The subject in question breaks into a grin, strides quickly across the office, and embraces Hodges. He squeezes, but lets go in a hurry when he sees Hodges wince. “Jesus, sorry.”

“You didn’t hurt me, just happy to see you, my man.” His vision is a little blurry and he wipes at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“You too. How you feeling?”

“Right now, good. I’ve got pills for pain, but you’re better medicine.”

Holly is standing in the doorway, sensible winter coat unzipped, small hands linked at her waist. She’s watching them with an unhappy smile. Hodges wouldn’t have believed there was such a thing, but apparently there is.

“Come on over, Holly,” he says. “No group hug, I promise. Have you filled Jerome in on this business?”

“He knows about Barbara’s part, but I thought I’d better let you tell the rest.”

Jerome briefly cups the back of Hodges’s neck with a big warm hand. “Holly says you’re going into the hospital tomorrow for more tests and a treatment plan, and if you try to argue, I’m supposed to tell you to shut up.”

“Not shut up,” Holly says, looking at Jerome severely. “I never used that phrase.”

Jerome grins. “You had be quiet on your lips, but shut up in your eyes.”

“Fool,” she says, but the smile returns. Happy we’re together, Hodges thinks, sad because of the reason why. He breaks up this strangely pleasant sibling rivalry by asking how Barbara is.

“Okay. Fractures of the tibia and fibula, mid-shaft. Could have happened on the soccer field or skiing on a bunny slope. Supposed to heal with no problem. She’s got a cast and is already complaining about how it itches underneath. Mom went out to get her a scratcher thing.”

“Holly, did you show her the six-pack?”

“I did, and she picked out Dr. Babineau. Never even hesitated.”

I have a few questions for you, Doc, Hodges thinks, and I intend to get some answers before my last day is over. If I have to squeeze you to get them, make your eyes pop out a little, that will be just fine.

Jerome settles on one corner of Hodges’s desk, his usual perch. “Run through the whole thing for me, from the beginning. I might see something new.”

Hodges does most of the talking. Holly goes to the window and looks out on Lower Marlborough, arms crossed, hands cupping her shoulders. She adds something from time to time, but mostly she just listens.

When Hodges is done, Jerome asks, “How sure are you about this mind-over-matter thing?”

Hodges considers. “Eighty percent. Maybe more. It’s wild, but there are too many stories to discount it.”

“If he could do it, it’s my fault,” Holly says without turning from the window. “When I hit him with your Happy Slapper, Bill, it could have rearranged his brains somehow. Given him access to the ninety percent of gray matter we never use.”