Page 108 of Don't Cross Mo Ellery

“That’s Cran’s house!”he whisper-yells.“I have my own, different house!”

“I called your office—”

“You called the office???”

“Yes, and I left my number there and thenyoudidn’t callme.”

His eyes widen. “You left a message? Are you crazy? Tell me you didn’t say anything—”

“Point is, I’ve been doing things.Detective things,” I say under my breath, and when I can see that he’s about to interrupt me, I beat him to it. “Cran was murdered!”

He freezes.

“Sorry! I meant to say that more sympathetically, but you were really getting on my nerves.”

“That’s impossible.” He shakes his head. “No, he died of botulism.”

“Your brother was botulismedby someone else,” I say emphatically,before pausing to walk a group of kids across the street. When I get back, I lay out all the evidence I found. The calendar, the fasting, the general availability of Botox, via Groupon and what have you. The fact that Tond, despite eating a tremendous amount of Cran’s pickles, did not, himself, die.

“Don’t remind me of pickle night,” he says, looking a little green. “And if that’s true, who killed him? And why? And also... how?”

“Yes, those are good questions. Great questions. In fact, they are exactly the ones I’m trying to answer.”

“It was Merle,” he says, panicked. “Had to be. There’s nobody else that powerful in this neighborhood. He must have been putting on an act when you saw him. Pretending to be old and helpless, when he’s really a power-hungry government shark!”

“Take a breath,” I say, not unkindly. “It was not Merle. I’ve looked into it already. And I’m not spiraling with you just because it’s uncomfortable not to know things.”

If I had a murder therapist, I bet she would be so proud of me right now.

Tond apparently is not. “Uncomfortable not to know things? What are you talking about!This is murder!I’mpayingyou to know! Okay, here’s the deal,” he says, decidedlynottaking a breath with me. “You suck at this, so I’m taking my money back.”

“Um, you’re what?”

“I want my money back.”

Shiiiit.

“I want to trust you, but this ismy lifewe’re talking about. I need leverage in case someone comes for me. Maybe I can pay Merle off with our bribe money. And if I’m miraculously still alive at the end of all this”—he knocks on the brick wall of the school and then winces as it scrapes his knuckles—“we cantalkabout whether you did enough to deserve any of it.”

Think, Mo, think fast.

Think like the wind.

“That’s an awful lot of back-and-forth,” I say. “I mean, phew, what a hassle for you.”

“That’s very thoughtful,” he says, “but I don’t mind. I’ll just come with you to get the money after you’re done here.”

“Right. That makes sense.” My brain scrambles to buy me some time. My shift ends in ten minutes. Ten minutes to come up with an excuse not to take Tond where the money isn’t. “Together, you and I will get your money, just as soon as my shift—”

My feeble excuse is interrupted by Tond screaming with his mouth shut. He slaps his hands on my shoulders and ducks behind me. I can’t imagine this is working well, since I’m significantly shorter than he is, but he’s giving it a go anyway.

“What?” I ask.

“There!” He sticks his arm out from under my armpit, so it looks like I have a hairy third arm pointing at the unmarked van that’s pulling up to the curb half a block away.

“It’s a van,” I say.

“Unmarked,” he whispers.