Chow Down (9 page)

“Tell me how people felt about the Kims,” I said to Bertie. In my absence, she'd pulled Beagle into her lap and was stroking the cat's long, taut body. “Did they like them?”

“I guess. The two of them tended to keep pretty much to themselves. You know how crowded things can get underneath a grooming tent . . .”

I nodded.

“Sometimes it feels like we're all working right on top of one another. It's hard to stay out of people's way in a situation like that. But Larry and Lisa always seemed to hold themselves somewhat apart. I don't know that people liked them or disliked them so much as they didn't really know them.”

“What about Larry? You said he was a tough competitor. Did he have any enemies?”

“He must have,” said Bertie. “Think about it, Mel. He's dead, isn't he?”

T
here was an email waiting for me when we got home. Faith and I had been issued an invitation to the next phase of the contest competition. Individual interviews were to be held Thursday morning at the company headquarters.

I sat and stared at the email for a minute before shooting back a reply. Obviously the fact that one of the finalists had died after the previous meeting wasn't going to be allowed to slow down the process at all.

Under the circumstances, I assumed that Lisa and Yoda would drop out of the competition. Doug might have held me to my commitment, but surely he would have to accept the Yorkie's withdrawal. In any event, I didn't expect the pair to take part in the interviews on Thursday. Which was why I was so surprised to run into Lisa when Faith and I arrived a few minutes ahead of our scheduled appointment at eleven.

Exiting the building, Lisa saw us coming across the parking lot and paused to hold the door. She was dressed in a simple black linen sheath that fell to just above her knees. Her arms and legs were bare, and a pair of black strappy sandals set off her dainty feet.

I wondered whether she'd chosen the outfit as a foil for her creamy skin and shiny black hair or whether the dark color was meant to show that she was in mourning. Either way, the clothing complimented her slender figure.

Looking at her, I had the nagging impression that something was missing. After a moment I realized what it was: the little Yorkie, Yoda, was nowhere in sight. Maybe Lisa had come to the dog food company alone to tender her resignation.

“I'm so sorry for your loss,” I said, when Faith and I reached the door.

“Thank you.” Lisa's eyes lifted briefly. They met mine, then skittered away. Her expression was somber. “I appreciate your concern.”

“If there's anything I can do . . .”

“No, there's nothing.” Her voice was soft and melodious, the kind of voice that dogs would respond to instinctively. Indeed, Faith had lifted her head and was watching Lisa intently.

“I'd only just met Larry, but he seemed like a very fine man.”

“My husband was a man of many admirable traits. He knew what he wanted in life and he went after it. He worked hard and he accomplished many things.”

There was something almost routine about her response. The words sounded as though they'd been rehearsed. Then again, I thought, everyone dealt with grief differently. At our previous meeting, Lisa had struck me as an intensely private person. It shouldn't have come as a surprise that she wouldn't want to display her emotions in front of a virtual stranger.

“Yoda is all right?” I asked, venturing to a safer topic.

“Yes, physically she's fine. You were the one who came to her rescue on the steps, correct? I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to thank you the other day.”

“You're welcome. It was nothing. I knew you wouldn't want her to be running loose. I merely picked her up and held her until help arrived.”

“So then . . . you were there? You saw my husband fall?”

“No. I was in the stairwell when it happened, but I was two flights lower down. I didn't see anything until after I heard the crash—” Abruptly I stopped speaking. I was sure Lisa wouldn't want to hear the gory details.

“Doug Allen called 9-1-1,” I finished lamely. “And Chris Hovick came running to see what was wrong. He took Yoda from me. I assume he gave her back to you?”

Lisa nodded. “He came outside and told me what had happened. At first I didn't believe him, I was sure he must have been mistaken. I had just been with Larry five minutes earlier. I couldn't imagine that he could be gone. Especially in the manner in which I was told it happened.”

Faith and I had an appointment inside. If we were to be on time, we needed to get moving. But now what Lisa had said brought me up short. I dropped my hand and gave Faith a silent signal to sit.

