Chow Down (A Melanie Travis Mystery)

Why?”
    “Because most murderers would like to be reasonably assured that they’re not being observed in the act. At first I was thinking that the killing must have been a spontaneous deed—a crime of passion, if you will. But now I’m wondering about that. Perhaps the killer chose to murder the unfortunate Mr. Kim in the stairwell precisely because he knew there weren’t any cameras there.”
    As she so often did, Aunt Peg had clarified the situation; taking what I’d told her and ferreting out interesting nuggets of information that I hadn’t managed to come up with on my own.
    “You should mention that to the police,” I said.
    “Or you should.” Aunt Peg gently eased Eve from her lap and stood. “They know you.”
    “I wouldn’t go that far.”
    “They have your name in the report. Same thing, more or less.”
    We stashed our glasses in the kitchen sink and I followed Aunt Peg out the front of the house to her minivan.
    “You never did tell me why you’d come,” I said.
    Door open, foot on the running board, Aunt Peg paused. “Considering everything else that’s happened to you today, it hardly seems important now.”
    “But?”
    “I was going to bug you about Eve. She’s a beautiful bitch and nearly two years old. It’s high time you got her back in the show ring and finished her championship. Of course, that was before I knew that you already had a task for the summer.”
    “Winning the contest?”
    “Oh pish,” said Peg. “Nobody cares a fig about who wins that silly contest except perhaps for Davey. But the morning’s events have put a whole new spin on things. You’ve got your work cut out for you now. I imagine you’re going to have to go and figure out what happened to Larry Kim, aren’t you?”

8
    I supposed I would. At least that was how things always seemed to work out. So rather than fighting the inevitable, I got up the next morning and thought about who might be able to answer some questions for me. My sister-in-law, Bertie, was right at the top of the list.
    Growing up, I had always wanted a sister. Instead I’d had a younger brother, whose chief goal in life seemed to be to discover exactly how much mayhem he could get away with causing. It had taken us years to work out our differences, and the prickly relationship we’d forged as children had lasted well into our adulthood.
    Then Frank had met Bertie and fallen head over heels in love. For him, it was an event of life-altering proportions. The relationship had not only changed my brother into a new and better man, it had also resulted in the birth of my wonderful niece, Maggie. And as an added bonus, Frank had provided me with the sister I’d always coveted. It was a win-win situation all the way around.
    Bertie and Frank lived in the northern edge of Wilton, just below the Ridgefield border. The house had been Bertie’s before their marriage, bought with the proceeds from her handling business. She’d built a kennel in the basement and added a dozen outside dog runs to accommodate boarders. Fortunately, with land that nestled up against a nature preserve, she didn’t have to worry about noise restrictions.
    When I mentioned over breakfast that I was going to be visiting Davey’s aunt and new baby cousin, he had opted to come along. Sam stayed home to work on a new software idea that had piqued his interest. Frank was down in Stamford at his coffeehouse, The Bean Counter, preparing for the midday rush. Bertie and Maggie were waiting for us on the porch when we arrived.
    My niece, who’d seemed so tiny when she was born, was now growing rapidly into her own little person. At six months of age, Maggie wasn’t quite walking yet but she could crawl almost anywhere. I’d advised Bertie to hang a bell around her daughter’s neck to match the one worn by her cat, Beagle, but so far Bertie had declined.
    “Ga!” Maggie said, lifting a hand in greeting as Davey and I came up the steps. Or maybe she was just trying to throw Cheerios at us. The latter seemed likely when a spray of cereal landed at our feet.
    “Ga back at you,” said Davey. He was really getting into the whole baby thing. “When is she going to start talking?” he asked Bertie.
    “She’s talking.” Bertie laughed. “You heard her.”
    “I mean words I can understand.”
    “Me, me, me, me, me . . .” Maggie sang out.
    “She’s her mother’s daughter, all right,” I teased.
    “Bite your tongue. I’ll have you know that child has