Page 40 of Don't Cross Mo Ellery

She giggles again. “He’s already eaten half of it, can he just have the rest?”

“You know what, go for it,” I say, and she laughs even harder as Jean scarfs up the rest of the hot dog.

“I’m Leslie,” she says, wiping a tear from her eye.

“Mo,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”

“So you’ve taken the dogs? You seem like a wonderful girl.”

Finallysomeone who really sees me. “Thank you,” I say modestly.

“I thought they might go to Benny.” She wrinkles her nose like his name smells bad. This lady is the best.

“Ugh, right?” I say. “You know Benny too?” I wrinkle my nose to show I agree.

“I have known him,” she says carefully.

I don’tthinkshe means in the biblical sense—she’s easily three decades older than me—but that would explain his complete disinterest in me.

In any case, this conversation got really awkward really fast. Time to redirect. “Have you seen Mr. Johnston’s brother?” I ask quickly.

“Leslie!” someone bellows across the room.

“I’m sorry, dear,” she says with a slight eye roll. “My husband calls.”

“It was nice to meet you,” I say as she disappears back into the crowd.

That’s fine. We have our own appointment with destiny.

It’s time for The Great Poodle Handoff.

Now, the question of the hour: Who at this funeral looks like the brother of Cran Johnston? Would he be another blond, snarling gym rat? Or the opposite?

I wind my way through the small clusters of mourners, which would be a lot simpler if I didn’t have an entourage of dogs with me. They keep getting their leashes wrapped around the chairs, sniffing the carpet and feet and chair legs and going in all different directions. Each time they get tangled on something, I have to bend over to free a leash and manage to catch a snippet of conversation.

Thing is,noneof the chatting is about Cran. A couple people in suits are exchanging business cards; someone in a silk shirt is asking about commercial rentals in the neighborhood; another trio is arguing over something to do with insurance. I’ve almost made a full circuit around the room when I realize everyone here isnetworking.

Benny was wrong—it doesn’t seem like anyone is here to grieve. Yeesh, that’s depressing. Cran was a dick, but maybe even dicks deserve a little respect at their own funerals?

We’re nearly to the front when the dogs suddenly stop weaving around the chairs and instead drag me straight ahead, toward the casket. Sweat explodes from my armpits as I think about Mr. Eternal Rest and his warning. These guys are really pulling hard, and I have a vision of knocking the entire casket over, which would just be the cherry on top of this terrific week. I glance around for a quick exit, fantasizing about leaving the dogs here. Funeral home dogs! That’s cool, right? Part of the package?

On the other hand, if Cran’s brotherishere, he’ll probably come talk to a stranger with his brother’s dogs standing over the casket. Right?

Against my better judgment, I take a quick peek at Cran, just lying there on a smooth bed of satin. He’s obviously all cleaned up, and he doesn’t look like a person who had a car accident, but then again, fixing that is somebody’s whole job. And they did a good one too. He looks not quite serene, but quietly satisfied, like he just yelled at a cashier for not making his smoothie fast enough.

The dogs settle in around the casket like it’s just a cozy Saturday for them, so okay, sure, I’ll just hang out here with the corpse until the brother sees me. This is fine. I’m fine with corpses.

I stretch my calves a bit and wiggle my toes in these cramped heels. Nobody is looking my way. No one bears even a passing resemblance to Cran. This could just as easily be a casual business function that happens to be taking place in a room with a dead body.

Maybe I should check in on Chris. I turn back to poor dead Cran with my back to the room for privacy, pull out my phone, and start typing.

Me:Hey bb it’s really sad in here, we’re sharing memories, prob good you didn’t come in

Nope. I delete the last bit.

Me:Hey bb it’s really sad in here, we’re sharing memories, thinking about you

That’s not it either.