Page 96 of Don't Cross Mo Ellery

All I wanted was a dangloan, and now I’m in a creepy basement with a possible lurking murderer. They could murder me right now.

How long will it take for anyone to notice I’m missing? Days?

How long would it be before someone found my body?

It is a depressing state of affairs that the person who will care most about my absence is definitely Sheila.

My only hope right now is that whoever was here has already left. Pleasepleasehave already left.

“Is anyone there?” My voice sounds hollow in the darkness.

Nobody answers. I fumble for my phone, and the flashlight throws creepy shadows around the workspace, but no one’s skulking in the dark. I wait for my heart rate to slow.

“All right, guys,” I say to the dogs, trying to keep it upbeat for all our sakes. “What do you say we really quickly look for clues and then go eat a lot of ice cream to calm our nerves?”

Jean sits and offers to shake my hand.

Okay, so he does know a few tricks after all.

And since I, too, am motivated not just by my impending potential murder, but also by ice cream, I get on with my snooping.

But for what kind of clue, exactly?

I poke around as fast as I can, digging through filing cabinets and scoping out random papers on the workbench, but it’s all drawings of grown-up Link from different angles (some of them in various states of undress:veryimaginative, Claud). All her art supplies, already gathering dust.

I kneel down and shine my light sideways on the floor because I saw that on a show once, but the only footprints I see are ours.

I can feel myself getting more desperate. Nothing appears to have been moved since I was here last. Except the money, obviously.

The cellar is totally clue-less.

Just like me.

The poodles and I climb the stairs to the outside, where I shut the bulkhead doors carefully behind us. While the dogs romp throughthe yard, I flop down into the tall, buggy grass and try not to hyperventilate.

Who took the money? I have to open my mind to all possibilities.

So I picture Val in her beige suit sneaking down and grabbing the money.

Then I imagine the same with Merle, stumbling over his crutches.

Then Benny, snagging some oil paints on his way out.

Tond, sobbing the whole time.

But here’s the problem—nobodyknew where the money was.

Sweat prickles my forehead. My throat starts closing up. Is it hot out here?

Almostnobody.

There was one person I trusted. Someone who works closely with the alderman. Someone who works early and late and onSundays.Someone who knows everything that happens in the office. Someone friendly and smart. And sexy.

That lady gave me the envelope...

The one in the suit...

It feels like the ground beneath me falls away as I put the pieces together.