Our gazes met. It seemed an entire conversation took place in that one glance. Each of us saw what we needed to know.

What are their names? Psycho and Killer?" He shook his head. "Cupcake and Twinkie." My mouth dropped open. "You're kidding." A grin flitted across his lips. "Afraid not." If naming them after dessert snacks had been Miss Marva's attempt to make them seem cute, it wasn't working.

After a universal silence, Leo was the first to speak. “Did anyone else notice—” “Yes,” Catherine said. “What do you make of it?” “I haven’t decided yet.” Leo frowned and took a sip of port. “He’s not someone I would pair Bea with.” “Whom would you pair her with?” “Hanged if I know,” Leo said. “Someone with similar interests. The local veterinarian, perhaps?” “He’s eighty-three years old and deaf,” Catherine said. “They would never argue,” Leo pointed out.

I'm not short," Daisy muttered. "Short women are never mysterious, or elegant, or pursued by handsome men. And they're always treated like children. I refuse to be short.

It was unfair that people who longed for love the most, searched the hardest for it, found it so elusive.

Easy, Marks,' he whispered. 'One of us has to have some self-control, and it really should be you.

One of the servants had reported that Daisy had been sneaking around the house at night, deliberately tripping all the traps to keep the mice from being killed. “Is this true, daughter?” Thomas Bowman had rumbled, his gaze filled with ire as he stared at Daisy. “It could be,” she had allowed. “But there is another explanation.” “And what is that?” Bowman had asked sourly. Her tone turned congratulatory. “I think we are hosting the most intelligent mice in New York!