From the Bookshelf of What's the Name of That Book???…

Stella couldn’t believe it— the little asswipe was still mouthing off to her. After all the effort she’d put in. After laying it all out for him— with extra care, given his evident slow- wittedness— and explaining both what he’d done to get her attention and what the consequences would be of any further mischief. It was bad enough that she’d got the call about him yesterday— one of her sources said she had spotted a fella that looked an awful lot like Roy Dean at the concession stand of the Latham County Speedway, pulling on the long blond ponytail of his companion hard enough that she was crying and trying to get away, while he just laughed— but to give Stella lip? When she’d driven all this way? On her day off?

Stella sighed again and leveled the little Raven about two feet to the right of where she figured Roy Dean to be. She thought about the calendar sitting on her kitchen counter, with its pastel flower borders and its encouraging sayings, and she realized that she was no longer a member of its target audience.

“Fuck serenity,” she said, and shot the trailer.