Page 75 of Don't Cross Mo Ellery

There’s an awkward pause and then he picks up the bottle next to him and takes a big swig of...

“I’m sorry, is thatcooking sherry?”

“Secret girlfriend, you are very observant.” He takes another swig. “Cran didn’t drink, so this is all he has, okay? It’s disgusting, but I deserve to be punished.”

Oh. This isCran’s house. No wonder Jacques knew how to open the door—wait, nope. A dog opening a door is not reasonable, no matter how you cut it.

Tond wipes his eyes, then pinches a pickle out of a jar and chomps on it, staring directly at me. It feels aggressive, but I’m not sure why.

“I guess you could say I like to dance with death,” he says, accidentally spitting pickle bits in my general vicinity.

Now that I’m face-to-face with the neighborhood murderer, who seems to be both drunk and sad, I’ll admit he seems more pathetic than scary. I also can’t say I understand the pickle situation, but maybe that’s how murderers operate, by undermining your confidence with weird stuff.

Not this time, buddy.

Weird doesn’t even faze me anymore.

“Time to turn yourself in,” I say. “I know exactly what you did.”

“You do?” He blinks at me. “How?”

It’s go time. The big moment. Is. Happening. Okay, Mo. Muster all your grown-up confidence here. And also... see if you can find your recording app with the phone still in your pocket.

Oof, really shoulda had that ready to go.

Time to stall.

I make my way across the kitchen tile, trying not to step on any glass shards, as I shove my hand in my pocket and hope I get the PIN right without looking. “Where to even begin?” I say. “It’s a classic case. I mean justlookat you.”

He whimpers a little.

Hmm, can I pull my phone out just alittlebit without him noticing? I turn away like I’m examining the beet-splattered calendar and peek at my screen. Shit. Messed up my PIN. I unlock the phone and spin back around. “Youmurderedyour brother!”

Tond gasps and chokes a little bit on a pickle. He starts coughing and wheezing. Do I need to do the Heimlich? I don’t know the Heimlich.

He holds up a finger. “I’m okay,” he croaks. “I’m okay.”

“You are the opposite of okay!” I say, discreetly thumbing through my apps. Do I HAVE a recording app, even? “You wanted Cran’s house and his life! He was cramping your style. He had to beeliminated.”

Yes!Found it.

Ugh, what? I need to put in myemail? Jesus.

I keep stalling. “Because you wanted Johnston Bros Real Estate to be Johnston BRO Real Estate, didn’t you? Didn’t you?BRO?”

Okay, I’ve finally got the app going, and I hit record just in time. God, I’m good. I’m looming over him now in what is hopefully an intimidating way, so close I can smell the nose-tingling aroma of pickled beets and sherry.

Tond pauses midchew, eyes welling up with tears. “You guys had something really special, I can see that now.” He nods. “You deserve to know the truth.”

Oh shit.

Here we go.

Chapter 25

“Cran died of botulism!”

Tond is crying again. Blubbering really. Snoteverywhere.