Chow Down

by Laurien Berenson

  The puppy winner and the American-Bred bitch that had defeated Bertie filed back into the ring. The judge marked her book, then handed me a blue ribbon, which I stashed in my pocket. Then I swung Eve back into the lineup. As winner of the Open class, the place of honor in the front was hers by right.

  At this point in the competition, the judge has already seen each of the entrants before. Usually they have a pretty good idea of who they’re planning to put up for the points. But occasionally they’re still debating the outcome; either that or else they want to ratchet up the suspense. In that case, they’ll judge the Winners class almost from scratch. Despite the fact that Mrs. Raines obviously liked Eve, this was not the time to take anything for granted.

  Since the routine had worked for us earlier, I didn’t stack my Poodle this time, either. Instead I stood back and let her free bait. I stepped out of line and angled my body slightly in the judge’s direction so that Eve, while looking at me, could also focus on Mrs. Raines.

  Of course the problem with that was that now I had my back to the judge. Good handlers pick up a lot of information by watching the judge. Approval or disapproval can often be read in expressions or body language. And some judges use hand signals rather than their voices to advise the exhibitors what they want them to do next. So I was placing myself in a somewhat vulnerable position.

  On the other hand Eve was baiting like the champion I hoped she soon would be. Standing square and tall, she cocked her head and watched my hands with an expression of rapt attention. Hopefully Mrs. Raines, whom I couldn’t see, was noticing my Poodle’s performance.

  “Take them around, please.”

  I flipped Eve the piece of dried liver I was holding in my hand and turned to face front. Pausing only long enough to make sure that the two handlers behind me were ready to go, I shot the Poodle out to the end of the leash and took off at a brisk trot. This was the part Eve liked best, flying around the ring in a spectacular, showy fashion, and daring anyone to believe that she wasn’t the best.

  As for me, I just tried not to lose my footing in the tight corners of the ring and to stay out of the way. This was Eve’s moment to shine; my job was merely to remain inconspicuous.

  Mrs. Raines gazed quickly up and down the line. Then her focus returned to Eve and stayed there for the remainder of the circuit. Her hand raised and my heart leapt.

  “Winners Bitch,” she said. Her finger pointed in our direction.

  Someone screamed a little. I’m afraid it might have been me.

  Eve bounded into the air, landed on the mat, and then bounced up again. The second time I caught her in my arms and hugged her tight. I was crushing her carefully coifed hair but for the first time in nearly two years, I didn’t care.

  I had a brand new champion.

  14

  Eve and I exited the ring just long enough for the judge to award Reserve Winners to the next most deserving bitch. Actually we kind of danced out.

  You’d think Sam might have given me a hug. Or maybe a high five. But he and Aunt Peg barely glanced at me. Instead the two of them pulled out scissors, comb, and hair spray, and went right back to work on Eve.

  Remember that crushed hair? They had only a minute or two to put it back where it belonged. Even though the part I really cared about was over, Eve was now eligible to compete for Best of Variety.

  Only moments later, we were called back into the ring. In that short amount of time Sam and Peg had worked a remarkable transformation. Eve once again looked like a contender.

  “Keep up the good work,” Sam said cheerfully.

  “There’s not much here to speak of in specials,” Aunt Peg whispered in my ear. “Eve’s got a real shot at taking the whole thing. So please try not to blow it.”

  My aunt considered that to be encouragement. It never occurred to her that her pep talks often came out sounding more like threats.

  Eve and I strode back through the gate. In the Best of Variety competition, the finished champions were at the head of the line, followed by the Winners Dog. Once again, our place was at the rear.

  As we moved into position, I stole a quick glance up the length of the mat, evaluating our competition. Two champions had been entered, a silver and a cream. Neither was a seasoned campaigner; most weeks Tar beat them both handily. Maybe Aunt Peg was right and we did have a chance.

  Mrs. Raines judged the class like a woman who’d already seen what she wanted and was only going through the motions until it reappeared. She examined the two specials and had another cursory look at the Winners Dog. Then she quickly pulled Eve out and placed her at the front of the line.

  This time she didn’t even bother to send us around again. “I’ll take the Winners Bitch for Best of Variety,” she announced in a loud voice. “Winners Dog is Best of Opposite Sex.”

  Some days, it’s just that easy. Now not only did I have a new champion, but we’d also qualified to compete in the Non-Sporting group. As we waited for the photographer to set up for our picture, I handed the ribbons back to the judge, thanked her for the points, and told her that she’d just created a new champion.

  “She’s a lovely Poodle,” Mrs. Raines said graciously. “I’m delighted to have finished her. I hope she does something for you in the group.”

  I started to pose Eve next to the plaque, then stopped. “Come on,” I said, waving Sam and Aunt Peg into the ring to join us. “I want you both to be in the picture with us.”

