Chow Down (A Melanie Travis Mystery)

Ben O’Donnell is to make a comeback. I’m betting he sees this as the way to make it happen.”
    “I read the contest rules,” I said. No point in mentioning that I’d read them after the fact. “Chow Down is offering exposure to the winner’s dog, not the owner.”
    “Don’t kid yourself, Ben will find a way to shoehorn himself into the publicity even if he has to handcuff Brando to his wrist.” Terry paused reflectively. “Though now that I think about it, the notion of Ben with a pair of handcuffs—”
    “Terry.” Aunt Peg glared.
    “Yes, ma’am.” He ducked his head.
    “You guys must be exaggerating.” I held up my hands as if forming a scale. “Chow Down dog food?” One hand rose. “Shakespeare in the Park?” The other plummeted. “What’s wrong with this picture?”
    “Plenty,” said Bertie. “And the worst part about it is that Ben and Brando are in it at all. But you don’t have to take our word for it. You can see for yourself what a sweetheart Ben is because here he comes now.”
    “Really?” Peg swiveled to look. I did, too. Then Terry joined in for good measure. Which meant that by the time Ben O’Donnell reached us we were all standing there staring at him like a quartet of idiots with nothing useful on our minds at all.
    I supposed he could be forgiven for tipping his head sideways and staring back. We must have looked rather odd. Not to mention the fact that we’d all suddenly fallen silent at his approach.
    “Ben!” Aunt Peg said heartily into the awkward silence. “Imagine that. We were just talking about you.”
    “Really? Saying only good things, I hope.”
    The actor’s smile was smooth and practiced and, all right, pretty darn appealing. He possessed the kind of rugged good looks that, at one time, would have been perfect for cigarette commercials; I could see why he’d been cast as a cowboy. Idly I noted that he was probably the only person on the show ground with better hair than Terry.
    Whom, as it happened, he was staring at right now. “Nice feathers,” he said.
    “Thanks.” Terry’s grin was cheeky. Like maybe he was hoping the jury was still out on the whole hetero thing.
    Ben didn’t rise to the bait. Instead he turned and focused his attention on me. Beneath the cool shade of the grooming tent, being the object of his regard was like having a beam of sunlight turned in my direction.
    “I know everyone else here,” he said. “Which means that you must be Melanie Travis. I’ve been looking for you.”
    “You have?”
    “Of course. Haven’t you been looking for me?”
    “Umm . . . No.”
    “That surprises me.” His voice was low and smoky. His words sounded teasingly seductive.
    “Why?” So help me, it was an effort to form the thought, much less the word. Behind Ben’s back, Bertie was biting her lip. Terry was laughing at me openly.
    “Because I understand you and I are going to share an adventure together.”
    “We are?” Belatedly I realized he was talking about the contest. Idiot. “So you’re here today checking out the other finalists?”
    “Of course. I’m surprised you’re not doing the same.”
    “I guess I’ve been a little busy since I got to the show,” I said vaguely.
    “I see. I guess that’s where we differ, then. I make time for the things that are important to me.”
    “Maybe the contest is more important to you than it is to me.”
    “Excellent.” Ben smiled again.
    This time I could see the tiny lines that creased his cheeks. They didn’t diminish his appeal at all.
    “It is?”
    “Of course. That way you won’t be too upset when Brando is chosen to represent Chow Down and Faith isn’t. I hate to disappoint a lady.”
    Suddenly, unexpectedly, I felt my competitive juices rising. “Don’t worry. I don’t plan on being disappointed.”
    “That’s the spirit!” Aunt Peg clapped a hand between my shoulder blades and almost sent me sprawling.
    “I understand Faith is a Standard Poodle,” Ben said. “I saw her picture on the contest web site, she’s a real beauty.”
    “Thank you.”
    “I meant to watch the Poodle judging, but I was occupied with Brando earlier. He won the breed, and we’ll be competing in the group later. How did Faith do today?”
    If Ben had seen one of the pictures Davey had submitted, he had to have known that Faith was cut down. She hadn’t worn the labor-intensive continental trim since she’d retired from the show ring two years earlier. Now Faith wore a