Clare attributed the sense that she was being watched to her general uneasiness. Standing in the McGeochs' barnyard, struggling to make light conversation with Russ Van Alstyne's sister, was not her idea of a fun way to spend a Friday morning. She kicked out her ankle-length skirt, surreptitiously checking to make sure she hadn't marked the black cotton with dust-or worse-from the barnyard. She had a Eucharist to celebrate at noon, and she didn't want to show up smelling like cow manure.

"So," Janet said. "I'm pleased Amado is working out for you. I mean, with his broken arm and all."

"Mmm." Where was the kid? Janet had called the bunkhouse's phone right after Clare arrived. That had been ten minutes ago. He knew they needed him at the church today. Or at least she thought he did. Giving him directions by reading out of a Spanish-English phrase book left room for misinterpretation.

"So… how's the lady who was driving them-him? The nun."

"Sister Lucia. She's in rehab in Glens Falls. Broken hip. She sounded mighty peeved about it when I called her. They're keeping a close eye on her. She was pretty banged up for a woman her age."

"Ah. Good." Janet shoved her hands in her jeans pockets. " Elizabeth 's down in Albany for a conference?"

"Diaconate training." And what was with Janet? When they had met in the hospital, she had been to-the-point and self-assured. Very… Van Alstyne-like, Clare supposed. Now she was as jumpy as the proverbial long-tailed cat.

"It said in the paper you're having a choral concert tonight." Janet twisted around as she spoke, looking in the direction of the old bunkhouse, hidden from their view by the massive barn.

"Yeah. Last one of the season before the choir disbands for the summer." Clare blinked. It wasn't her imagination. That shadow, the one between the side of the barn and the milk tank. It had moved. "Janet. Is that… Amado?"

The shadow detached itself from the barn and walked into the sunlight. No, not her employee. This clean-shaven man was a half-dozen years older, broader at the shoulders, with two whole muscular arms and the grimly determined expression of someone carrying out an unpleasant duty.

"My," Clare said. "You certainly got those legal replacement workers fast."

Janet's mouth opened. Clare could see her casting about for a denial. Then she shut her mouth. Her face collapsed into lines of guilt and anxiety. "You can't tell. I mean it, Clare, we could be seriously screwed if you told."

Clare sighed. "How long have they been here?"

"The first one got here the morning after the accident. The last one"-she flicked her fingers in the direction of the man crossing the barnyard toward them-"got in two days later."

"Did you check their papers?"

"Of course we did!" Janet ran her fingers through her blond hair. Clare could see where her roots were coming in, sandy brown and gray like her brother's. "They were all fakes. Just like the one Agent Hodgden showed us."

The man was almost to them. "Janet, have you and your husband thought this through? I mean, not just about the fines or what all you'll be liable for. What about Russ?"

"What about him?"

Clare put her hands on her hips. "Playing dumb doesn't suit you."

Janet exhaled. "He's not going to find out. We keep them out of sight if someone's here."

"Oh. You mean, like right now?"

"He's not supposed to come into the barnyard if he sees-" her voice switched abruptly from panic to control. "Hola, Octavio. ¿Qué pasa?"

"Señora McGeoch," he said. His dark eyes flickered toward Clare. She could see a resemblance to Amado, in his aristocratic cheekbones and his nose like an adze. She remembered what Paula Hodgden had said, about groups of men coming from the same village. If it was anything like Millers Kill, they were all related in some degree. "Señora Reverenda."

She nodded. "Hola."

"Raul y yo cercábamos el pasto lejano-" He broke off. Looked at the expression of incomprehension on Janet's face, an expression Clare knew was mirrored on her own.

"I fix fence. Encontré un hombre muerto." He spoke slowly and clearly. "Hombre muerto." He pointed past the barn, once, twice, three times. A long way that way.

Janet gaped. "A dead man?"

He nodded. "Dead." He held a finger like a gun next to the back of his head. "Man." He gestured toward himself, then expanded his arms, as if he were growing larger.

Bloating, Clare realized.

"Oh, my God." Janet's knees buckled. Clare and the man-Octavio-caught her by her arms. "Oh, my God," Janet repeated. "Oh, my God."

"Octavio," Clare said, "El hombre es muerto con-" she couldn't begin to guess the Spanish word for gun. She shifted, so she could support Janet with one hand, and made the same gesture he had, finger and thumb. "Bang-bang?"

His lips twitched, but he kept from smiling. "Sí. Bang- bang. Allí hacia fuera lo están por un rato." He pinched his nose and waved his hand in the air, as if dispelling a foul smell.

"No-uh, ¿Muerto naturale?"

He shook his head. "Bang-bang." He touched the back of his head again and, for a second, something moved behind his eyes. The photographic image of horror, that, Clare knew from personal experience, would never, ever leave him. She reached out and squeezed his forearm. He looked at her, surprised.

"Are you okay?" She hoped her quiet tone would convey everything she couldn't communicate with words.

His expression eased. "Estoy bien. Gracias. I am okay."

A nasty thought occurred to her. "Janet, are you sure every one of your missing workers showed up?"

Janet nodded. "Well, unless there was an extra man coming along they hadn't told us about."

"El hombre. Es anglo? Or-um-Latino? Un amigo?"

"No Anglo. Latino. No amigo. Un extranjero."

"A stranger?" Clare said. The man-Octavio-looked at her steadily. Across the barrier of language, she suspected they were both thinking the same thing: If it isn't one of the McGeochs' workers, who could it be?

"Oh, my God," Janet said again. "Somebody's killed an illegal on our land. What am I going to do?"

Clare shook her. "First, you're going to stand up." Janet took a deep breath and got her legs underneath her. "Then, you're going to call the police."

"I can't! What am I going to say? That my illegal employee whom I should have turned in to the ICE found a body on my property?"

Clare frowned, thinking. "It may not be important who found the body." She turned to Octavio. "Did you touch anything? Touch," she mimed poking, picking at, opening, "el hombre?"

He shook his head. Held up his hands. "No."

"Okay, then." She looked at Janet. "What was Octavio doing and where was he doing it?"

Janet took another deep breath. "He's our foreman. He and one of the other men were stringing electrical fencing. Out at the farthest pasture. About three miles from here, right up against the mountain."

"Is that a job you can do?"

"Of course." Janet's face cleared. "Of course! I was the one who found the body."

"Okay. Take Octavio with you to show you where, and as soon as he's done that, he can take off." There was a small voice in the back of her head suggesting that none of this was a good idea. She ignored it.

"I can stop by the bunkhouse on the way out and tell the hands to hide."

Clare raised her eyebrows. "They're in the bunkhouse?"

Janet looked down at her sneakers. "That's the drill if anyone pulls into the barnyard. Get out the back of the barn as quickly as possible and go to the bunkhouse."

Clare shook her head. "You have got to find some way of getting these guys papers. There's no way you can carry on like this for the entire summer." She rubbed at the back of her neck, where sweat was gathering beneath her dog collar. "I suppose Amado is hiding out there?"