Chow Down (A Melanie Travis Mystery)

worry about it. I’m not hungry anyway.”
    “There might be another power bar in my bag,” Bertie said. Then she stopped eating and held out the snack in her hand. “Or you could finish this one.”
    The small rectangular bar looked like something you might consider feeding to a horse. Actually, upon closer inspection, it looked like something a horse might reject.
    “No thanks. I’m fine, really.”
    “You’re not fine,” said Aunt Peg. “You’re missing a meal.”
    Having gotten up early to get to the show, I’d missed breakfast too, but who was counting?
    “I miss lots of meals,” I said. “It’s never bothered you before.”
    “That was then. Now—” Abruptly my aunt stopped speaking.
    As well she might. I’d just figured out where this conversation was heading. And it wasn’t in a direction I had any intention of discussing. Again.
    “ Now what?” I demanded.
    “Now you should be taking better care of yourself.”
    “Good save,” Sam said, laughing.
    He could read Aunt Peg just as easily as I could, and knew exactly which topic we were dancing around. But while I thought that my pregnancy—or lack thereof—was my own business, Sam didn’t seem to mind our relatives’ interfering ways. Then again, he wasn’t the one who felt deficient every time another month passed without good news to share.
    “New subject,” said Bertie. “Where’d you go anyway?”
    “Over to the obedience rings. I wanted to talk to Bill and Allison Redding.”
    “Wait, wait, wait!” cried Terry. He was striding toward the setup from the direction of the rings. A Chihuahua was tucked securely beneath each of his arms. “Don’t start talking yet. I don’t want to miss anything.”
    “I’ve been talking all day,” I pointed out as he stashed the Toy dogs in their little crates. “You’ve missed most of it.”
    “You missed seeing Eve finish her championship, too,” Aunt Peg said.
    “Gawd!” Terry swore. “Don’t you just hate it when work gets in the way of your good time?” He scooted between the grooming tables and wrapped his arms around me. “Congratulations! It’s about time. You kept us waiting for ever .”
    “I was enjoying the journey.”
    “Pish,” Aunt Peg muttered. “You just kept allowing yourself to get side-tracked—”
    “By real life,” I said. “Imagine that.”
    Where dog show people are concerned, there often is no such thing. And most think that’s a perfectly normal state of affairs. Ask any exhibitor who won Best in Show last March in Louisville and they can probably tell you. Ask that same person who the current secretary of state is and you might well get a blank stare.
    “But Eve’s done now,” Sam said. “And she and Melanie are going in the group this afternoon.”
    “You won the variety, too?” Terry leaned in and hugged me again. It was a little depressing to realize that he smelled better than I did. “Good job!”
    “Mrs. Raines liked her,” I said modestly.
    “As well she should have.” Peg was brisk. “Did anyone check and see who’s doing the Non-Sporting group?”
    “Harry Bumgartner,” Terry said.
    “Oh my.”
    “Bad news?” I asked.
    “Harry’s a Whippet specialist,” said Bertie. “He likes his dogs skinny and fast. And he has no idea what to do with hair. The Non-Sporting group just confuses him. He usually goes with the Dalmatian.”
    I knew there had to be a reason why Sam hadn’t entered Tar in the show. But when I’d entered Eve under Charlotte Raines it hadn’t occurred to me that I’d need to worry about the group judge.
    “Never mind,” said Aunt Peg. “Eve has finished her championship in grand style and that’s what really matters.”
    Terry flapped his hand in the air. “Enough about Harry Bumgartner, who has to be one of the least interesting people one would ever meet at a dog show. Back to the Reddings, whom you were about to spill the beans about. Presumably they’re your second set of suspects?”
    I looked at him with interest. “Who were the first?”
    “Dorothy Foyle and MacDuff, of course. You do remember talking about them earlier, don’t you?”
    “MacDuff is a suspect?” Bertie said with a laugh. “That must be one very talented Scottie. Do you suppose Dorothy sent him into the stairwell to trip Larry?”
    “Do shut up,” Terry said pleasantly. “We’re trying to do some serious detecting over here. Melanie has the floor.”
    “Melanie doesn’t need the floor,” I said.