“Tatting! I thought it was a lost art.

“The year we lived in the apartment she made Christmas tree ornaments for everybody in the building with styrofoam balls and sequins with all this starched, tatted lace. Sounds tacky, but they were beautiful. All those lonely old people in the building were very touched. So was I. I still have mine."

“Then she'll fit right in with the church bazaar crowd. They'll think you imported her especially for their use.

Jane was quiet for a moment. They were approaching the airport, and the sky was full of planes. "Say—the bazaar reminds me of something else. Phyllis was madly in love with Richie Divine. She'll be interested in meeting Fiona—the famous widow. Phyllis has a scrapbook of her favorite stars and another one just for Richie. I thought that was strange, but sort of endearing, that a grown—well, married woman would keep fan scrapbooks.”

Shelley didn't say anything, just rolled her eyes. Jane looked sideways at her, and added, "She also did jigsaw puzzles, pictures of puppies and kittens, and poured glue over them so she could hang them up on the walls."

“Good God, Jane! You can't mean that!" Jane giggled. "No, I just wanted to see if you were paying attention."

“What terminal are we going to?" Shelley asked repressively.

“Damn it, Shelley! I've crocheted the door handle into my afghan!”

Jane didn't recognize the slim, expensively dressed woman who waved at her as she moved forward with the crowd at the arrivals gate. "Is that her?" Shelley asked.

“I guess it must be," Jane said through the side of her mouth. She glanced around to see if perhaps the woman was gesturing to someone standing behind her. But no one was reacting. Jane assumed a smile that was welcoming but not committed enough to embarrass her if this wasn't Phyllis.

The crowd got backed up behind a little girl who had tripped and was screaming bloody murder.