Page 109 of Don't Cross Mo Ellery

“There’s nothing inherently criminal about an unmarked van,” I say, trying to sound reassuring for both our sakes. I will not spiral,so help me. “The world is full of totally innocent unmarked vans.”

As the door slides open, I feel Tond clench himself even smaller behind me so that his head is getting a little uncomfortably close to my anus. I’m clenching a bit, too, also in the anus department.

But then, a couple of awkward guys around my age in work khakis and neon vests hop out of the van. They unload some equipment, and within a few minutes they’ve got one of those surveyor tripods up and they’re scoping out my intersection. I let out a sigh of relief.

Behind me, Tond squeaks, “They have a telescope. Probably with a laser. Possibly snipers.”

“OR,” I say, “they’re fixing the sinkhole.”

“What sinkhole?” Tond asks.

I point to the incredibly huge and obvious sinkhole several feet away from us yawning out from under the metal plate. “The one your brother died in?”

“They didn’t have time to botulism me, so they’re just going topushme in the hole,” he says, pulling me closer to him, which is not physically possible.

I wave at the small crew and they wave back. I shake myself free of koala-Tond’s grip. “Actually, they’re city workers who are going to fix the sinkhole.”

“But—”

“Watch. I’ll confirm it.” I pull out my phone to message Tasha, brushing off the pangs of regret that suddenly swamp me. “Just real quick, sending a text to my... road fixing connection.”

Me:I’m really sorry, again, about what I said. I understand if you don’t want to talk, just ... thanks for sending surveyors to fix the sinkhole

Me:You make this city a better place

There’s no answer for a few minutes.

“What did they say?” whisper-shrieks Tond, still squatting behind me.

Finally, Tasha gives the second message a thumbs-up.

It’s not exactly romance-level forgiveness, but at least she isn’t ghosting me as a human being.

“Yep,” I say to Tond, ignoring the pinch in my chest. “It’s for the sinkhole.”

He visibly relaxes. “This is what I want more of from you, you know? Asking questions, sleuthing stuff.”

“I can’t be around you all the time, Tond. Go about your business like normal, but you know, stay aware of stranger danger. Be alert. If you see something, say something.”

I sound so confident! If only Ifeltconfident. Maybe I need a hat.

“Okay,” he says reluctantly, and then he wiggles a finger between me and the surveyors. “But even if you can’t be glued to me, I want to see more ofthis. You detecting.”

Perfect—an opportunity to save my own ass for a little longer. I glance at my phone with a frown. “My shift is almost over, and wecouldgo get that money right now.But... that’s just more time away from my important detective work.” I shrug. “Your call.”

He squints at me, and I try to seem both confident and annoyed that he’s bothering me with things like the measly eleven-and-a-half grand that I have lost.

“Fine,” he says. He makes sure we’ve got each other’s phone numbers, and then he tries to look stern. “Get it to me by the end of the week.”

“Consider it done.”

After the shift ends, I run all the way home, which the dogs think is a blast. It’s not for them, though—I don’t want to be anywhere near the corner if Tond changes his mind. As usual, running does not agree with me, so I’m sweaty and out of breath when I let us all into the mailroom. I unlock my mailbox and pull out an envelope (a new billalready?), a package from my parents because they’ve never gotten over sending me care packages even though we live in the same city, and a crumpled-up note.

A murderer might leave something like a crumpled-up note, wouldn’t they? My hands tremble as I uncrumple it.

Sent you a Venmo request, please pay promptly. Love, Sheila

God.