She spent her first night on the island in the lovely bed, hugging her happiness to her as she listened to the stars ring and the sea breathe.

She was up before sunrise, eager to begin. While the day’s soup simmered, she rolled out pastry dough. She’d spent every penny she had, including most of the advance and a good portion of her next month’s salary on kitchen tools. It didn’t matter. She would have the best and produce the best. Mia Devlin, her benefactor, would never have cause to regret taking her on.

Everything in the kitchen was precisely as she wanted it. Not as she’d been told it must be. When she had time, she would make a run to the island’s garden center for herbs. Some she would plant outside the windowsill. All cluttered together the way she liked things to be. Nothing, absolutely nothing, in her home would be uniform and precise and stylishly sleek. She wouldn’t have acres of marble or seas of glass or towering urns of terrifyingly exotic flowers without warmth or scent. There wouldn’t be . . .

She stopped herself. It was time to stop reminding herself of what wouldn’t be, and plan what would be. Yesterday would hound her until she firmly closed the door on it and shot the bolt.

While the sun came up, turning the east-facing windows to flame, she slid the first batch of tarts into the oven. She remembered the rosy-cheeked woman who had helped her at the market. Dorcas Burmingham—such a fine Yankee name, Nell thought. And full of welcome and curiosity. The curiosity would have shut Nell down once, turned her inward. But she’d been able to chat, to answer some questions breezily and avoid others.

Tarts cooled on the rack and muffins went into the oven. As the kitchen filled with light, Nell sang to welcome the day.

Lulu folded her arms over her skinny chest. It was, Mia knew, her way of trying to look intimidating. As Lulu barely inched up to five feet, weighed ninety pounds soaking wet, and had the face of a woeful pixie, it took work for her to look intimidating.

“You don’t know anything about her.”

“I know she’s alone, looking for work, and in the right place at the right time.”

“She’s a stranger. You don’t just hire a stranger, and lend her money, give her a house, without at least doing a background check. Not one reference, Mia. Not one. For all you know, she’s a psychopath running from the law.”

“You’ve been reading true crime books again, haven’t you?”

Lulu scowled, an expression that on her harmless face approximated a pained smile. “There are bad people in the world.”