Chow Down (A Melanie Travis Mystery)

isn’t nearly as important as the fact that it’s there. People tend to skip over ads and commercials but they read news stories. They want to feel like they’re staying informed.
    “This kind of press is like gold for the Champions Company. Larry Kim died at their headquarters, but not through any negligence or wrongdoing on their part. Chow Down wasn’t to blame, it just happened to be in the vicinity. That puts them in the enviable position of receiving lots of free publicity with virtually no downside.”
    Sam was probably right, I realized. And now that the press had begun to pay attention to the story they probably wouldn’t let go of it any time soon. Reporters from more than one paper had already noticed that the tale had several great hooks: a grieving widow, a cute little dog, and the fact that Larry had been on the premises to compete in a contest for Chow Down dog food.
    “It’s a win-win situation for Champions,” said Sam. “Of course they’d deny in public that they’re capitalizing on Larry’s death. But in private, I bet they’re reading the papers every day and congratulating each other on how lucky they got.”
    “Sad to think that somebody’s death could be considered a stroke of luck.” I leaned back and let my husband’s hands work their magic. The kinks in my neck and shoulders were melting away. My bones were turning to liquid.
    I closed my eyes and sighed again. This time there was bliss in the sound.
    “You don’t really want to keep talking about dog food, do you?” I asked.
    “Not if you have a better idea.”
    Oh yeah, I thought. I was pretty sure I did.

    Tuesday midmorning found Faith and me standing in the parking lot of the Champions Dog Food Company, preparing to board a large bus. The vehicle had been procured and customized for the express purpose of conveying the finalists, their owners, and the contest committee into the city. A colorful banner wrapped around three sides of the bus. It featured the Chow Down logo, along with larger-than-life-size pictures of Brando, Ginger, Yoda, MacDuff, and Faith.
    “Pretty exciting stuff,” said Ben. He sidled over to stand beside me.
    “Something like that,” I said.
    Ben didn’t seem to notice my lack of enthusiasm. He chattered on about how much he and Brando were enjoying the competition and how he was looking forward to the day when his Boxer would be chosen as the Chow Down spokesdog. One thing I had to say for the actor, he wasn’t short on confidence.
    Unfortunately Ben was so busy listening to himself talk that he was paying only minimal attention to Brando. The dog’s leash was looped around his fingers, but its six-foot expanse still gave the Boxer plenty of leeway to explore. When Brando looked at Faith, measured the space between them and curled his upper lip, I quickly took several judicious steps back.
    And walked right into Lisa who’d been coming up behind me.
    “Sorry,” she said quickly, even though I was the one who had landed squarely on her foot. “I thought we were ready to start boarding.”
    As usual, Lisa was holding Yoda in her arms. The Yorkie leaned over and gazed down at Brando. You didn’t have to be a psychic to read the disdain in her gaze.
    “I don’t know what’s holding us up,” said Ben. He looked around at the assembled group. Everyone seemed to be accounted for, but no one had yet climbed up into the bus.
    He’d barely finished speaking before a late-model sedan came flying into the parking lot and slipped into an empty spot.
    “Finally,” Doug muttered.
    A middle-aged man in battered khakis and a faded baseball cap opened the car door and slid out from behind the steering wheel, dragging a leather camera bag along behind him.
    “People!” Doug clapped loudly to get everyone’s attention. “This is Charlie Dunbar. Charlie’s a photographer and he’ll be traveling into New York with us to record the day’s outing.”
    “Hey,” Charlie mumbled. He didn’t look very impressed either by us or the assignment. “How about we start with a group shot in front of the bus?”
    “Good idea!” Doug was in cheerleader mode now. As if maybe he was hoping that some of his excess energy would transfer itself to the photographer. “Let’s line up, everyone. Little dogs in front, bigger dogs in the back.”
    We probably could have figured that out for ourselves, I thought, then realized I was wrong. Because evidently Ben was under the impression that Brando was a