Page 30 of Don't Cross Mo Ellery

For the entire two-block walk home—which takes longer than usual since the three dogs have to smellevery single thing—I’m in a state of shock. How did I let that woman convince me to take charge of these poodles? I don’t know anything about dogs. They definitely aren’t allowed in my apartment. I can’t afford to get kicked out. And I absolutely do not believe a word Claudia says about them being “important witnesses.”

So why did I take the dogs??

It’s partly because the sweet one won’t let me take two steps without following me and nuzzling. And, well, that’s sort of melted my heart. Claudia said it was unusual that he likes me; poodles are “handler sensitive,” and since I’m just not really a natural at many things (okay, anything), discovering that I might be a natural “Poodle Handler” has been the best part of a very bad day.

And then there’s the fact that it’s my fault they’re now orphans.

So yeah, I took them.

And now I am going to have to sneak these three enormous dogs through my front gatepast Roy’s door.

Great.

We jog across the courtyard as quickly as possible, and I plaster myself against the bricks next to the door. We’re just under Roy’s window, so I hope he isn’t looking out at this exact moment. After giving it a second, I peek through the front door into the mailroom—everything is quiet.

We slip inside, and while the dogs try to tug my arm off and stick their noses in every dirty, spiderwebby corner of the tiny room, I clamp my stop sign into my armpit and manage to unlock the little metal door of my mailbox.

Ugh.

How do I have an electricity bill already?

I try to shove it in my pocket, which is weirdly already full. I pull out whatever’s in there—and I’ve onlyjustprocessed that it’s the breakfast pepperoni I forgot to eat, when the sweet dog vaults over the other two and devours the entire handful with a huge sloppy chomp.

When he finishes chewing, he looks at me, and it is exceedingly clear that it was never me he wanted to nuzzle.

It was the pepperoni.

Welp. Too late to back out now.

I take a deep breath and aim all four of us toward the stairwell, hoping we can run past Roy’s door. But the moment we’re in, the dogs are everywhere, smelling every inch of the faded brown carpet, and the jingle-jingle of their collars isreallyloud, so when I hear the click of Roy’s lock, I panic. I can’t outrun this.

I do the only thing I can. I let go of their leashes, point my finger toward the stairs, and whisper, “Fly like the wind.”

And stunningly, they sprint right upstairs and out of sight.

By the time Roy has the door fully open, the dogs are gone.

“Oh hey,” I say, casually, leaning against the wall.

“Did I hear something weird out here?” he asks suspiciously.

“It was probably me,” I say, holding up the mail. “That dang electric company is on my ass.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Roy says. “If I had a nickel.”

There’s a pause.

“Okay, well, see you later,” I say.

“Okay,” says Roy with a nod. “Good talk.”

As I push open the door to 3C, the dogs burst inside and immediately make themselvesway too muchat home. The pepperoni lover heads straight for my tiny kitchen and starts licking the floor. Another one flops down in the middle of the room, sneezing. The third one leaps onto my bed and starts wrestling with my comforter.

“You—” I point at the one on my bed. “Uh, down! No! Stop!” None of these things work. He shakes his head back and forth, growling, and I can hear the comforter start to rip, and the electric bill flashes through my mind, and Ishould notbe buying new comforters right now, but then I remember something I heard walking past the dog park the other day—

“Drop it!”

The dog freezes, drops the comforter, and looks at me. Yes.Yes.I’m a total dog whisperer.