Leo was asleep in his crib, his small body curled into a tight ball under the blue blanket.

His breathing was heavy and congested, a symptom of the bromide Mrs. Higgins had been slipping into his food.

I walked over to the crib and looked down at his pale face.

His eyelashes were dark against his cheeks, wet with perspiration.

I felt a sudden, fierce wave of protectiveness wash over me.

I had come into this house to find out what happened to my predecessor, but now I was the only thing standing between this little boy and a slow, agonizing death.

I reached into my apron and pulled out the stack of letters.

I needed to hide them immediately.

If Mrs. Higgins or Dino searched my room, they would find them.

I looked around the nursery.

The room was filled with expensive wooden toys, stuffed animals, and shelves of children’s books.

I walked over to the large rocking chair in the corner of the room.

It had a thick, tufted cushion attached to the seat with leather ties.