Chow Down (A Melanie Travis Mystery)

scheduled to be held at the Champions Company headquarters in Norwalk on Monday morning. Though the event was billed as a social occasion, a chance for everyone involved to meet one another, it seemed pretty clear that this would be the first step in the judging process.
    With that in mind, I spent Sunday evening clipping, bathing, and scissoring Faith, devoting as much time to her coiffure as I would have had we been heading to a show. The effort left me feeling like the poster child for ambivalence. I certainly hadn’t intended for Faith to remain a contestant, but now that she had, it had become a matter of pride that she appear at her best before the judges. My Poodle might not win the grand prize, but we weren’t about to give the game away, either.
    The Champions Dog Food Company was housed in a large, boxy brick building located in an industrial zone down near the water in Norwalk. According to the information I’d gleaned from the web site, both manufacturing plant and offices were contained within, though the building’s drab exterior looked more in keeping with a factory than a posh company headquarters. The parking lot out front was surrounded by a chain link fence, its gate manned by a bored attendant who waved me inside without bothering to inquire why I was there.
    Faith and I entered the building through a double set of glass doors, and found ourselves in a reception area that was surprisingly light and open. Potted ferns wafted gently in the breeze created by the air-conditioning. One wall held a waterfall where streams of water trickled down a backdrop of unmatched rocks and pooled in a basin below.
    A middle-aged woman who looked like she’d never outgrown her preppy upbringing, was seated at the reception desk. Her blond hair was held in place by a headband; a light cotton cardigan was knotted around her shoulders. Small pearl studs dotted her earlobes. She stood as we approached and I saw that a border of puppies and kittens were chasing each other around the hem of her A-line skirt. Only in Fairfield County could an adult get away with wearing an outfit like that.
    “You must be Faith and Melanie,” she said.
    I nodded and Faith wagged her tail.
    “We’ve been expecting you. Would you mind signing in, please?”
    “Not at all.” I pulled the book toward me.
    “Can Faith have a biscuit?”
    “Sure, but I’ll have to give it to her. She doesn’t take food from strangers.”
    “Oh.” The woman’s brow furrowed. She lifted a bone-shaped biscuit out of a crystal container on her desk and handed it over. “That might be a problem.”
    I held out the biscuit and Faith sniffed it politely. She realized immediately that it wasn’t one of her favorite peanut-butter snacks.
    “Go on,” I said. “Take it.”
    Obligingly, Faith did. Her front teeth closed over the biscuit. She held it carefully in her mouth, but didn’t bite down.
    “Those are Champions’ best licorice biscuits,” the receptionist said brightly. “I’ve never seen a dog that didn’t love them.”
    Obviously she wasn’t looking down, I thought. I wondered if the entire episode was being captured on closed-circuit camera to be dissected later by the selection committee. Then I wondered if I was being paranoid.
    Probably.
    “The gathering is upstairs on the third floor. Take the elevator and turn right when you get off. You’re looking for the Cerberus Room. You can’t miss it.”
    Most dogs heartily dislike elevators and Faith was no exception. She dropped her tail and flattened her ears against her head when the doors slid open and she realized we’d be getting in. “It’s only three floors,” I told her. “And only because we don’t know where we’re going. On the way back down, we’ll walk.”
    When the doors had closed, I took the still-unchewed biscuit out of her mouth and slipped it into my pocket. Hopefully there weren’t any cameras in the elevator.
    As we rose to the third floor, I wondered whether whoever had named the room where we were heading knew that Cerberus—the most famous canine in Greek mythology—was actually a three-headed canine that guarded the gates of hell. Or maybe I was just still being paranoid.
    Though we’d come a little early, when Faith and I reached the Cerberus Room I saw that we weren’t the first to arrive. It looked as though most of the other finalists were hoping to make a good impression by appearing eager. A quick look around the room revealed that Ben and