It was a little after one when the door’s Bing! brought Alice and Martha in, project bags in hand. It was nearly time for the Monday Bunch to meet. The two went to the library table in the middle of the room, but hesitated when they saw the Dazor light.

“What’s this?” asked Alice, a tall woman with mannish shoulders and chin.

“It’s a magnifying light, silly,” said Martha, who was short and plump, with silver hair.

“I know that. What I meant was, what’s it doing here?”

Betsy said, “I’ve set up a sample basket so people can try out fabrics and fibers and stitches, and I’m going to let them do it under the Dazor if they like, so they can see better.”

Alice, who was inclined to blurt out whatever was on her mind, said, “And maybe somehow they’ll get the notion they need the lamp, too?”

“ Alice!” scolded Martha. A brisk-mannered widow in her late seventies, she was an ardent practitioner of Minnesota Nice.

“That’s the idea, certainly,” agreed Betsy cheerfully.

The women had barely taken their places at the library table when the door opened again. This time it was Jill Cross, a tall, ash-blond woman with a Gibson girl face. She nodded at Betsy and Godwin and took a seat at the table.

“Not on duty today?” asked Alice in her deep voice.

“No,” said Jill, opening her drawstring bag and taking out a needlepoint canvas pinned to a wooden frame. It was a Peter Ashe painting of a Russian church liberally ornamented with fanciful domes. She was using a gold metallic on the one swirled like a Dairy Queen cone.

“That’s coming along real nice,” noted Alice.

“Uh-huh.” Jill was normally taciturn, but this shortness bordered on rudeness.

Betsy said, “Something bothering you?”

“Huh? Oh.” She sighed. “All right, yes. I think I told at least some of you that Lars was going to sell his hobby farm.”