Page 32 of Don't Cross Mo Ellery

Old me would’ve just let it go and dealt with my new identity as dog housekeeper, but new me takes initiative.

So I call again, tell the receptionist that I got cut off, and then when Mierzwiak picks up, I say, very quickly, before he hangs up on me again, “You weren’t at the scene of the crash this morning, butthat cop’scard, uh, accidentally got thrown into a sinkhole, and I don’t know who else to talk to about this, but the tl;dr is there was a car crash, I took the dead guy’s dogs, and that was a mistake.”

“You stole the property of a vehicular DOA?”

“What?” I squeak.

“What’s your name and address?”

I hear laughing in the background. Are they making fun of me? Or is that menacing “I’m gonna get you” laughter?

My turn to hang up. Would it just be possible to start this day over? Just erase the whole thing—unanswered texts, dead guys, pooping dogs, mean cops, puking corpses? That last image flashes through my mind and I shudder.

I decide on a hot shower to wash off the general morbs, then throw on my comfy threadbare Cubs tank and pajama shorts, and pull out some pepperoni for lunch. The dogs all line up in front of me looking pathetic, so I cave and loop them in on the pepperoni train (after sternly reminding them that they will be cut off if any of them poop inside again). Time for one of my favorite activities: Ignoring the Problem by Watching Some Soothing Haircut Videos on YouTube. Honestly, it works like a dream. I’ve completely forgotten the dogs and become fully invested in a kicky little bob when I get a text.

Claudia Alonzo:Come to my house in 15.

Claudia.

Shit.

I’d completely forgotten I’d given her my phone. In my defense, it was before she revealed herself to be a total conspiro nutjob, but I make a mental note to not be so loose with my number again.

Now I have to gently let her down.

Me:Mammogram!

Claudia:You don’t have a mammogram. Come to my house.

How did she know? Do I have a tell? Ugh. Okay. I’ll be less gentle.

Me:I don’t go to strangers’ houses, and even though we had a traumatic experience together, we are still strangers

Claudia:Fine. Meet you on your corner in 15.

No! No noabsolutelyno.

I decide to ghost this lady, stat. Ghosting isn’t exactly the most grown-up option, but sometimes, you do what you have to do.

Unfortunately, she’s insistent, sending text after text.

Claudia:I’m serious. You need to be there. You’re in this now.

I’min thisnow? What does that even mean? And more importantly, how do I getoutof “this”?

I leave that message thread and instinctively go into Hannah’s, because she’s who I ask about stuff like this, except it reminds me that she still hasn’t replied about the toothbrush thing. She can’t be mad at me, can she? I mentally flip through everything I said yesterday, can’t come up with anything objectionable.

Me:Hey Han

Need to be strategic here. Getting sucked into a phony murder investigation with a crazy old lady leans a little too far into “hot mess” territory. If Hannah’s already cranky with me, I don’t want to sound too unhinged and needy.

But before I get any further, Claudia sends me another text. I swipe it away. Then there’s an attachment. And then another. And another. The more I swipe, the more they keep coming. With alotof trepidation, I switch back over to her thread.

Oh fuck.

It’s all the pictures she took of the dead guy.

Cran.