“You ought to go into business, Fred of all trades, available to make your life easier.”

“Then I’d have to set up appointments and such, I’d need a secretary and a bookkeeper, and before you know it, I’d be back in business again. Don’t you know I’m retired and I want to stay that way? I should have them done by tomorrow. One good thing about a wooden deck rail, the pots are more easily attached. Just set ’em on top and nail ’em down.”

“True. Thanks for the help and the amazing ice cream.”

He smiled and nodded. “What’s your favorite flavor?”

“Probably blueberry.”

“You’ll get some when the blueberries are ripe.”

“Or peach.” She waved him off. “What can I give you in exchange?”

“I’ll think about it.” Spook barked, he honked, and away they went.

Amalia stared after them. What would they ever do without Fred? Good thing he was healthy.

Chapter Seven

We’re going to need another table.” MJ looked to Maureen, owner of the Yarn Shop.

“At least one. Going to be pretty crowded. I’ll get two, and we’ll have to use folding chairs.”

The back room, which had looked vast when they were setting up, seemed more the size of a storage closet now. Maureen had used it as a gathering spot for knitting lessons, putting a cookie-and-coffee table in the middle of the room and a few clusters of easy chairs here and there, some with arms (for crochet) and some armless (for knitters). She had once talked of inviting in the mah-jongg players when they lost their gathering room at the senior center, but they moved to the basement of the branch library. She had spoken of getting a bridge club going, but it hadn’t happened. The room had never been filled up before. It was now.

Roxie duct-taped down the last of the extension cords that brought electricity to the power strips serving a sewing machine table. She stood up. “Quite an operation; bigger than I envisioned. Do you think we can squeeze one more table in if necessary?”

Maureen shook her head. “I already moved the coffee station out into the other room to make more room for worktables. And I see right now I’m going to have to get more folding chairs from somewhere.”

“From the Lutheran Church on Fifth,” MJ suggested. “They bought new stacking chairs and put their old ones in their basement. I bet they’d love to see them find a good home here.”

As several more people, carrying baskets or bags with their projects, filled the last two tables, the noise level had risen. Those who’d arrived earlier had their coffee or drink of choice and had already begun work on their projects. MJ went around the room, greeting people and handing out stick-on name tags. “Just your first name is fine,” she repeated—and repeated. “And make it big enough for others to read.” She smiled at Roxie, who was on her way to refill the coffeepot. “Who would have thought it?”