Are you sure this is what you want out of life? Someone with your…strengths must have other options.

Her strengths. Right. Smiling and looking pretty—exactly what every woman needed for a long and fulfilling medical career.

“I was just returning Mrs. Orson’s dog to her before I start my shift,” Ruby said in as sweet a tone as she could muster. She’d learned a long time ago that the best way to get around Harry was to ooze docility and then turn around and do exactly as she pleased. “No need to worry—I don’t plan to put in for overtime. I’m happy to do these little extra errands for the residents.”

Harry gave her an appraising look. Although his personality was decidedly rodential, he looked like a walrus. This was due mostly to his mustache, which was bristly and patchy in the most unattractive possible way.

“What did you do to the dog?” he demanded. “He looks the same as he always does.”

“Wheezy is dying,” Mrs. Orson announced in much the same manner that she regularly foretold her own demise. “He has six months left to live, and Ruby here is doing her best to ensure that his final days are happy ones.”

“Mrs. Orson—” Ruby began, but she was quickly cut off.

“We’ll go to our graves together, Wheezy and I,” Mrs. Orson announced. She allowed her hand to start trembling again and held it to her chest. “Speaking of, I can feel a spasm coming on. Be a dear, Harry, and fetch my heart pills from the medicine cabinet, won’t you?”

Harry’s mustache gave an excited twitch. “Of course, Mrs. Orson. Anything you say, Mrs. Orson.”

Ruby waited only until he’d ducked inside the small house before speaking. “You know he’s going to steal half your pain medication while he’s in there, right? You shouldn’t let him wander around without supervision. None of you should.”

Mrs. Orson laughed. It was always such a delight to hear that robust sound coming from such a tiny body. “Oh, honey. You think we don’t know what he’s up to? We may be old, but we’re not dead.”

Ruby could only stare at her.

“Sugar pills and baby aspirin, that’s all he’ll find in our cabinets. The real stuff—the good stuff—is hidden with the cleaning supplies. No man is ever going to look twice at a box of scrub brushes. You can quote me on that.”

“Mrs. Orson! If you have proof, you should report him. I’ve tried to do it a dozen times, but no one believes me. They think I’m after attention.”