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

“Larry would not have liked me to talk about this before. But now that he's gone, I suppose it doesn't matter. My husband suffered from vertigo. Heights made him very uncomfortable. Usually he avoided places like that stairwell. It came as a great surprise to me that he would have chosen to go there.”

And yet he had. That was clear to both of us.

“Perhaps he didn't want to take Yoda on the elevator?” I suggested.

“We had come up on the elevator. Yoda doesn't mind. She's traveled all over the country with us. She goes wherever we do and it's never been a problem.”

So much for that theory. In that case, what
had
Larry been doing in the stairwell? Could he have ducked in there for the purpose of holding a private conversation with the person I'd heard him speaking to?

“It's not surprising to me that Larry lost his balance and fell,” Lisa said. “Just being in that stairwell would have made him dizzy. And with Yoda in his arms, he wouldn't have been holding on to the banister. I can't imagine what he was thinking.”

“Are you sure your husband's death was an accident?” I asked gently.

“Of course.” Lisa didn't seem offended by the question, but she didn't give it much credence, either. “How could it have been anything else?”

“I was just wondering because I thought I heard voices right before Larry fell.” And a scream, I thought, but I didn't add that. “I thought maybe he was talking to someone . . .”

“Who?”

“I don't know. They were pretty high above me. I couldn't hear what was being said.”

Lisa was shaking her head, as if trying to make sense of this new information. “And this person Larry was supposedly with . . . He wouldn't have tried to help him? To prevent him from falling?”

Actually I'd been thinking just the opposite. But right that moment, looking at Lisa's pale face and dark, red-rimmed eyes, I would no sooner have brought up that possibility than I would have kicked a defenseless puppy.

Besides, I thought, Lisa's revelation about her husband's vertigo had cast the incident in a whole new light. Maybe I was the one who was wrong. Perhaps I'd been entangled in so many mysteries, that I'd begun to see evidence of wrongdoing where it didn't even exist.

Belatedly I realized that Lisa was still holding the glass door. I reached out and took it from her.

“You and Faith are having your private interview this morning?” she asked.

“Right.” I glanced at my watch. “We're running a little late.”

“Don't worry, I was just up there. The Reddings had the appointment ahead of yours and they seemed to have a lot to say. I'm sure nobody's noticed that you haven't arrived yet.”

“So you came to speak to the contest committee. Does that mean you'll be withdrawing Yoda from the competition?”

Nothing I'd said earlier—offering my condolences, describing what I knew of her husband's fall, implying it might not have been an accident—had thrown Lisa. This did.

“Pardon me?” she said.

“I just thought that since—”

“You thought wrong.” Lisa didn't wait for me to finish. “Yoda is a strong competitor and so am I. She is still very much a finalist in the contest.” Her eyes dropped to Faith, waiting patiently by my side. “Your Poodle may yet be the winner, but we won't be conceding the victory. She will have to beat us to get the prize.”

Rather than jamming my foot any farther into my mouth, I simply said, “Good luck to you.”

“And to you,” Lisa replied. “May the best dog win.”

 

Upstairs I found that the committee was indeed waiting for us. And they had noticed we were late—at least Doug Allen had.

Not wanting to revisit the stairwell, Faith and I ended up taking the elevator again. The Poodle looked at me reproachfully as I steered her in that direction. As soon as the doors opened on the third floor, she went bounding out into the hallway. And straight into Doug, who was walking by.

“Well hello!” he said, nimbly sidestepping a canine charge that might have felled a slower man. “I'd been wondering where you two were. It's nice to see one of our finalists arrive with such enthusiasm.”

I didn't feel the need to mention that Faith's eagerness had less to do with the contest or Champions dog food than it did with exiting the dreaded elevator.

“Sorry we're late. I ran into Lisa downstairs and I wanted to offer my condolences.”

“Lisa Kim?” Doug looked surprised. “I didn't realize she was here.”

“She said she'd been up here . . . She mentioned seeing the Reddings . . . ?” My voice trailed away. This all looked like news to Doug.

He quickly rallied, however. “I'm sorry I missed her. This has to be very difficult for her. I would have wanted to offer my support as well. We at Champions are ready to do anything we can to ease her way through this terrible time.”

