Nell Quist opened her workshop door with a hammer in her hand.
“Which one wants my drawings?”
Jian held up the case. “I’d like to pay you to explain this joint.”
She looked at the case, then at him.
“That’s a more expensive opening.”
“I brought a written offer.”
“Come in.”
Her workshop smelled of warm oil and wood shavings. A half repaired mangle occupied one bench. On another, somebody had left a clock in pieces beside a note that said STILL LOSES TIME. Nell had added a question beneath it.
