She uncurled lazily and got a bottle of water for each of them out of her mini-fridge. “I would consider a loan, I suppose, for your start-up costs. Say, ten thousand, payable over a period of sixty months at twelve percent interest.”

“I don’t need ten thousand,” Nell said, giving the bottle cap an annoyed twist. “And twelve percent is ridiculous.”

“A bank would charge less, but I’m not a bank and I wouldn’t ask those pesky questions.”

Mia’s lips curved, red and shapely over the mouth of the bottle. “But I prefer an investment. I’m a businesswoman who likes profit. You have a skill, a marketable one, which has already proven itself of interest on the island. With working capital, you can establish a viable business, which, I feel, will enhance rather than compete with my own. I’ve some ideas on that, actually, but we can get into that later. I make a ten K investment, become your silent partner, for a reasonable compensation of, say, eight percent of gross profits.”

“I don’t need ten.” It had been a very long time, Nell thought as she tapped her fingers on the desk, since she’d negotiated fees, contracts. Amazing how quickly it came back.

Ten thousand would be welcome and would eliminate the sweat and worry. But if you avoided the sweat and worry, she thought, you eliminated the glow of satisfaction that came when you succeeded.

“Five will do,” she decided. “For six percent, of net.”

“Five, then, for seven, net.”

“Done.”

“Excellent. I’ll have my lawyer draw up a contract.”

“I’ll open an account for the business at the bank.”

“Would it be less sticky if I took care of that, and the license application?”

“I’ll do it. I have to take a stand sometime.”

“Little sister, you took one months ago. But I leave it to you. Nell,” she said as she opened the door, “we’re going to kick ass.”

She worked like a demon, preparing, planning, implementing. Her kitchen was a hotbed of experimentation, rejections, and successes. Her little office was the scene of hours of late-evening sessions where, on her secondhand computer and printer, she became her own desktop publisher, producing menus, flyers, business cards, invoices, and stationery, all with the inscription “Sisters Catering” and the logo she’d designed of three women standing in a circle, hands clasped.

And every one listed Nell Channing as proprietor and carried her new phone number.

When she finished putting her first sales kit together, she took it, along with the best bottle of champagne she could afford, and drove to Mia’s to leave them on her doorstep.

They were in business.

On the day of the Macey party, Nell stood in Gladys’s kitchen and surveyed the scene. She’d been working on-site since four, and had thirty minutes before the guests were due to arrive.