I stepped behind a post, looking on in horror when I realized that Peanut was among the others. He was smiling but looked notably less luxurious than the other dogs. His fur hadn’t grown back around his face and ears, and more than one spot on his torso had a raw patch of spotted pink skin showing.

Two veterinarian volunteers took hold of the leashes alongside Summer, who wore the blue lab coat of a veterinarian assistant. I was about to join the great white parade, try to reason with Tom, but Summer warned me off with an I’ve got this expression that froze me to the spot.

My heart broke for the innocent Peanut, who had the same beaming smile as the other grand canines. He had no idea he was about to become a bargaining chip. Katie’s flushed face came to mind, the feel of her warm, soft temple when I kissed her goodbye.

Summer spoke not in her familiar breathless California girl voice but like the other professional staff at the sanctuary. “Hello, Dr. Griffin. I understand you wanted us to deliver the Pyrenees that came in from California. I wasn’t sure if there was a particular dog you wanted, so we brought them all. We’re cleaning the kennels. It’s our time for controlled exercise.”

Griff did an excellent job containing his surprise. The dogs’ heavy panting and occasional yips gave everyone a minute to catch up. Summer smiled a radiant smile, and with that smile, Tom reacted presumably like many men had before him in Summer’s life. He touched his full head of black hair and put out his hand.

“I’m Tom.”

“Sandy,” said Summer, brilliantly thinking to change her name. She handed Peanut’s leash to Griff. It was like watching a clever vet-magic trick. The handoff, the intensity between Tom and Summer-Sandy. The baffled but game Griff and the guileless Peanut. How could I ever have doubted her?

Summer offered her hand to Tom, held his gaze, dropped her head, and batted her lashes. In the fist that still held a leash was Peanut’s doppelg?nger, give or take a tan hind leg and an inch in height. She was offering a different dog to Tom and banking on the guess that he wouldn’t notice.

Breaking gazes with Summer only briefly, Tom said, “There’s my good boy; there’s my Peanut.” He took the new dog’s face in his hands and said, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, buddy.” Tom glanced at the dog before returning to Summer, who smiled charmingly.

The silent volunteer who had sworn off speech had just caught on to this case of mistaken identity. Her eyes darted between Griff and Summer, Tom and Peanut, and if she hadn’t been holding the leashes of two other enormous, wiggling dogs, she would have flapped her hands in a version of sign language or grabbed a Sharpie, scratched out a message on her tennis shoes, and ruined the whole con.

“It’s so fantastic that you want to take Peanut and nurse him back to health in your lovely home. Two women just left who were initially interested in him but didn’t take him because of his bowel challenges,” said Summer-Sandy.

While Tom loved being the hero and praised by a beautiful woman, the phrase gave him pause. “Bowel. Challenges,” he repeated, and I could see him picturing what this kind of challenge might entail.

“Giardiasis,” said Griffin. “It’s a parasite. He’s shedding it. He’s on day two of getting metronidazole.” I could see he was having fun, and that took some of my panic away.

“Doctor?” Summer said, glancing his way. “The mucus is less, don’t you agree? But his stool is . . .”

“Copious.”

“Abundant, I’d say; wouldn’t you, Doctor?”

“Plenteous.” Griffin nodded. “A marvelous green, though.”

I cringed at the image but wanted to shout, Plenteous!

Summer nodded gravely. “It’s a funky parasite, but we got it on the run.” She punched the air with her arm. “Peanut isn’t that bothered when he lets it go. We’ll send a plastic tub with you so you can bathe him. We have buckets of a special shampoo that handles the odor well.”

“Odor.” Tom grimaced as if that was the biggest issue in this conversation.

“Most people want us to finish up his meds and have him shipped . . . ,” Griffin said.

“Is that an option?” All of a sudden Tom was wildly interested in the best care possible for Peanut. “I don’t want to rush him.” The counterfeit dog moved toward Tom, and he stepped back.

“Sum . . . Sandy, can you help me?” Griffin said. “We’ll get Peanut’s records for Tom. Don’t forget the rubber gloves and absorbent pads.”

This was an impressive display of theater, and I felt deep admiration for the cast involved.

