by Judi McCoy
Kitty’s lips thinned. “I guess you haven’t heard. NMD and the CFDA hired me to assist for this gig.”
“Well, how lucky for you to have a big-whig brother working at NMD these days.” Lilah almost sneered. “I’m starving,” she then announced, her tone demanding. “Is there anything decent to eat around here?”
Lilah’s voice was so loud just about everyone within shouting distance turned to stare. Couldn’t the woman see the table filled with food?
Standing, Kitty picked up an energy bar. “There’s plenty of fruit, and I hear these are good, with lots of flavors to choose from. They even have—”
“Aah! Are you trying to kill me?” Lilah’s voice rose to shrill. “There are peanuts in that bar.”
Kitty’s face flushed red. “Sorry, sorry. I forgot about your allergy. Let me read the list of ingredients. There’s got to be one in here that doesn’t contain peanuts.”
Ellie continued to watch the show. The rude new designer was as thin as a supermodel, but didn’t look healthy. Dark circles ringed her eyes and the wrinkles across her forehead added years to her face.
The crowd murmured as Lilah kept muttering. “She knows about my food problems . . . clear the night of . . . could kill me . . . thank God I have my pen.”
“That dame needs a conk on the head,” Rudy stated, watching as Lilah retrieved her bag from under the table and began to dig.
When she finished complaining, she ignored a flustered Kitty, who was still reading ingredients, and flounced to Ellie’s side. Narrowing her hazel eyes, she inspected Rudy from head to tail. “I thought all the dogs in this contest were purebreds. This one certainly isn’t.”
The second Ellie heard the comment she wrapped her fingers around her yorkiepoo’s muzzle. “This is Rudy. He’s a pound puppy of the best kind, and he’s all mine.”
Kitty stopped reading the energy bars and glanced at Ellie. “You’ll have to forgive Lilah. Besides her peanut allergy, she has another severe affliction. It’s called overinflated ego.”
Several of the people standing nearby laughed. As if making a point, the designer put her hands on her nonexistent hips and nodded toward her mini-Schnauzer. “My baby’s competed in conformation shows, so I know something about the canine world. I was assured I’d be fitting a purebred dog.”
“Just because a dog isn’t a purebred doesn’t mean they’re bad, or untrainable, or unlovable,” Kitty interjected. “And why are you picking on a dog?”
Lilah’s kohl-lined eyes narrowed. “Poor you, still feeling sorry for yourself because you didn’t get one of the design spots.” She focused on Ellie, who felt as if she was sitting center court at the U.S. Open. “Have you seen Cassandra or Dominique? They’re my models, and I wanted to take a good look at them before their fitting.”
“Uh, no,” Ellie said. Her head was starting to spin, and she wondered what on earth she had gotten herself into.
Also in the Dog Walker Mystery Series
Begging for Trouble
Death in Show
Heir of the Dog
Hounding the Pavement
