His pleased expression wavered. "Well, honestly? He didn't exactly agree. But he's letting me follow up on it." He looked around, taking in the white-paint barn, the harrow and hay wagon and truck corralled between outbuildings, the cows grazing just far enough away to be scenic rather than smelly. "This is my first stop."
At Russ's sister's. Who allegedly didn't have any migrant employees.
"Are you hoping to track down who the two men from yesterday are?"
"Nope. We're trying to track down their murderer." There was a certain relish in the way Kevin said "murderer."
"A migrant worker? You must be kidding. Those men do backbreaking labor six or seven days a week for wages most of us would turn our noses up at. Why on earth would one of them get involved in something like this?"
Despite the absence of anyone else in the barnyard, Kevin leaned in close. "We're thinking… serial killer."
"Oh, please. In Millers Kill? Pull the other one."
He shrugged. "There are three men dead, all of 'em killed in the same way, by a similar weapon, in the space of a year or so. All of 'em left within seven miles of each other. If that happened along the Green River instead of in Millers Kill, what would you think?"
Good Lord. Kevin Flynn is growing up into a real cop. A civilian Humvee drove past the barnyard, its woofer rattling their car windows. This has gotten way too deep. Janet has got to come clean with them.
As if he could read her mind, he said, "Are the McGeochs around?"
"In the barn," she said.
"Thanks." He strode toward the barn while she told herself it wasn't her business and she wasn't going to get involved. This didn't have anything to do with her, or her people, or her church. Except… Sister Lucia had asked her to take care of these men. And so far the only thing she had done to uphold the sister's charge was to keep her mouth shut about their location.
"Wait for me," she called. Kevin paused in the wide doorway and watched as she jogged across the dusty yard. Inside, it was cool and lofty. They alarmed a pair of barn swallows, who fluttered through the mote-hung air before arrowing out the door. The sound of wings echoed in the almost-empty haymows.
"Mr. McGeoch?" Kevin shouted. "Mrs. McGeoch?"
"In here!" The faint answer came from the small doorway set opposite the tractor-wide entrance to the barn. Clare dogged Kevin as he ducked through and they emerged into a long, low cow byre. Clare stumbled, and the young officer caught her by her arm. She looked up and down the center aisle. Cement. Drain holes. The steel-basketed lights hung, one each, at the stall entrances. Her skin went clammy. She swallowed.
"Are you okay?" Kevin let her arm go.