Page 103 of Don't Cross Mo Ellery

Me:Drink? Dickie’s?

Benny:Still hungover, can’t afford to have you buy me more drinks

Me:Do I look like one of those rich crossing guards?

Benny:Also I’m sort of in the middle of something

Well, nuts.

But then my phone pings again.

Benny:You could come by here

Benny:Bring the dogs

Benny’s place is only a few blocks from me, but it feels like a different world, and my jaw drops when he lets me into the largest studio I’ve ever seen, tucked away in a building that he says used to be a dance studio, and before that, a paint factory. It’s got crumbly brick walls, tall ceilings, and dark wood beams overhead. One wall is a mirror with a bar running across it, which Benny says is great for when he’s painting self-portraits.

The mirroralsohappens to be right across from the very sturdy-looking bed.

I mean, it’s not on the ceilingoverthe bed, but... that could be hot.

WAIT A SEC, is it possible this is a booty call? Iama little tense. Sounds like just what the doctor ordered, honestly. A perfect way to make myself forget about how I ruined things with Tasha, so I can clear my mind and fully focus on the double murder aspect of things. I mean, if that’s what it takes.

I decide to play it cool for now and spend the next moment focusing on the floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the El tracks, as though it’s a view I’ve always been deeply curious about. “Very nice, very nice,” I say and keep moving around the room.

I guess it’s a studioanda studio, so there’s art and art supplies everywhere. Stacks of canvases lean against the walls. There are easels of all different sizes, including one that he seems to currently be working on right now, a sort of abstract cityscape that’s dripping paint, but that’s not the one I find myself in front of.

It’s the half-finished painting of Claudia. I’m tearing up before I realize it.

Benny notices and comes to join me. “I know,” he says softly. “I can’t bear to put it away. Somehow if it stays in-progress, it’s like she’s not really gone.”

I nod.

“So,” I say, wiping my eyes. “What’s your project tonight?”

“I’m in the middle of this one”—he points at the cityscape—“but sometimes it takes a while for an idea to really take shape in my head. I have to do a lot of staring, and I can sit around for days and not make much progress. That’s why it’s nice to walk dogs—I can still be in my head. But I figured if you came over, we could hang out and I could still be available for the muse.”

“Themuse?” I say, grinning.

“Don’t worry, we’re not monogamous,” he jokes.

Helloooo I guess I don’t need to play itthatcool.

He is standingreallyclose to me. I can practically feel those forearms flexing. But he doesn’t make a move. I’ve never been part of a straight-up booty call before. Is there somethingIneed to do, or is my showing up enough evidence that I’m interested?

“Cran got murdered,” I blurt.

Nice, Mo. Very sexy.

He jerks back. “What?”

“Someone defiled his pickles,” I say, trying really hard to thread that needle between murder investigation and possible hookup.

“Wow.”

“Yup.”

“I mean... really?Wow.”