Page 98 of Don't Cross Mo Ellery

Tasha:Got it. Of course

Tasha:Will shuffle some things around. 6pm work? You name the place, I’ll be there with bells on

Nope nope nope, don’t think about Tasha wearing nothing but bells.

Crap.

Too late.

Okay, this has to happen somewhere I won’t get distracted and try to jump her bones. And if I’m going to have the upper hand, Ineed to take her out of her element, out of the neighborhood. Somewhere no one knows her, where she might drop the act of dedicated public servant.

This is a job for the Petty Pig.

Memories flood my mind. The Pig is one of those rare coffee shops that stays open really late, so back in the good old days, when Chris had his overnight shifts, sometimes I’d play hooky from work and nap with him in the afternoon. We’d just lounge in bed, me wearing one of his old T-shirts, and then we’d throw on pants and go to the Petty Pig so he could get coffee and wake up for his shift at the hospital.

I hate remembering the good old days.

Especially when it seems like I’ve used all the good days up.

Petty Pig, South Loop?I text.

I pull the bowl of ice cream onto my lap, and, now that Hannah hates me and UPGRADE has ruined my life, I decide to look up my new inspirational guru.

I go to the Rodney O’Malley channel and open up the comments for the video titled,Begging the Question: Effective Interrogation Techniques.

At precisely 6 p.m. the next day, Tasha peeks in through the door of the Petty Pig wearing a white V-neck tee, her hair in pigtails, and it takes every ounce of self-control I can muster to focus on the missing money and the possibility of her murdering Claudia. And specifically tonotplaster my mouth all over her.

I wave at her from my place in line.

The Petty Pig, true to its name, reeks of stylish South Loop decor. White walls with one warm wood accent wall, vaguely industrial tables, and a few vine-y plants dotting the walls. But the baristas are chill, and the vibe is relaxed, and in the way back, there areseveral very private booths with tall seat backs and little plant canopies overhead, and tiny fountains and Zen rock gardens at each table. Each table is like your own mini spa, and—bonus!—the burbling of the fountain makes your conversation extra private. Not every coffee shop has a secluded nook where you can chat privately about corruption and murder.

I’m sweating so hard.

“This place is cool,” Tasha says as she joins me in line.

What did she mean by that?

Does she know I know?

Why is my eye twitching?

“Oh yeah,” I say vaguely. “I used to live around here.”

The sexiest of her two eyebrows shoots up. “Ooh! You got a trust fund I don’t know about?”

Oh no! Straight to money banter! According to the comments under the Rodney O’Malley video, any kind of friendly banter is good, because it can lead to a casual admission of guilt. But it’s way too soon. I’m not ready! I’m one second from making a break for the door when the barista saves the day. “Can I help you?”

“Yes! Yes,thank you,” I say, maybe a little too emphatically. “I’d like a chocolate croissant and a coffee and also a house red, please. And whatever she wants.”

“Hey, thanks,” Tasha says with a smile.

“No prob,” I say. You can’t investigate someoneandask them to pay for stuff. Even I know that.

We pick up our drinks and snacks from the counter (Tashaalsogets a red wine—a good start to keep us both loose, perfect for interrogations I’m guessing, even though Rodney O’Malley didn’t mention it), and we head straight for the hidden booths in back.

We’re passing the first secluded booth when I hear a voice over the burbling of the table’s personal fountain.

“...reallyhard to do intermittent fasting when you’re on call.”