“Goddamn it.”

She merely pointed her finger at him, narrowed her eyes. “When I’m gone you can turn the air blue around here, but until I am, you’ll watch your language.”

“Yes, ma’am. Mrs. H-”

“And don’t give me those puppy dog eyes, Fox O’Dell. We’ve been through all this.”

They had, and he could feel her sorrow, and her fear. Dumping his own on her wouldn’t help. “I’ll keep the F-word jar in my office, in memory of you.”

That made her smile. “The way you toss it around, you’ll be able to retire a rich man on the proceeds of that jar. Even so, you’re a good boy. You’re a good lawyer, Fox. Now, you go on. You’re clear for the rest of the day- what’s left of it. I’m just going to finish up a couple things, then I’ll lock up.”

“Okay.” But he stopped at the door, looked back at her. Her snowy hair was perfectly groomed; her blue suit dignified. “Mrs. H? I miss you already.”

He closed the door behind him, and stuck his hands in his pockets as he walked down to the brick sidewalk. At the toot of a horn, he glanced over and waved as Denny Moser drove by. Denny Moser, whose family owned the local hardware store. Denny, who’d been a balletic third base-man for the Hawkins Hollow Bucks in high school.

Denny Moser, who during the last Seven had come after Fox with a pipe wrench and murder on his mind.

It would happen again, Fox thought. It would happen again in a matter of months if they didn’t stop it. Denny had a wife and a kid now-and maybe this time during that week in July, he’d go after his wife or his little girl with a pipe wrench. Or his wife, former cheerleader and current licensed day-care provider, might slit her husband’s throat in his sleep.

It had happened before, the mass insanity of ordinary and decent people. And it would happen again. Unless.