Chow Down (A Melanie Travis Mystery)

sporty-looking kennel trim. Her face, feet, and the base of her tail were clipped close, and a dense blanket of short black curls covered the rest of her body.
    Was Ben that ignorant about the mores of showing Poodles or was the question intended to psych me out? I wondered. He’d certainly wasted no time in letting me know that his dog was still showing—and winning.
    “Faith is retired,” Aunt Peg cut in smoothly. “Rather like one of the other competitors, MacDuff.”
    “I see. She’s an older dog, then.” His lip curled slightly.
    “No,” I said, ignoring the implied insult. “Just one that finished very quickly.” It was a lie, but what the heck. I figured Aunt Peg would back me up, as well she should. The only reason Faith had taken a while to achieve her championship was because I’d been new and hadn’t known what I was doing. “You know how it is. When they’re that good, they seem to be in and out of the ring in a flash.”
    “Well then, I guess I’ll just have to meet her Monday morning.”
    “Monday morning?” I echoed.
    “At the reception Champions Dog Food is hosting for the five finalists. Didn’t you get the e-mail?”
    My bad. “I don’t always check my email on weekends,” I admitted. “I’ll have a look when I get home.”
    “Do that,” Ben advised. “You and Faith wouldn’t want to miss that all-important first opportunity to wow the judges.” He nodded to the others and left.
    I waited until Ben was out of earshot, then said, “That didn’t go too badly.”
    Terry snorted. “The man wiped the floor with you.”
    “He did not.”
    “He came close.” Bertie was shaking her head. “You’re going to have to ramp it up a notch if you want Faith to beat Brando.”
    “Not to mention MacDuff and Ginger and . . .” Aunt Peg turned to Bertie for guidance. “What’s the Yorkie’s name?”
    “Yoda.”
    “Yoda?”
    “Don’t yell at me. I didn’t name her. I think it’s an ear thing. You know.”
    “No, I don’t.” Aunt Peg didn’t sound like she particularly wanted to, either.
    The three of them spent the rest of the afternoon plotting—unsolicited, mind you—my potential plan of attack for the contest. I spent the rest of the afternoon mostly ignoring them. Bertie and Crawford showed their other dogs. Then, for the first time I could ever remember, Crawford and Terry packed up and headed home before Bertie was done for the day.
    “Doesn’t that seem odd to you?” I asked Bertie, as the Bedford Kennels van drove slowly away from the grooming tent, bumping from rut to rut as it crossed the grassy field.
    “What?” She was busy prepping a Cocker Spaniel to go in the last group of the day.
    “That Crawford and Terry have left and you’re still here.” With Poodles having finished, Aunt Peg had left, too, but that didn’t strike me as being nearly as strange as this did.
    “Maybe they were showing fewer dogs than they usually do.”
    “That’s my point. That’s unusual, too. Crawford didn’t have any Standard Poodles entered. Think about it. Crawford’s Standard Poodles are his showcase dogs. He loves showing them. When was the last time you saw him at a show and he didn’t have any entered?”
    “I don’t know.” Bertie shrugged. She was relatively new to Poodles. She probably hadn’t noticed.
    “Today he only had little dogs. Easy dogs. Not only that, but he was awfully crabby, didn’t you think?”
    “For Pete’s sake, Mel. Crawford’s always crabby when Terry doesn’t keep his mind on business. Where are you going with this?”
    “I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I’m just thinking out loud.”
    “Well, for once, try thinking a little less, okay?”
    Advice worth living by, if only I could ever manage to do it.

5
    I t was a good thing it was summer, otherwise it would have been dark by the time I got home. As it was, Sam and Davey were able to show me the progress they were making on the tree house. A foundation of beams had been laid across the span between two sturdy branches, and most of the floor was in place.
    For the time being, a ladder was providing access to the project. Sam had left it leaning against the trunk of the tree and while I examined their handiwork from the ground, Davey scrambled up and maneuvered himself out the thick branch and onto the partially completed frame.
    My first, automatic response was to call him back down; but then I reconsidered. Years spent as a single mother had honed my