Page 49 of Don't Cross Mo Ellery

Yes, obviously it’s me, this thing is a camera.

I keep going.

“I’m sorry, okay?Pleasedon’t give me the silent treatment right now. I heard Tond say he wants to ‘take care of’ me... Which really does sound kinda murdery? I’m notscaredscared, but Chris thinks I’m overreacting, which I have—okay, fine—occasionallybeen known to do. Right, you don’t know Chris—he’s my boyfriend. Ex. Long story, not my fault. He isgreatin the sack, though, which still makes me kind of want to trust him and honestly, I’m just really confused right now, lots going on, you know? Could use an assist.”

Phew, this went off the rails fast.Bro, youreallyneed therapypops into my head, and I make a mental note to eventually deal with that.

“Anyway,” I continue whispering into the doorbell, “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you at first. Call me when you watch this?” I pause for a second. “Okay, um, bye.”

I hustle home, drinking the gift beer as I go, which unfortunately just makes me feel more paranoid. After pacing around my apartment and polishing off my third beer of the night, I break down and pick up my phone.

“Yellooooo, this is—”

“Hi, Detective Mierzwiak, it’s Mo. Ellery. We talked before? I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“Ahhh yes, Chicago’s most notorious dog thief.”

“I am not—look, I tried to give the dogs to their uncle and he’smaking me keep them and anyway, that’s not what I’m calling about. I think someone is trying to murder me. I overheard them talking about it at a funeral.”

“No kidding. A funeral? I’ll get my best guy on the case.”

A thousand-pound weight is lifted from my shoulders. “Really? Thank you so—”

“No, not really! And stop calling me or you’re gonna be in some real trouble.”

He hangs up.

So that went well.

Chapter 15

I wake up the next morning to one new text.

Claudia:It’s murder

Great, thanks, Claud. Super helpful.

I can’t tell if she’s being passive-aggressive about me doubting her or if she’d just had a little too much of her Chardonnay and ice last night, but right now I can only think about how unfair it would be if I got murdered or arrested before I’ve had any caffeine.

I roll over and discover a searing pain in my left arm. And that’s not all: My mouth is dry, my heart is racing, and my whole body somehow feels both hot and cold at the same time. And my throat is definitely closing up. I put my hand on my chest as my breath starts to come fast, and part of me just wants to stay in bed and wait to see if this massive heart attack passes or kills me.

But then a velvety wet nose nudges my hand. Another one sniffs at my face. I weigh my options. I could get up and be a grown-upabout this, or I could die and run the risk of being breakfast for three circus poodles.

I grit my teeth. “Ugh, fine.”

Jessie, the weekend receptionist at Lincoln Urgent Care, audibly groans when I sidle up to the counter. “Hope you brought your punch card, Mo,” she says. “What’ll it be today? Tetanus? Skin infection? Ebola?”

“Very funny,” I say. “We both know Ebola never made it to Chicago. I’m having a heart attack.”

“Then go to the ER.”

She’s right, of course, but the idea of going to the ER is somehowscarierthan a heart attack. “Can’t you just squeeze me in? My left arm really hurts,” I say, rubbing it and wincing to show her I’m not lying.

“You’re not having a heart attack.”

“I could be,” I say, picturing my parents getting the call that I died in the lobby of an Urgent Care.That tracks, they’ll say.Bet she didn’t even try to get to the ER—if only she’d had some ambition.“This is medical malpractice.”

Jessie groans, pressing fingers into the bridge of her nose. “No, Mo, it’striage. And I’m really busy today. With people who are actually sick.”