Chow Down (A Melanie Travis Mystery)

unknotted or slip to one side when she reached out a hand to shake mine, as it would have done if I’d been wearing it.
    Taking a seat in a chair opposite her desk, I took small consolation from the fact that her stiletto, pointy-toed pumps probably pinched her feet.
    “Thank you so much for coming,” Simone said gracefully. “I want you to know that I found Faith to be absolutely delightful the other day. I probably shouldn’t admit this, I’m supposed to be impartial after all, but I absolutely adore Poodles.”
    Wasn’t it amazing, I thought, how quickly a few well-chosen words could totally change your opinion of someone?
    Simone beamed down at Faith, who’d taken a seat at my side. “They’re the glamour girls of the dog world, aren’t they?”
    “Well . . . yes.” The ability to dress up a Poodle’s hair in all manner of intricate designs had never been the breed’s appeal to me. “But they’re also much, much more than that.”
    “Of course they are! And I want you to tell me all about Faith. How old she is, how long you’ve had her, how you came to get her in the first place. I want to hear everything.”
    Most of that information had been covered on the entry blank. But since I hadn’t filled out the form, I didn’t mind repeating the story if Simone wanted to hear it again. I sat back in my seat and told her about Aunt Peg, doyen of the dog show world, Faith’s breeder, and the woman who had initiated and orchestrated my involvement in dogs.
    “She sounds like a remarkable woman,” Simone said when I’d stopped speaking. “Does she feed our products to her dogs?”
    Expediency warred with honesty. After a brief internal struggle, honesty won.
    “I’m afraid not,” I admitted. “Aunt Peg cooks for her dogs, mostly stews with chicken and vegetables and broth that she pours over kibble.”
    Champions made kibble. In fact as far as I could tell, the signature product of the new Chow Down line was its kibble. Tactfully neither one of us remarked on that point.
    “It’s a point in Faith’s favor that she comes from such a distinguished line of Poodles,” said Simone. “It’s very important to us that the dog we select to promote Chow Down has a background that’s above reproach. As I’m sure you can understand, we’re looking to avoid any sort of negative behavior on the part of our spokesdog that might reflect badly on our company.”
    Well . . . No, I thought, I didn’t understand. When it came to dogs, what precisely might constitute negative behavior? Did she think that Faith went out barhopping at night after I was in bed? Or that the Poodle’d had a DUI conviction, or maybe had once checked herself in at Betty Ford? Sitting there thinking about it, I was hard-pressed to come up with any activity that Faith—or any other dog, for that matter—might have indulged in that would shed an unflattering light on the Champions Dog Food Company.
    Simone, however, was still regarding me eagerly across the desk. As if it was my turn to speak. As if now was my chance to confess any past transgressions Faith might be guilty of committing.
    Off the top of my head, I could think of only one thing to say. It would have come out sounding like, Are you crazy?
    Fortunately for both of us, I didn’t say a thing.
    “Well then.” Simone braced her hands on her desk and stood. “I guess we’re good. There’s only one more thing . . .”
    I’d risen when she did, thinking the interview was over. Apparently I’d been wrong.
    Simone turned and opened a cabinet behind her desk. She withdrew a small, unmarked sack. A clean stainless steel bowl came out with it.
    “Chow Down,” Simone said in a low, confidential tone. “Aside from the dogs in our testing labs and focus groups, you five contest finalists are going to be among the first to sample it.”
    I truly hoped she was speaking to Faith and not to me.
    “Isn’t that exciting?”
    Faith didn’t seem to think so. She was looking distinctly indifferent to the opportunity about to be accorded her. Knowing how finicky my Poodle could be, I could only hope that this wouldn’t get too ugly.
    Simone didn’t wait for us to answer. She poured a generous amount of kibble into the bowl and set it down on the floor.
    Faith sniffed the air delicately, but didn’t move toward the food. Her nose was stronger than mine. I sincerely hoped she wasn’t smelling licorice.
    “Go ahead, girl!” Simone urged. “That’s for you. Go get