“Somebody who needed to use the phone," Jane said, then fell silent as the two of them shamelessly eavesdropped on the half of the conversation going on in the kitchen.

“Listen, Anita," Maisie Valkenberg was saying firmly, "somebody's really fallen down on the job. The phone line isn't installed and I'm having to impose on the neighbors. My medical kit did not come out on Harry's truck like you promised me it would and I've already had a grip with a bad splinter. I had to borrow tweezers and peroxide from makeup. This is not the way to run things and I'm going to be talking to the producers in a few minutes. You don't want me unhappy, Anita. I can raise a really big stink if I need to. Safety regulations scare the money people half to death, you know.”

There was a moment's silence, presumably while the downtrodden Anita tried to defend herself. Maisie briskly fired another barrage of threats at her before hanging up.

“Take notes, Jane," Shelley said in an undertone. "You might try that technique on Thelma."

“I'm really sorry to have bothered you this way," the visitor said, peeking her head in the living room door.

“It's no bother at all," Jane said. "Do you have a minute to sit down? You look like you could use something hot to drink. Coffee? Tea?"

“Oh, what a good, good woman you are!" Maisie exclaimed. "Coffee, please. As hot as you can make it. Craft services aren't set up yet either.”

Jane and Shelley exchanged bewildered looks. "What does that mean?" Jane asked.

Maisie had come into the living room and was methodically stripping off layers of clothing: her padded jacket, mittens, a muffler, stocking cap, cable-knit sweater. A trim, pretty woman of about forty-five, with springy dark hair, flashing eyes, and a red turtleneck over jeans emerged from the extra clothes.

“I'm sorry. Craft services is the snack area in movie-ese. That's what's going into your backyard here. I really do apologize for bursting in here so rudely. I didn't even ask your name."