Chow Down (A Melanie Travis Mystery)

another secret.”
    “Oh, pish,” said Aunt Peg. “Stop being annoyed long enough to think things through. Apparently Davey took photographs and wrote an essay that was polished enough to beat out thousands of other silly, ambitious people who were all trying to turn their beloved pets into the next Morris the Cat.”
    She had a point. My heart swelled briefly with pride at Davey’s achievement. I was still annoyed, though.
    “I like my beloved pet just the way she is,” I grumbled. “Happily anonymous.”
    “Perhaps you ought to try explaining that to Davey.”
    “I suppose I should.”
    “After that you can simply call the Champions Company and decline the honor. Let the contest committee choose some other, equally deserving dog to serve as finalist.”
    “Good idea.”
    “You see?” said Aunt Peg. “Problem solved.”
    As always, she made things sound so simple.
    I’d been in this spot before, though, and I knew there’d be a catch. There was always a catch.
    It was only a matter of time until I found out what it was.

2
    “W e’re home!” Davey sang out as he came barreling through the front door.
    As if anyone who lived with a crew of large, attentive watchdogs could possibly have been oblivious to that fact. I hadn’t heard Sam’s SUV come up the driveway, but the Poodles had. Scrambling to their feet, they’d deserted me without hesitation. No doubt Sam and Davey’s return seemed more likely to provide biscuits and other forms of excitement than my talking on the phone had.
    “In the kitchen,” I called back.
    I’d left the deck and started to follow the dogs toward the front of the house, but Davey was moving faster than I was. Perennially hungry, he must have come inside and headed straight for food. He raced through the doorway as I was putting the phone back on the counter.
    My son had shot up two inches in the last year. Suddenly when I looked at him, I saw only lingering echoes of the little boy he’d been. It was hard to believe that in another year he’d be ready for middle school.
    “Hey,” said Davey.
    His sandy brown hair hadn’t seen a comb that morning; his cargo shorts were at least a size too big. A T-shirt from the Norwalk Maritime Center floated, untucked, around his narrow hips. He sketched a wave in my direction, slipped past me, and grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on the table.
    “Hey yourself. How was the shopping trip?”
    “Productive,” Sam said. He walked into the kitchen, his Poodle escort trailing along behind. “We got everything we needed. Once we get it all unloaded, we’ll be ready to start building.”
    Unlike Davey, Sam didn’t sidestep around me. Instead he dropped the plastic bags he was carrying onto the counter and folded me into his arms for a quick kiss.
    It was a crime that anyone could look that good first thing in the morning. Then again, Sam had the kind of appeal that wore well at any time of the day: shaggy blond hair, direct blue eyes, and a face that only grew more interesting with age and experience. Amazing, I thought, as I leaned into him, that this man was now my husband.
    “Sleep well?” Sam asked.
    “Umm . . .”
    With Davey in the room, I wasn’t about to elaborate. But one look at the expression on Sam’s face told me I didn’t have to. Married for three months, we were still honeymooners. Both of us had been blissfully worn out by the time we’d dropped off to sleep the night before.
    I stepped back out of his arms and said, “You’re not going to kill yourself climbing around in that tree, are you?”
    Sam grinned cheerfully. “I hope not.”
    That was reassuring.
    “What about Davey? He’s my only son and heir, you know.”
    Something flickered briefly in Sam’s eyes, and I felt a small pang. Both of us were eager for another child. We’d been trying but so far it hadn’t happened.
    When Sam spoke, however, his tone was light. “Don’t worry. Kids his age don’t go splat, they bounce.”
    “Charming.” I peered into a bag. I saw two boxes of nails, a new tape measure, and a small hammer, the size that Davey could easily wrap his hands around.
    “We aim to please,” said Sam.
    Davey only giggled. The notion of bouncing—or going splat—apparently held more appeal for him than it did for me.
    “I got something interesting in the mail this morning,” I said.
    “What was it?” Sam had followed Davey to the fruit bowl. He selected a banana and began to peel it. “Coupons for free pizza?