Chow Down (A Melanie Travis Mystery)

Terry had gone back to the grooming tent after the Minis had finished, but Peg had stayed behind to watch the Standard judging. “You’re beginning to sound like a cynic.”
    “Make that a realist,” I said. “I didn’t see you showing under her.”
    “You’re right about that,” Aunt Peg admitted. “On the other hand, I hardly show under anyone anymore.”
    Now that Peg was judging more frequently, she was concerned about the perceived conflict of interest in exhibiting under her peers. Instead, agility had become her new love. She and her Poodles had begun to compete in trials all over New England.
    “I shouldn’t complain,” said Bertie. “Gina got two points. Her owners will be thrilled. I’m just sorry my other dog got robbed.”
    Back at the setups, Terry was drinking a diet soda. Crawford had disappeared again. I deposited the Mini I was carrying onto a grooming table and said, “So?”
    Three pairs of eyes turned my way.
    “Brando?” I prompted.
    Surely I shouldn’t have had to remind them. Before Crawford had interrupted us, both Peg and Bertie had looked like impending doom at the mere mention of the Boxer’s name. Our half-hour break to show dogs—admittedly the reason we’d come in the first place—hadn’t been exciting enough that I would have forgotten that .
    “Oh right,” said Bertie. She was running the end of a comb through the Standard Poodle’s topknot, popping out the tiny colored rubber bands that had held the elaborate structure in place. “Bad news there.”
    “He belongs to Ben O’Donnell,” said Aunt Peg. As if that explained everything. Which of course it didn’t.
    Since my relatives weren’t proving to be much help, I turned to Terry. His Minis were back in their crates. The silver Toy was lying daintily on a folded towel, awaiting his turn in the group. And Terry was plucking at the Maltese again.
    “Who is Ben O’Donnell?” I asked. “And if you want to throw in a little information on Brando, I wouldn’t mind that, either.”
    “Ben’s an actor,” said Terry.
    “He was an actor,” Bertie corrected. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of him. Moments in the Sun ?”
    “The soap opera?” I asked. “Definitely not my thing. I work during the day, remember? What else might I have seen him in?”
    “There was a corn chip commercial,” said Terry. “And another for a new pickup truck.”
    “That one was a hoot,” Bertie said. “Ben was dressed up in cowboy boots and a big hat, and cows were milling around everywhere. Bear in mind we’re talking about a guy who thinks that suburbs are the wide-open spaces. He looked pretty silly trying to walk bowlegged and pretending he was chewing tobacco.”
    “I saw that,” said Peg. “Ben looked like he was afraid all those cattle might stampede and take him along for the ride. And I don’t think he ever managed to drive the truck.”
    “Okay, so he’s an actor,” I said. “Perhaps not a very good one. And Brando’s a Boxer. There must be more to the story than that. Is Brando a good dog?”
    “It doesn’t matter,” said Bertie. “He doesn’t have to be. Ben only shows to women judges.”
    “He’s very hetero.” Terry sighed. “More’s the pity.”
    I was beginning to get the picture. “And very good-looking, I assume?”
    “Enough to put a championship on a Boxer with a bad bite.”
    Ouch. “So Ben is handsome. And he apparently doesn’t mind manipulating people. Anything else?”
    Aunt Peg nodded. “Bertie was probably correct to talk about Ben’s career in the past tense. At one point when he was younger and starting out, it seemed as though anything at all might be possible: parts on Broadway, character roles in movies, Shakespeare in the Park. But somehow years went by and none of that ever came to pass.”
    She paused for breath, and Terry took up the explanation. “After the stint in the soap opera, Ben’s career pretty much stagnated. In any other business, he’d be in his prime. And Lord knows, the man looks good . But as an actor in his early forties, he’s already a has-been.”
    “Don’t let Ben hear you say that,” Bertie warned. “He’d probably lop your head off and hand it to you on a plate. Facing reality has never been Ben’s strong suit. His career might be fading, but he’s not going down without a fight.”
    “Which brings us back to you,” said Peg. “And this contest offering national exposure to the winner. Everybody knows how desperate