He would. The man was drawn to drama like a serial killer to the scene of his own crime.

“Hello, Harry,” she said, using the same sweet voice she always used to placate him. It was harder to do now that her hands and arms felt like they were on fire, but this was what she’d been training her whole life for. There would be no fidgeting, no sign of distress; she was nothing but a perfect smile and inherent grace. “I’m so sorry you had to come all this way. If you’d called first, I could have saved you the trouble.”

“Fuck me!” A grimace twitched the bushy ends of his mustache. “What happened to your face?”

She ignored him. She’d had plenty of time while trying not to watch Spencer flush out Wheezy’s digestive track to examine herself in the bathroom mirror. The sight wasn’t a pretty one. Either her allergy to chrysanthemums had gotten worse with age, or there was something particularly potent about Mrs. Orson’s crop, because it looked as though she belonged in the infectious ward.

Unlike Harry, however, Spencer had yet to say one word about it. He was much too busy for that. In addition to the enema—which would, he said, need to be repeated in about eight hours—he’d administered active charcoal to settle the dog’s stomach and absorb the worst of the toxins.

“I know I’m off the clock, but I felt it was my duty to stay and offer a hand,” she said. At a nod from Spencer, she handed the syringe back to him. “This is Dr. Wilson, Wheezy’s vet.”

She’d hoped that the introduction would stop Harry from asking questions and pushing himself in where he didn’t belong, but like the bathroom floor remaining intact, it didn’t work.

“I’m going to need you to take a drug test before you head home,” Harry said. “In case you’ve forgotten, it’s against policy to indulge in narcotics with the residents.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what the policy was regarding stealing narcotics from the residents, but Spencer had tilted his head and was staring at her. He was far too intelligent a man not to pick up on the pedantic way Harry was treating her.

So this is it, then. The dark confession, the ugly truth, the way it all would come to an end. Ruby was finally going to be outed as a liar and a fraud, and Harry motherfucking Gunderson was going to be the one to do it.