  “No way,” Sam replied quickly. “This is your day. Yours and Eve’s.”

  Aunt Peg hung back beside him.

  “I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

  “She does have a point,” Aunt Peg mentioned.

  “Come along,” Mrs. Raines said. “The more the merrier.”

  Invited by the judge herself, Sam and Peg lined up beside us in a row behind Eve. This was, after all, all about the Poodle. The photographer waited until we were ready, then tossed a squeaky toy across the mat.

  Eve’s ears pricked. The camera flashed. I was grinning like a veritable idiot. Sam had his hand on my ass. Perfect.

  The Poodle judging over, we now had time to kill before the groups took place later that afternoon. Aunt Peg and Sam went off in search of edible food, not always an easy thing to find at a dog show. I was on a different mission. According to the catalogue, Bill and Allison Redding had Ginger entered in obedience. Their class was currently being held on the other side of the facility.

  Though they both take place at dog shows, conformation and obedience are two entirely different kinds of competitions. It takes a rare dog to excel at both; and it also demands a versatile dog owner. The fact that Ginger had achieved her championship in both events was a testament to the Reddings’ skill and their determination.

  Three large, fully matted obedience rings filled the area at the far end of the building. Three classes of varying difficulty were being judged. In the Novice ring, a jaunty Norwich Terrier was heeling on leash. In the Open ring, a sleek Rhodesian Ridgeback was skimming over a broad jump. And in the Utility ring, a Bulldog was shuffling across the mat in search of a glove he’d been directed to retrieve.

  A Bulldog, I thought. Imagine that. I had to stop and watch. The brindle dog went straight to the glove in the corner, pushed it briefly along the floor with his nose as he attempted to get his teeth around it, then lifted his head in success and carried the glove directly back to his delighted owner. Well done.

  I was smiling when I turned away from the ring and spotted Bill and Allison standing together behind the row of seated spectators. Beside them was a wire crate. Inside the crate, Ginger was curled up, asleep, on a thick sheepskin pad.

  Bill saw me coming as I approached. He lifted a hand in greeting. “Melanie, right?”

  “That’s right. It’s nice to see you both again. How’s Ginger doing today?”

  The Brittany opened one eye briefly at the sound of her name. She looked up, saw nothing that required her attention, then tuned us bac
k out. Clearly accustomed to the rigors of competition, Ginger knew enough to grab some rest when she could get it.

  “She’s great,” Allison replied eagerly. Everything the Reddings said and did seemed to be delivered with enthusiasm. “She aced the Open B class this morning. Now we’re just waiting for our turn in Utility.”

  “Which one of you shows her?” I asked curiously.

  “That would be me,” Bill replied. “At least in obedience. We use a professional handler for breed.”

  “I get too nervous,” said Allison. The two of them spoke so quickly that they seemed to be finishing each other’s sentences. “Obedience is tough, every little move you make matters.”

  “I’ve tried to tell her it’s no big deal,” Bill said. “What’s the worst that could happen? Ginger already has her OTCH, and besides there’s always another day and another dog show—”

  “But I want her to be the best every single time,” Allison said with a small laugh. “And that means everything has to go just right. I’m always afraid I’ll give the wrong signal, or start with the wrong foot, or trip over a mat.”

  Bill smiled and shook his head. Clearly, he didn’t take his wife’s fears too seriously. “The truth of the matter is, Ginger’s such an old hand that she could probably show herself.”

  “That’s just Bill talking. He doesn’t like to take too much credit for himself. The real truth is, Ginger never would have gotten as far as she has without him.”

  “I’m with you,” I said to Allison. “I found showing in obedience to be much harder than competing in the breed ring. There were so many little things I had to keep track of that I found the whole experience pretty nerve wracking.”

  “Were you showing Faith?” asked Bill.

  I nodded and the two of them exchanged a look.

  “I didn’t realize your Poodle had competed in obedience, too,” Allison said. “We thought Faith was just a breed champion.”

  Just a breed champion. Well that got my hackles up. Even if Faith wasn’t as well rounded as Ginger, having a breed championship was still a pretty big accomplishment.

  “Sometimes Allison speaks before she thinks,” Bill said quickly. “She didn’t mean that the way it sounded. We were just surprised, that’s all.”

  “Faith’s full of surprises,” I said cryptically. Let them worry about that for a while. We stood and watched the action in the ring for a few minutes. When there was a brief break between competitors, I said, “Do you mind if I ask you two a couple of questions?”

  Bill checked on Ginger. Now the Brittany had her nose tucked beneath one of her paws and was snoring softly.

  “Nah,” he said. “It looks like we’re going to be here a while. Shoot.”

