Although Ruby had known this woman for over a year, references to her life before Parkwood Manor were rare. “It sounds like he might have had a good reason,” Ruby said. She would have added more, but she caught sight of a small smile hooking the corner of Mrs. Orson’s mouth. It was the same smile Mrs. Orson had worn the day Harry had been sniffing out prescription painkillers.

“What is it?” she demanded. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Wheezy was his dog. Did I ever tell you that?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“He adored that animal. Spoiled him rotten, which is why you’re having such a hard time with him now. It was always his wish that Wheezy win the West Coast Canine Classic.”

Ruby’s heart gave a pang for the older woman, but she knew better than to let it show. Mrs. Orson wouldn’t appreciate the sentimental outburst. Unlike many of the widows’ homes around here, hers had no pictures of her husband, no reminders of the life they’d once shared.

“Is that why it’s so important to you that he win?” Ruby asked in as neutral a tone as she could manage. “Because it was what your husband wanted?”

Mrs. Orson nodded.

Another thought occurred to Ruby. “Wait—is that also why Wheezy responds so well to Spencer’s command but not to anyone else’s? Because the dog was trained by your husband? Because he only recognizes a specific man’s voice?”

“Well, your veterinarian friend doesn’t sound like Norbert—not literally, you understand—but there’s something about him that feels familiar. His forcefulness, perhaps, or his sense of command. Is your Spencer a tall man?”

Ruby didn’t see what Spencer’s height had to do with anything, but she answered anyway. “Yes. He’s not my Spencer, though. Or a friend. He’s more of a…”

Mrs. Orson cocked her head like an expectant bird as Ruby sought the right term to describe her relationship with Spencer Wilson. He infuriated her. He goaded her. He made her want to dig her heels in and throw things at his head until he was forced to recognize her as his equal. But he also fluttered his long, dark lashes and looked at her as if he wasn’t as averse to the idea of skintight black leather as he let on.

From the way her body suddenly contracted in on itself, she wasn’t averse to that idea herself.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to focus on the more immediate problem of Mrs. Orson and her willingness to give her money to the first friendly stranger who held out a hand. “It doesn’t matter what Spencer is. He’s the man who stands between Wheezy and your husband’s final legacy, and that’s all you need to know.”