Chow Down (A Melanie Travis Mystery)

her eyes closed and her blond head tipped to one side. One small hand was curled into a fist beneath her chin, the other clutched her favorite toy, a pink stuffed dog with a button nose and floppy ears.
    “She’s such a little doll,” I said softly.
    “When she’s asleep,” Aunt Peg muttered. “When she’s awake, that child has an opinion about everything.”
    Sam ducked his head and didn’t say a thing. I suspected he was thinking the same thing I was. Maggie came by that trait honestly.
    “Where’s Bertie?” I asked.
    “Showing a Bouvier over in ring eight. I expect she’ll be back shortly.”
    Table and crate in place, Sam was unloading Tar from the car. The big Poodle threaded his way down the narrow aisle and hopped up onto the grooming table. Turning a tight circle on the rubber-matted top, he lay down and placed his head between his paws.
    “I’ll go park the car,” I said. We’d been in place beside the tent for only a few minutes, but already there was a line of other vehicles waiting for our space in the unloading zone.
    “Thanks,” said Sam. “I’ll get to work on Tar.”
    “And keep me company,” said Peg. “So far, my job has proven to be rather boring.”
    Just wait, I thought. When Mags awoke from her nap she would be raring to go again and Aunt Peg would have her hands full just trying to keep up.
    Following instructions from the parking crew, I left Sam’s SUV on the other side of the polo grounds at the end of a long line of cars. From there, I cut back across the freshly mown field. This time I approached the show from the other side, where the rings were set up in a tent-covered double row and the judging in several different breeds was in progress.
    Ring eight was on the corner. I headed that way and scanned the crowd for Bertie, but it looked as though Bouviers had already finished. A group of exhibitors with Boxers was clustered by the in-gate. Several others were beginning to file into the ring for a class.
    My steps slowed as I watched the dogs in the ring and mentally compared them with Brando. Boxers were a popular breed with spectators, and they usually drew a large audience. They weren’t a breed I’d had much exposure to, however, and I wasn’t expecting to see anyone I knew. Which was why it came as such a surprise when I recognized Cindy Burrows standing next to the ring.
    What, I wondered, could have brought the Chow Down product manager to a dog show all the way up in the middle of Connecticut?
    Boxer fans were packed in tight at ringside. I maneuvered my way toward the front of the crowd, keeping Cindy in sight. The other times I’d seen her she’d been dressed for work. Today, Cindy looked young and fresh and pretty in a flower-sprigged sundress and low-heeled sandals. Her hair wasn’t confined to its usual French braid; instead she wore it loose and curling down around her shoulders. Briefly, I felt a pang of regret. Then I realized how much cooler I felt with my new short hair and the feeling passed.
    I got as close as I could, then leaned around a couple still separating us and said, “Hello.”
    Cindy jumped slightly and cast a startled glance my way. “Melanie . . . !” She didn’t exactly sound pleased to see me. “What a surprise. What are you doing here?”
    As one, the couple between us shifted forward, like they were afraid we might try to talk across in front of them and block their view. I could hardly blame them; much as I had no stake in the Boxer judging, I felt the same way when Poodles were in the ring. I drew back several steps, giving up my ringside spot. Cindy did the same. The couple, still staring fixedly into the ring, looked relieved by our departure.
    “My husband is showing one of Faith’s relatives,” I said. “What about you? I thought Gus was a frisbee dog. I didn’t know you were into dog shows, too.”
    “I’m not really. This is my first one. I’m just learning how things work and what it’s all about.”
    Cindy was smiling but she looked uneasy. She sent a furtive glance skirting past me and into the ring. I turned and looked, too. Open Bitch was being judged. None of the exhibitors appeared familiar to me and I wondered who we were looking for. I knew only one person who owned a Boxer.
    “Where’s Faith?” Cindy asked brightly. “Is she showing, too?”
    “No, she’s retired from breed competition. Poodles are required to be “in hair” if you want to show them, and a trim like that takes a huge