Chow Down (A Melanie Travis Mystery)

every show together. Now Peg was more involved in agility trials and in handling her own judging assignments. Sam had been specialing Tar, but he’d been picking his group and Best in Show judges carefully. Considering how many less-than-stellar panels kennel clubs managed to put together, that inevitably meant that there were many weeks when the duo opted to remain home.
    One thing I’ve learned over the years about going to dog shows: they’re not nearly as much fun when your friends aren’t there to share them with.
    Showing sporadically, Eve had picked up five more points, including her first, all-important, major. Now, one more major win would make her a champion.
    Davey was spending the weekend with his father, but I’d been surprised to discover Friday evening that both Sam and Aunt Peg had put their other plans on hold to accompany me to the show. I was hoping that that didn’t mean the two of them were assuming I would get the job done. It was one thing to compete in a major entry, and quite another to actually bring home the points.
    Sam and I arrived at the indoor facility in Springfield, Massachusetts, where the show was to be held, in midmorning. Aunt Peg had driven up on her own and beaten us there. Once again, Crawford and Bertie had managed to situate their setups in adjacent rows. Thankfully they’d also saved a little bit of space for me.
    Sam backed his SUV up to the nearest door and we spent ten minutes unloading. Crawford and Bertie were busy over at the rings. Terry was grooming a Bichon Frise. Aunt Peg was hovering in the background. Hovering and looking like she was itching to get to work on something.
    I’d no sooner set my grooming box down than she had it open and was pawing through it, pulling out combs and brushes and lining them up on top of Eve’s crate. Meanwhile, Sam deftly maneuvered me aside and hopped Eve up onto the grooming table.
    All at once, I felt distinctly superfluous. The two of them were setting up shop faster than a grifter at a flea market.
    “Stop,” I said.
    Sam paused fractionally. Aunt Peg pretended she didn’t hear me.
    “What’s going on?” I asked. My eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What are you two even doing here?”
    Sam glanced my way. “Do I need a reason? Last time I checked, I was a newlywed. Of course I would want to accompany my lovely wife wherever her endeavors take her.”
    “That’s so romantic,” Terry said. He thinks every conversation within earshot should involve him. And he has very big ears. His idea of earshot covers a pretty wide range.
    “It’s not romantic,” I said. “It’s a crock.”
    “Melanie! Such language.” Aunt Peg had found all the tools she needed. She laid Eve down on her left side and began to brush through the Poodle’s mane coat in long, even rows.
    “How come neither one of you is showing today?” I asked.
    “Nothing in hair,” Peg replied crisply. Her nimble fingers never even slowed.
    “Too lazy,” Sam said with a shrug.
    “And yet you came all this way just to watch.”
    “And help out.”
    “Help me, you mean.”
    Terry sidled over. “From here, it looks as though it’s Eve they’re helping.”
    His voice carried, as I was sure he’d meant it to. I put a hand to his shoulder and pushed him away. Grinning broadly, the troublemaker retreated back to his own setup.
    “We wanted Eve to look nice,” Aunt Peg said. “You know, in case she needed to have her picture taken.”
    Only winners had their pictures taken. We all knew that perfectly well.
    I gazed at the pair of them in exasperation. “Are you that confident about our chances?”
    “If they were that confident,” said Terry, “would they both be here?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “It looks to me like they came to do up your dog for you,” said Terry. “Best of both worlds, if you ask me. You’re here, but you’re getting a day off. If I were you, I’d sit back and enjoy it.”
    “I don’t need a day off,” I said mildly. “And I’m perfectly capable of preparing my own Poodle to go in the ring.”
    “Of course you are, dear.” Aunt Peg kept right on brushing.
    Sam, caught in the act of sliding a comb through the rubber band holding the colored wrap on Eve’s ear and snapping it loose, looked only briefly guilty. Then he resumed working, too.
    The two of them didn’t trust me to do a good enough job, I realized. Sam and Peg hadn’t come all the way to Massachusetts to share my potential moment of triumph.