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upon row of numbers appeared on the computer screen in front of him. Somewhere in Schuyler Kimball's well-tended, high-tech, state-of-the-art, billionaire world, there was a rat stealing millions of dollars worth of cheese. And even if it took Leo the rest of the year to do it, he was going to find that rat.
    And then, cool as a wheel of Edam, he was going to trap it.
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Chapter Three

    Lily was in the kitchen, stealing a few moments to brew herself a much-needed cup of tea, when she heard the scream. And not one of those run-of-the-mill, oh-great-what-now kind of screams, either. But a truly horrific, straight-from-the-darkest-part-of-the-soul scream.
    And she muttered, "Oh, great. What now?" As usual, a second scream quickly followed the first, and she rolled her eyes heavenward, giving her tea bag a few more quick dips before withdrawing it from the cup to squeeze out the excess with her fingers. As she licked those clean, she used her other hand to add two teaspoons of sugar and a healthy dose of milk to the brew. The third scream—right on schedule—came just as she finished stirring, and she sighed wearily, knowing her much needed cup of afternoon tea would be cold by the time she returned. Again.
    She took a moment to shrug back into her suit jacket and tuck her feet back into her shoes, then made her way toward the stairs at the back of the kitchen. Predictably, a fourth—and hopefully final—scream serenaded her as she began her ascent toward the back of the house where her own room was. Her room, and Mrs. Puddleduck's room, too.
    Of course, Mrs. Puddleduck's name wasn't really Mrs. Puddleduck. It was something else that only
sounded
like Puddleduck, but Lily could never remember what it was. At any rate, Schuyler had hired the woman a few months ago—against Lily's recommendation to the contrary—to be Chloe's nanny. Even though, at fourteen, Chloe was a bit too old to have a nanny. Even though what Chloe really needed was a companion of equal measure. Like a wolverine, for example. Or that masked butcher from the "Halloween" movies. Or Hermann Goering. Someone along those lines.
    "Coming, Mrs. Puddleduck," Lily called out mildly as she topped the last stair that led to her and the nanny's quarters, hoping that would prevent another bout of screaming. Nevertheless, she hastened her stride toward the other woman's room. Which was good, because she was opening her mouth for yet another bellow just as Lily entered.
    The apartment was nearly identical to her own, painted a creamy shade of pale yellow, with ivory lace curtains covering both of the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on the garden behind the house. A huge, oval-shaped, hooked floral rug spanned the entirety of the room, not quite obscuring the honey-toned hardwood floor beneath. The furnishings were simple but beautiful—a full bed with an embroidered ivory-on-ivory coverlet, a dresser and bedside table, a rocking chair and armoire, all crafted of exquisite bird's-eye maple. The mid-afternoon sun spilled through the windows to cast a warm, golden light over it all, dappling the room with lacy shadows.
    Yes, Lily noted with a fond smile, not for the first time, this room at Ashling was pretty much exactly like her own. Well, except for that small slimy… thing… surrounded by a pool of clear, pungent… stuff… in the middle of the other woman's bed.
    She approached it cautiously, striving for a sympathetic smile at the quivering nanny, but there were times when Lily found it difficult to be sympathetic toward the other woman. She looked to be only in her fifties, but she dressed and acted like a centenarian. A boring, stuffy, self-defeating centenarian, at that, and not one of those eccentric, fun-loving centenarians who jumped out of airplanes and drank whiskey and called octogenarians "Sonnyboy" or something like that. Still, Lily supposed no one was perfect. And who knew what kinds of things lurked in Mrs. Puddleduck's background,