Page 94 of Don't Cross Mo Ellery

He shrugs. “I don’t remember, it’s been kind of an intense couple of days.”

I ignore the subtle burn. Val is not exactly a cuddly person, buthowuncuddly is she?Murderuncuddly? Maybe. I try to recall every detail of my short encounter with her. Kind of snotty. Doesn’t like pickles.

And, hang on—she was walking out the doorwith a thick brown envelope. Exactly the kind of brown envelope that some quote-unquote lady in a suit gave to Benny.

“What did she say when she gave it to you?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I think she said, ‘here, take this.’?”

“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?”

“Once again: I’ve been very preoccupied getting myself out of jail,” he says, sounding cranky.

“Could she maybe have said, ‘take thisor else’?” I ask. “Something sketchy like that?”

He chugs his second wine and pushes the empty glass over at me. “Why are you doing this?”

“Getting you bottomless refills?” I ask. “I’m hoping you’ll forget I did aShawshank Redemptionto you.”

“No, why are you investigating Claudia’s murder?”

“Oh.” That’s a very fair question. I decide to leave out the part about Tond giving me the money—I don’t think Benny would approve. And I also don’t tell him that I’m haunted by the fact that I could have saved Claudia if I’d just convinced her to wait for Cran’s autopsy before she went off the rails with a murder investigation. Ishouldalsoleave out the bit about Mierzwiak and my possible status as dog thief. Yes, fine, I’m leaving out a lot. We’re still getting to know each other!

“Well,” I say, “I’m trying to do my civic duty. I’ve called the cops at every possible point—”

“I heard.” Benny raises an eyebrow.

“—and it has never ever helped. In fact, it only made it worse.” After a quick but vicious internal debate, I go ahead and tell him the reason I’ve only half admitted to myself this whole time. “I guess I feel like I owe it to Claudia.Someonehas to find out what happened to her.”

I don’t want to see the look on his face, so I grab his empty glass and head back to the bar for the third time. And I think I need another beer too.

While I wait for the drinks, I force down the wave of guilt that was about to overtake me and review the facts: I now have exactly one lukewarm lead. Room-temperature lead, if I’m honest with myself. I suppose Valissemi-connected with the cursed construction site by virtue of working at Merle’s office, but other than being a big B, she’s got no real motive that I can see yet.

More kickbacks? Is it kickbacks all the way down?

A polite little bark makes me look back over to our booth, where I see Benny and Jacques engaged in a game of pattycake. Even when he’s making dogs do tricks, Benny manages to look stupidly hot. Jean licks one of Benny’s biceps and I realize I would also like to do that.

Stop.

I do not need any more complications in my life. Probably.

The bartender clears her throat and as I spin around, she gives me a judgmental look and pushes the drinks over to me, bumping against a bowl of matchbooks. I pick the drinks up and head back to the table, realizing there’s something I’ve never cleared up.

“Can you think of a reason Cran might have come to Dickie’s?” I say, sliding into the booth. “Doesn’t seem like his kind of place.”

“Yeah, he came here to fire me as the poodles’ handler,” Benny says bitterly. “Wouldn’t tell me why, just that it was ‘time to move into the twenty-first century.’ I tried to tell him it has been the twenty-first century for a really long time already, but he wouldn’t listen. Anyway, he wanted to meet in public, but somewhere no one knew him, in case I went berserk and/or embarrassed him. His words.”

Damn. Well, that settles that, I guess. Why can’t any of my loose ends lead somewhere good?

Benny gives Lou a scratch behind the ears and sighs. “Cran would roll over in his grave if he saw what you’ve done to these guys.”

“By that do you mean caring for them and giving them a good home when no one else would?”

“They’re filthy and their hair is all knotted, and they’re getting fat. Are you still feeding them pepperoni?”

“They’re fatand happy,” I say defensively. “I’ve been told that’s a good thing.”

“They’reelitecompetitors, Mo, not lapdogs. Jacques kills it in agility, Jean is, well, okay, Jean is more of a Miss Congeniality type, but Louis here had a real shot at winninganotherBest in Show at the Great American Dog Show this year, which could get him ranked nationally. They are aB Fucking D!”