Spoken like a true marketing man. Or maybe like a vice president who was concerned that his company might find itself with some liability in Larry's death. I wondered whether Doug's offer of support would be intended to mitigate the possibility that Lisa might decide to seek financial compensation.

Then I had another thought. Doug was the one who'd steered me to the fine print when I had tried to drop out of the contest. No doubt Yoda's withdrawal under these circumstances would generate even more adverse publicity.

Doug had never been shy about voicing his determination to do what was best for his company. He said he hadn't seen Lisa that morning, but that didn't mean he hadn't spoken to her previously. I wondered if he'd offered her some sort of incentive to keep the little Yorkie as a participant in the contest. And whether perhaps the rest of us were now competing for second place.

“Faith and I had better be going,” I said. “I believe we're supposed to see Simone Dorsey first?”

“Down the hall and to the left. Last office on the right. I'm sure she's waiting for you.”

Since I'd known we'd be meeting with Simone that morning, I'd taken extra care with my appearance. Rather than my usual summer outfit of shorts and a T-shirt, I'd actually donned a skirt and put on a little makeup. My efforts didn't help. Rising from behind her desk to greet us as we entered her office, the PR director still made me feel like I hadn't tried hard enough.

As before, Simone appeared cool and poised. The designer dress she was wearing probably cost more than I'd spent on clothes in a year. A scarf was tied jauntily around her shoulders. It didn't come unknotted or slip to one side when she reached out a hand to shake mine, as it would have done if I'd been wearing it.

Taking a seat in a chair opposite her desk, I took small consolation from the fact that her stiletto, pointy-toed pumps probably pinched her feet.

“Thank you so much for coming,” Simone said gracefully. “I want you to know that I found Faith to be absolutely delightful the other day. I probably shouldn't admit this, I'm supposed to be impartial after all, but I absolutely adore Poodles.”

Wasn't it amazing, I thought, how quickly a few well-chosen words could totally change your opinion of someone?

Simone beamed down at Faith, who'd taken a seat at my side. “They're the glamour girls of the dog world, aren't they?”

“Well . . . yes.” The ability to dress up a Poodle's hair in all manner of intricate designs had never been the breed's appeal to me. “But they're also much, much more than that.”

“Of course they are! And I want you to tell me all about Faith. How old she is, how long you've had her, how you came to get her in the first place. I want to hear everything.”

Most of that information had been covered on the entry blank. But since I hadn't filled out the form, I didn't mind repeating the story if Simone wanted to hear it again. I sat back in my seat and told her about Aunt Peg, doyen of the dog show world, Faith's breeder, and the woman who had initiated and orchestrated my involvement in dogs.

“She sounds like a remarkable woman,” Simone said when I'd stopped speaking. “Does she feed our products to her dogs?”

Expediency warred with honesty. After a brief internal struggle, honesty won.

“I'm afraid not,” I admitted. “Aunt Peg cooks for her dogs, mostly stews with chicken and vegetables and broth that she pours over kibble.”

Champions made kibble. In fact as far as I could tell, the signature product of the new Chow Down line was its kibble. Tactfully neither one of us remarked on that point.

“It's a point in Faith's favor that she comes from such a distinguished line of Poodles,” said Simone. “It's very important to us that the dog we select to promote Chow Down has a background that's above reproach. As I'm sure you can understand, we're looking to avoid any sort of negative behavior on the part of our spokesdog that might reflect badly on our company.”

Well . . . No, I thought, I didn't understand. When it came to dogs, what precisely might constitute negative behavior? Did she think that Faith went out barhopping at night after I was in bed? Or that the Poodle'd had a DUI conviction, or maybe had once checked herself in at Betty Ford? Sitting there thinking about it, I was hard-pressed to come up with any activity that Faith—or any other dog, for that matter—might have indulged in that would shed an unflattering light on the Champions Dog Food Company.

Simone, however, was still regarding me eagerly across the desk. As if it was my turn to speak. As if now was my chance to confess any past transgressions Faith might be guilty of committing.

Off the top of my head, I could think of only one thing to say. It would have come out sounding like,
Are you crazy?