Chow Down by Laurien Berenson

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.”
    â€œWhat about Larry? You said he was a tough competitor. Did he have any enemies?”
    â€œHe must have,” said Bertie. “Think about it, Mel. He’s dead, isn’t he?”

9
    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.
    â€œI’m so sorry for your loss,” I said, when Faith and I reached the door.
    â€œThank you.” Lisa’s eyes lifted briefly. They met mine, then skittered away. Her expression was somber. “I appreciate your concern.”
    â€œIf there’s anything I can do . . .”
    â€œNo, 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.
    â€œI’d only just met Larry, but he seemed like a very fine man.”
    â€œMy 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.
    â€œYoda is all right?” I asked, venturing to a safer topic.
    â€œYes, 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.”
    â€œYou’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.”
    â€œSo then . . . you were there? You saw my husband fall?”
    â€œNo. 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.
    â€œDoug 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