Alarmed, Tom said, “Pads. For the camper?”

The real Peanut lifted his nose and spied me hidden out of sight, behind the file cabinets. He barked two sharp barks and pulled on the leash to get to me. I put my finger to my lips to shush him and shook my head no.

Summer pulled a folder from under her arm. “I’ve got some of his records right here,” she said, beaming.

I knew without a shadow of a doubt that was the folder that held the camper’s registration, which she’d been carrying around in her bag this past week.

She held out the tattered folder and said, “The rest of the paperwork can be completed at the visitor center while we finish up with Peanut.”

“Um. You know. I’m not in a rush.” Tom pretended to consider an extremely difficult decision. “Maybe I should do what you suggest.” He arranged his features to display compassion with sympathetic eyebrows and a careful frown. “Leave him here? Have him shipped.”

I saw the audacity of the plan and watched with rapt attention.

Summer retracted the folder slowly, as if not to scare a skittish squirrel. “If you think that’s best.”

Summer and Griffin looked at each other, and Griffin added, “We have big bathtubs here for when things get nasty. You can finish the paperwork online, and we can have him delivered. We have transit vans that go back and forth to LA fairly regularly.”

“Do you drive these vans?”

“I certainly could,” said Summer pleasantly, seductively.

You could see Griffin was enjoying the fun parts of this escapade, but his ethics were being challenged. I adored every minx-like characteristic of Summer in that hot second and knew I would forgive her everything going forward.

“Tom,” Summer purred, “it’s going to be dark soon; you’ll want to get on the road.”

“I have to return my rental. I’m driving a different vehicle home.” If he wondered why no one asked him about having two cars at the sanctuary, he didn’t show it.

“Silly, we’ll take care of all that. No problem. We do everything for our animals and their forever parents. You can rest easy.” She rubbed his arm. “I’ll walk you out. Get the rental car keys and paperwork, and you can hit the road.” Summer slid her hand down the back of Tom’s arm and chattered all the way out the door.

“Look at her go,” I said, impressed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

WILLY NILLY

The side door of the clinic clicked shut.

Griff and the silent volunteer turned their heads in unison to look at me. “What just happened?”

“Tom just got Summer Silva’d. That’s what happened,” I said, suddenly no longer the slightest bit angry at her.

Griff said to the mute volunteer, “I’m assuming no one is cleaning the kennels.”

The volunteer shook her head no.

“Would you please return these dogs to their units? We’ll keep Peanut. The real Peanut.”

The mute volunteer shook her head with great disapproval, turned the dogs around, and walked out the front doors.

“I’m afraid to make a move,” I said. “Do you think he’ll figure it out?”

Griff crept across the shiny linoleum floor to peer out the smoked windows at Tom and Summer. I followed behind, touching the real Peanut’s back, running my fingers through his long fan of a tail. “I guess Peanut doesn’t look like himself,” I said. “The other dog, what’s his name?”

“Rambo.”

“Rambo does look a lot like Peanut before he lost all his fur.” I knew from approaching the windows for the last couple of days that it was easier to see out than peer through the smoked glass into the clinic. This afforded us some cover for viewing the goings-on.

Tom and Summer chatted, and she used every flirty-girl tool in the flirty-girl arsenal. She ran her fingers through her hair, touched her lips, brushed an invisible something off his shoulder.

“Look at her go,” Griff said.

“Yeah.”

Griff and I were so entranced by watching Summer hypnotize Tom that I didn’t hear Holly enter the clinic until Peanut started to whine, and she said in a voice that was decidedly not part of a stealth operation, “What’s going on?”

Griff jumped and let out a girlie scream. Holly had a tiny cat on her shoulder, the same cinnamon color as her own hair. When she saw who we were looking at, she said, “Is that Tom?” She took a step to the door, and I grabbed the cuff of her jeans and hung on.

“That’s our bus!” Holly yanked against my hand. “Does he have Peanut?”

“No. Hol. Peanut is right here.”

She glanced at Peanut, who sat with perfect posture next to Griff like he was getting ready for a photographer. “Is he taking our bus? Is Summer leaving with him?”

“Get down.” I tugged at her leg, and she pulled back.