“You only have his word for it that Wheezy isn’t a purebred golden retriever,” Mrs. Orson said. Her voice was soothing in ways that mocked the roiling of Ruby’s blood. “How do we know his test was valid? Was it done in a lab? Was he careful not to cross-contaminate the sample with all the other animals under his care?”

“Mrs. Orson, you don’t understand. It’s not about Wheezy’s bloodlines anymore. I’m starting to think it never was.”

“Of course it wasn’t.” Mrs. Orson patted the couch cushion next to her. When Ruby didn’t sit, she patted harder. “I can feel the bones in my frail, osteoporotic hands starting to crack, dear. Please sit before they break.”

Mrs. Orson’s hands were fine, as Ruby was well aware, but she gave in and sat anyway. There was no telling how far Mrs. Orson would take the farce, and the last thing she wanted was to have to call another medical professional into this house. Look what had happened with the last one.

“There are only two things in this world that my ex-husband loves,” Mrs. Orson said the moment Ruby’s butt hit the cushion. She spoke as one making a formal announcement. “One of them is himself.”

Ruby could guess her line. “And the other is Wheezy?”

Mrs. Orson nodded, a pleased smile folding the lines of her face. That gentle serenity was at odds with what came out of her mouth next. “And since I was too chickenhearted to take the first one, I decided to take the second.”

Ruby turned to stare at her. “You stole Wheezy?”

Mrs. Orson waved an airy hand. “It’s a community-property state. Wheezy is technically half mine. Everything of Norbert’s is half mine, including the money he made running one of the biggest and scammiest insurance companies in greater Seattle. Why do you think I’m so comfortably situated now?”

Ruby could only shake her head. She should have introduced this woman to her mother months ago. If everything Mrs. Orson was saying was true, they had quite a bit in common.

“Norbert had been training Wheezy to appear in dog shows since the day he brought him home.” Her tone took on a narrative lull that encouraged Ruby to relax against the cushions. “Nothing was too good for him. Training, grooming, professional dog walkers, a chef.”

“Wait—a dog chef? That’s a thing?”

“Don’t interrupt me.” Mrs. Orson tapped her pursed lips with her forefinger. “The point is, he lavished more love and attention on that animal in five months than I got in fifty years. Think about that. Fifty years, Ruby. My whole life. My youth. My beauty… Oh yes. You aren’t the only one with a nice pair of legs, so don’t look so surprised. I was quite a dish, back in my day. And I wasted it on that scoundrel.”