Page 129 of Don't Cross Mo Ellery

Chapter 39

The corner still needs guarding, so somehow I manage to get up the next few mornings.

On the job, rumors are flying.

The FBI told us all to keep our traps shut until Leslie’s trial is over, so the official explanation for what happened is just “public disturbance.” Still, I’ve heard the whispers as I walk kids and their parents across the street. Some of them think I’m a secret agent. Some of them think I’m a mob boss. Some of them think I’m being paid by the mayor to take out people who haven’t paid their parking tickets.

The effect, though, is that everyone crosses the street when I tell them to.

It’s making work a lot easier.

And whenBlock Clubposts their write-up of the whole affair a few days later, I can’t help but read it. It’s as close as I get to Tasha these days.

Leslie Carey, wife of north side alderman Merle Carey, was arrested Sunday on charges of murder, racketeering, bribery, and extortion, abusing her position as the spouse of an elected official to solicit and extort private legal work and other benefits from companies and individuals with business before the city, one of which went south and led to the horrific murders.

“I am shocked and horrified,” said Ald. Carey, via a statement released by his new chief of staff, Tasha Moore. “I had no idea Leslie was running around committing these heinous crimes in my name. I will do whatever it takes to regain the trust of Chicagoans and restore the good name of Carey. My office has always, always operated with integrity and lawfulness, ask anyone! And we will continue to run our ward with honesty to be an example for the city.”

Tasha and I haven’t communicated at all since the breakup, and I don’t know how we would start.

I really miss her. I miss having something to look forward to. Somebody to get to know better. But a lot would have to change for our relationship to work. And I can’t hang on and wait for her to fit me in her schedule.

Even good things can be not good for you, I guess. Like having ice cream with every meal, including breakfast. Which I should probably stop doing, I think, as I house a pint of ice cream while waiting for my frozen mac and cheese to cook in the microwave.

Eh, it’s dinnertime, so it’s okay. I’m just having dessert first.

My pocket buzzes. It’s a text from Marlowe.

Marlowe:Come to school now and bring the dogs

I think about ignoring her, but recently, Marlowe has adoptedClaudia’s tone of texting, and it’s hard to say no. I stop the microwave, put the pint back in the freezer, and go. And like she asks, I bring the dogs, who are super pumped to get an extra walk in.

Marlowe, meanwhile, brings her moms. Mom #1 looks very lawyery in a sleek gray suit—she’s definitely Shoshanna, the one who yelled at me over the phone. Mom #2 has a curly undercut with blue streaks in it. I can see how this combo might result in a Marlowe.

“Mo!” Marlowe runs over and hugs me, talking under her breath so her moms don’t hear. “Don’t mention my involvement in the case, okay? We’ll debrief later. Your place?”

I don’t get to answer because Marlowe shoves me toward her moms. “Mo, this is Shoshanna and Alexis.”

“Hi, Mo,” says Shoshanna. “Thanks for looking out for our little troublemaker.”

“That’s the job,” I say. “The crossing guard job, I mean. If you’ve heard any rumors, they aren’t true. About murder. Or whatever.”

“We saw the adoption videos you made,” Shoshanna says, thankfully changing the subject. “For the dogs.”

Wait. I swivel to look at Marlowe, and she’s grinning at me. The little sneak. She made me make the videosfor her.

“I’m a pediatric surgeon,” Alexis says, “and we were thinking, with training, the poodles could be great therapy dogs for kids at the hospital. So—”

“Yes,”I say, a little too eagerly, and Alexis looks startled. “I mean, yes, please take the dogs. They would makegreattherapy dogs.”

“Thank you,” says Alexis, beaming.

“Thank youuuuuu,” says Marlowe, who’s already hugging all three of the dogs at the same time.

We go back to my place, I put everything I’ve gotten for the dogs in a trash bag for them to carry home, and then they leave.

My apartment is quieter than I think it’s ever been. No dogs, no bribery from Sheila, no panicked hiding of piles of cash in the bathtub.

This sounds bad, but I feel a little...lostwithout the chaos? So I pull out my phone to text Hannah or Benny or even watch some haircut videos to distract myself, but then after a moment I put it back in my pocket.