Page 86 of Don't Cross Mo Ellery

“Dang, it is easier to get in your pants than get on your calendar.” Even with a murderer in the next room, I cannot stop flirting with this woman. What is wrong with me?

She laughs, and it takes everything I’ve got, but I resist the urge to tell her the professional help I need most is to rip her clothes off inthe office supply closet. I’m pretty proud that instead, I tell her the story I’ve been practicing.

“So you remember the guy who died at my intersection? Cran Johnston?”

She nods.

“I know this sounds sort of silly, but... his brother is trying to find out what his last words were. It’s a whole grief thing.” I pull out the okra-stained calendar and flip through the pages. “This is Cran’s calendar, and it has this entry.” I point to the morning of the accident. It says,Meeting at Merle’s.I shake my head. “I couldn’t believe it, but I told the brother I knew just who to ask.”

Icouldbelieve it.

Because I wrote it there this morning.

Eat your heart out, Rodney O’Malley!

Except... I’m discovering in real time that lying to Tasha feels bad. Very bad. Much, much worse than I thought.

Just then, beige pantsuit lady—Val—walks through, a fat brown envelope in her arms. I think of the brown envelope in Benny’s abs and get the shivers. “Running to the post office,” she says to Tasha, and then wrinkles her nose. “Why does it smell like the butt end of a pickle jar in here?”

“Long story,” I say, gesturing toward the calendar, as if that explains it all.

“Gross,” Val says as she leaves.

Tasha shrugs in apology. “She grows on you.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“So this thing says they had a meetup, huh?” Tasha slides into her chair and squints at Cran’s calendar. “That’s weird. I’ll check Merle’s calendar, but I honestly don’t remember scheduling anything for them that week.”

“That would be a huge help—I figure if anyone knows Merle’severy move, it’s you!” I immediately bite my tongue, realizing that I’m drifting into “too much truth” territory.

Lie better, I scold myself.

Practice makes perfect, I snark back.

Look, it’s not like I’m lying to get into her pants. And I’m not lying aboutme, orus, so maybe this isn’t so bad? Even so, it still feels like I’m setting up a fuzzy gray cubicle wall of dishonesty between us.I’ll knock it down later, I tell myself as she closes a document.It’s for 11.5K, I think as she clicks into his calendar.I can buy her so much Malört with that money.

“I doubt it would have been Merle,” Tasha says. She clicks around. “Yeah, according to his calendar, he and Cran Johnston met every other week, and the last time was eight days before his death.”

I stare over her shoulder, scanning as quickly as possible. I’m not looking for a meeting the day he died. Obviously.

I’m looking for the day of the funeral... and... found it. Dang it. That day is blank.

But it’scompletelyblank. No meetings whatsoever. Even the funeral isn’t on there.

So maybe... Merle has a personal calendar? Where he keeps records of funerals and side hustle meetings with henchmen?

Henchpeople, I correct myself. The patriarchy can suck it.

Now that I think about it, thatwouldmake sense. If I was a murderer, I’d keep a secret calendar for my murdering to-dos instead of the official one my assistant manages. Damn. Wonder if I can somehow break into his back office...

Tasha catches the look on my face, thankfully misunderstands, and makes a sympathetic noise. “Sorry that didn’t help with your mission.”

“It’s okay,” I say, quickly. “I’ll let the brother know. Thanks for your seven seconds.” I meant it to come out flirty, but it sort of just sounds sad. All this lying, for what?

She’s looking at me intently, and I’msureshe’s seeing right through me, and I’m sweating right into my sleek fashion T-shirt that shows off my clavicle—but then she puts a hand on my arm and says gently, “You know, it’s possibleyouwere the one who heard his last words. Do you remember the last thing he said to you?”

And suddenly, I do remember. He was spitting venom about the fact that I’d stopped him from running over that kid, and the very last thing he said to me was that he was friends with the alderman.