Albert hired a young man to help us, Miss Gilly.

Good. You should hire some help too, Olivia. My hair fell forward as I pulled on my black leather boots.

Merrick stalked back and forth across the room, his jet-black tail straight in the air.

Hes got no business hiring a stranger to poke around here, Olivia stated darkly, her age-spotted hands crossed over her little white apron, starched so crisply it crinkled when she touched it.

Good point, Merrick meowed.

Merrick, hush. I turned back to Olivia. You need help. You could yell the truth about me at the top of your lungs and no one would believe you. Best case scenario, youd find yourself in a psychiatric ward popping happy pills. Wed had this conversation so often we knew our lines by heart.

I slipped on my black leather jacket then tugged my hair out of the collar. My heels clicked on the gleaming wood floor as I headed for the door.

Hes downstairs, Olivia informed me, as she nudged her wire rim bifocals up on her nose with her index finger.

Who?

That young heathen Albert hired.

Young heathen? My hand on the knob, I turned. Why?

He wants to meet you.

Why? I love Olivia. She and her husband Albert Morris, who acts as butler, gardener and majordomo have practically raised me. My mother died when I was born, another little codicil of the pact my long dead Grams struck.

Needless to say, no one in the family is in a big hurry to get pregnant, but somehow these things always happen. Birth control has no noticeable affect on the first born daughter in the Stone family.

But back to Olivia, she is the most pessimistic soul the gods ever created. She relishes bad news and takes good news as a personal affront. But behind the dire facade beats a heart of pure gold. Theres nothing she or Albert wont do for me.

Because he wants to know who hes working for. He wants to interview you. She rolled her eyes and stressed the next to last word.

Interview me? I jerked my head up. Well, isnt that interesting. I plucked a cat hair off my designer jeans.

You just watch yourself, missy, she warned, her thin chest heaving in righteous indignation.

What do you mean?

Youll see, Olivia predicted. She turned and took a swipe at the gleaming, spotless chest of drawers with her dust rag. There was no getting anything out of Olivia when she took that tone.

Where is he?

Hes waiting in the vestibule.

Uh oh. Olivia hadnt even put him in the sitting room, not a good sign.

I looked at Merrick.

His shoulders rippled as he gave a feline shrug. Can we get this over and get going?