Chow Down (A Melanie Travis Mystery)

was trying to be helpful . . . you know, because of what happened to Larry. She told Lisa to call her if she needed anything and Lisa did.”
    “And she hasn’t heard anything since Lisa left this morning?”
    “Not a peep. Lisa’s cell phone goes straight to voice mail, and she hasn’t answered any of the messages Sue’s been leaving. What were you guys doing in New York anyway?”
    I sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. It was late, but I had time to talk. Davey had already been asleep for a while; I’d just checked on him and found him curled up under his sheet. Faith had been in her customary place at the foot of his bed and I’d sent her downstairs with Sam, who was putting the Poodles outside one last time. It would be at least five minutes before that whole crew reappeared.
    “It was another competition for the contest. The judges wanted to see how the dog food–buying public would respond to each of the finalists so they stuck us all in a bus and drove us down to Central Park. Sort of like a free-form focus group, I guess.”
    “ That sounds like fun,” Bertie muttered. Her sarcasm wasn’t lost on me.
    “It took up most of the day,” I grumbled. “This must be why parents used to believe that children should be seen and not heard. I’m beginning to come around to that way of thinking myself.”
    Bertie barked out a laugh. Clearly she didn’t believe me. That was all right; I didn’t really believe myself.
    “Listen,” she said. “Sue’s really worried. According to her, Lisa is one of the most responsible people she knows. It’s not like her to disappear and not tell anyone where she’s going.”
    “Has Sue contacted the police?”
    “She tried to do that earlier. But they won’t file a missing persons report on an adult until three days have passed. She checked with the local hospitals, too. They didn’t have any info, either.”
    “I wonder if the police would pay more attention if they knew that Lisa is the wife of a man who died under suspicious circumstances last week.”
    Bertie thought about that for a minute. “Maybe you should call the police and tell them.”
    Her confidence in my abilities was touching, if misplaced.
    “Bertie, pretty much every policeman I’ve ever spoken with has thought he knew exactly what he was doing. I’ve tried taking them information before. They never listen to a word I say.”
    “Well they should,” my sister-in-law replied stoutly.
    “I’m with you there.”
    I heard the scramble of feet coming up the steps, twenty-two feet, to be precise. It was like listening to a herd of buffalo approach. Luckily my son can sleep through almost anything.
    Faith sheared off and went into Davey’s room. Tar, as had recently become his habit, went with her. That left Eve, Raven, and Casey to keep Sam and me company. Eve got comfortable inside her open crate. Raven chose a spot beneath the window where the sun would hit her first thing in the morning. Casey eyed the king-sized bed hopefully.
    I pretended not to notice. Sam, following along behind, wasn’t so lenient. “You know better,” he said in a low voice. The Poodle dipped her head in acknowledgment. She went and lay down next to Raven.
    The man loves his dogs, but he enjoys snuggling with his wife more. You can’t fault him for that.
    Sam looked at me and lifted a brow.
    “Bertie,” I mouthed silently.
    He looked down at his watch and then up again. We don’t get many late-night phone calls. “Everything okay?”
    He was asking about family—checking on Maggie and Bertie and Frank—so I nodded.
    “Are you talking to Sam?” Bertie asked.
    “No.”
    “You are, too. I can always tell. Tell him I said hi.”
    “Bertie sends her love,” I said to Sam.
    “Me too,” he replied and went to brush his teeth. Just one big, happy family here.
    “So what are we going to do about Lisa?” asked Bertie. “I told Sue I’d get back to her tonight. I have to tell her something.”
    “Let me think,” I said. Like that would help. I’d been thinking since we’d first started talking and nothing brilliant had occurred to me yet.
    “When did you last see Lisa?”
    “Four,” I said. “Maybe four thirty. The bus dropped us off back in the Champions parking lot. I got in my car and came home. Until hearing differently from you, I figured she did the same.”
    “Huh,” said Bertie. “That’s no help. How was Lisa acting earlier? Was she happy? Sad? Unusually distracted?”
    Was