  “Last Monday, when we were all at Champions, did you leave as soon as the meeting was over, or did you hang around afterward to talk to the judges?”

  Bill slid a quick glance over at Allison. For once, neither one of them was in a hurry to speak first. Or maybe they were checking with each other to see what their story was going to be.

  And wasn’t it interesting that they would feel the need to concoct a story at all?

  “I guess you’re talking about when Larry died,” said Allison. “What a shock that was. We’d just been sitting in a room talking to him only moments earlier . . . and bang, just like that, he was gone. Something like that makes you really stop and appreciate every single day, doesn’t it?”

  I nodded but didn’t speak. Just because Allison was busy trying to change the subject didn’t mean that I was going to help her do so.

  “Let me see . . .” Bill stroked his chin thoughtfully. He looked less like a man who was trying to remember than like a play actor who was trying to convey that idea.

  Come on folks, I thought. The question wasn’t that hard. I knew exactly where I’d been when Larry Kim died. If the man’s death had come as such a surprise to the Reddings, you’d think they would have had that information at their fingertips, too.

  “Honey?” Bill looked at his wife. “Did we leave before or after Larry and Lisa?”

  “I don’t know,” she said vaguely. “I guess I wasn’t paying any attention to them at that point.”

  “The Kims split up when they left the meeting,” I said to help things along. “Lisa took the elevator down and Larry went by the stairs.”

  If someone had said that to me, I’d have asked why. But either the Reddings lacked my curiosity, or else they already knew the answer. Neither one commented.

  “So when you left the conference room to go home, you weren’t with either one of them?”

  “No,” Bill said slowly, “not that I recall.”

  “What about Dorothy and Ben?”

  “What about them?” asked Allison.

  “Were they on the elevator with you?”

  “Oh we didn’t take the elevator.” Bill seemed happy to finally be able to supply an answer. “Ginger hates them. We took the steps.”

  I tried to work that information into my timeline. “So if you didn’t see Larry in the stairwell—or Faith and me, for that matter—you must have gone down ahead of us.”

  “Maybe,” Allison said with a shrug. “The police asked us about that and it turned out that we hadn’t taken the same set of stairs that you and Larry did. There was another stairwell at the other end of the hallway. That’s how we got down.”

  Damn, I thought. I hadn’t realized that. Having another potential exit was going to make it that much harder to pin down where everyone had been when Larry died.

  “One more thing,” I said. “Where were the two of you when you heard about what had happened to Larry?”

  “Outside in the parking lot. We were just about to leave when Chris Hovick came outside and said there’d been an accident. We didn’t realize he was talking about something serious. We had no idea that Larry had died until later that afternoon.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “The Norwalk police called us. A Detective Sheridan,” Bill said. “He said he just had a couple of routine questions, but when he found out that we left before anything happened, he didn’t even ask those.”

  But they hadn’t left, I thought. Hadn’t they just told me that? They’d still been outside the building.

  “Lisa was outside then, too,” I said. “Maybe you saw her?”

  Allison shook her head. “Not me.”

  “Me either,” said Bill. “I guess the Kims must have been parked on the other side of the lot.”

  I stifled a sigh. Under the guise of trying to be helpful, the Reddings had managed to tell me exactly nothing of any value. I wondered if it was by accident or design that their collective recollection of the previous Monday was so vague.

  “Now I have a question for you,” said Bill.

  “Go ahead,” I said.

  “Are you asking everyone what they were up to when Larry Kim died, or just us?”

  “Sooner or later I guess I’ll talk to everyone.”

  “Why?” asked Allison.

  “Because I want to know what happened.”

  The two of them stared at me blankly.

  “Aren’t you curious?” I asked.

  “Not really,” said Bill. “It’s none of our business.”

  “One less contestant to beat,” said Allison. “His loss. Our gain.”

  15

  That was just cold.

  And though the Reddings apparently didn’t know it yet, Yoda and Lisa weren’t dropping out of the contest. So if either one of them had had anything to do with Larry Kim’s demise, they hadn’t gained much.

  When I got back to the setup, Aunt Peg and Sam were leaning against either side of a bank of stacked crates and sharing a funnel cake. Judging by the evidence, they’d also eaten burgers and fries. Bertie, whose crates they were draped over, was brushing out an Otterhound, munching on a power bar, and looking as though she’d rather be eating a funnel cake.

  “There you are,” said Peg. “You missed lunc
h. We picked up a hamburger for you at the food stand but Bertie ate it.”

  I glanced at my sister-in-law and lifted a brow.

  “It was getting cold,” she said without remorse. Bertie was still breast feeding Maggie. Always slender, she now ate like a stevedore just to keep her weight up. “Trust me, it was bad enough already. You really wouldn’t have wanted it once the grease had congealed.”

  “Don’t 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.”