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beyond the garden the land turned to rolling meadows.
    Tom and Brandon found Hollinger on his fence line, lifting rails and shoving them back into slots in the posts. The contested fence between the Hollinger and Kelly properties was a simple post-and-rail that was easy to take apart and just as easy to put back together, but either chore would be time-consuming. Each section had three thick rails made of pine branches, six feet long between posts. About a hundred yards of rails, stretching down a slope, lay in the grass. A mixed flock of about forty brown and white sheep grazed nearby, ignoring the call of the wild that had led a few of their sisters to wander when the fence went down.
    Hollinger looked up as Tom and Brandon approached. Pausing in his work, he wiped sweat from his face with a handkerchief. Despite the chilly November day, he had hung his denim barn jacket on a fence post and rolled up his shirt sleeves. A tall man in his sixties with thick white hair, he looked fit and strong. And not the least bit rattled by the appearance of two cops on his property.
    Tom relaxed a little. “Hey, Jake.”
    “Hey, Tom. And you’re Brandon, right? The Connollys’ boy?”
    “Yes, sir,” Brandon said.
    “Haven’t seen you since the election, Sheriff.” Hollinger stuffed the handkerchief into the back pocket of his jeans and offered a hand. “Congratulations. The best man won.”
    “Thanks.” Tom shook his hand, feeling the strength of the older man’s grip and the calluses on his palms. “By the way, we saw some of your ewes in the road on our way over. I ran them back into a field.”
    Hollinger blew out a sigh. “Those girls never pass up a chance to go exploring. Usually they come back on their own. If they don’t show up soon I’ll go find them and give them a ride home in the truck.”
    “They’re over on the Kelly property.” Tom glanced to his left, but the stand of evergreens hid the Kelly house from view. “How long have you been working out here?”
    “Just came out. I’ve been at the mill, and when I got home and started making my rounds, I found this.” Hands on hips, Hollinger scowled at the dismantled fence. “Fourth time this month. He even managed to get one of the posts out of the ground. I thought I was securing them when I sunk them in concrete.”
    “He?”
    “You know who I mean.” Hollinger flung a hand toward the Kelly land. “You here to take my complaint?”
    “No, I came by to find out if you heard any gunshots in the last hour or two.”
    Hollinger displayed no surprise or interest. He turned away from Tom and hefted one of the pine rails off the ground. “Nope. Like I said, I was at the mill. Somebody going over their limit for turkeys?”
    “I’m afraid not,” Tom said. “Somebody shot Lincoln and Marie Kelly in their backyard.”
    The rail dropped from Hollinger’s hands and landed on the ground with a thud that Tom felt as a vibration under his feet. “God damn,” Hollinger said. “Are they all right?”
    “No.” Tom watched the man’s face for his reaction. “They’re both dead.”
    Hollinger stared slack-jawed at Tom for a moment. He raised a hand, scratched his head. “God damn,” he repeated. “Who did it?”
    His shock appeared genuine, but if he was the shooter he’d had time to prepare for Tom’s inevitable visit. “We don’t know yet. Have you seen or heard anything out of the ordinary today? Any voices, shouts? Any strange vehicles passing by?”
    “No. My God. This is unbelievable.” Hollinger pulled the handkerchief from his pocket and swiped his face again. “Was it a burglary or what?”
    Tom ignored the question and asked another. “Why were you at the lumber mill today? I thought you retired and turned it over to your son.”
    “Yeah, I thought so too.” Hollinger seemed distracted, his gaze fixed on the trees in the distance that shielded the Kelly house. “But every time he screws up an order I have to go straighten it out