Read Chow Down (A Melanie Travis Mystery) for Free Online Page B

said, “That didn’t go too badly.”
    Terry snorted. “The man wiped the floor with you.”
    “He did not.”
    “He came close.” Bertie was shaking her head. “You’re going to have to ramp it up a notch if you want Faith to beat Brando.”
    “Not to mention MacDuff and Ginger and . . .” Aunt Peg turned to Bertie for guidance. “What’s the Yorkie’s name?”
    “Yoda.”
    “Yoda?”
    “Don’t yell at me. I didn’t name her. I think it’s an ear thing. You know.”
    “No, I don’t.” Aunt Peg didn’t sound like she particularly wanted to, either.
    The three of them spent the rest of the afternoon plotting—unsolicited, mind you—my potential plan of attack for the contest. I spent the rest of the afternoon mostly ignoring them. Bertie and Crawford showed their other dogs. Then, for the first time I could ever remember, Crawford and Terry packed up and headed home before Bertie was done for the day.
    “Doesn’t that seem odd to you?” I asked Bertie, as the Bedford Kennels van drove slowly away from the grooming tent, bumping from rut to rut as it crossed the grassy field.
    “What?” She was busy prepping a Cocker Spaniel to go in the last group of the day.
    “That Crawford and Terry have left and you’re still here.” With Poodles having finished, Aunt Peg had left, too, but that didn’t strike me as being nearly as strange as this did.
    “Maybe they were showing fewer dogs than they usually do.”
    “That’s my point. That’s unusual, too. Crawford didn’t have any Standard Poodles entered. Think about it. Crawford’s Standard Poodles are his showcase dogs. He loves showing them. When was the last time you saw him at a show and he didn’t have any entered?”
    “I don’t know.” Bertie shrugged. She was relatively new to Poodles. She probably hadn’t noticed.
    “Today he only had little dogs. Easy dogs. Not only that, but he was awfully crabby, didn’t you think?”
    “For Pete’s sake, Mel. Crawford’s always crabby when Terry doesn’t keep his mind on business. Where are you going with this?”
    “I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I’m just thinking out loud.”
    “Well, for once, try thinking a little less, okay?”
    Advice worth living by, if only I could ever manage to do it.

5
    I t was a good thing it was summer, otherwise it would have been dark by the time I got home. As it was, Sam and Davey were able to show me the progress they were making on the tree house. A foundation of beams had been laid across the span between two sturdy branches, and most of the floor was in place.
    For the time being, a ladder was providing access to the project. Sam had left it leaning against the trunk of the tree and while I examined their handiwork from the ground, Davey scrambled up and maneuvered himself out the thick branch and onto the partially completed frame.
    My first, automatic response was to call him back down; but then I reconsidered. Years spent as a single mother had honed my protective instincts to a fine point. Maybe too fine, I thought, noting that Sam—busy wresting a tennis ball from Raven’s mouth so he could throw it for the canine crew to chase—seemed totally unconcerned by the fact that Davey was all but dangling in the air. Now that my son finally had a solid, reliable male relationship back in his everyday life, maybe I didn’t always have to be the one who decided what was best.
    “Don’t worry,” said Sam under his breath. He tipped back his arm and let fly with the ball. Five big black dogs went sprinting away across the yard. “Davey’s been all over that tree for the last week. He climbs like a monkey.”
    “Am I that easy to read?”
    He swallowed a bark of laughter. “Yes.”
    “Oh.” Now I was miffed.
    “Come on.” Sam looped an arm around my shoulder and pulled me close to his side in the gathering dusk. “I love your transparency.”
    Like that was a good quality?
    His hand began to roam, inching downward. “Almost as much