Page 48 of Don't Cross Mo Ellery

Upstairs, I throw my bag on the table, let the dogs loose, and realize my dress is on backward, because of course it is. I take the stupid dress off and put on my Cubs tank. It’s no-pants night, baby. Too early to go straight to bed, though. I grab a beer and a pint of ice cream and throw myself pathetically into the ratty pink velour chair. That’s when I notice the matchbook that’s slid out of my bag and onto the floor.

Right. The matchbook that was in Cran’s corpse’s suit pocket, from that time I shoved my hand in his coffin.

I flop out of the chair, crawl over, and study it half-heartedly. It’s from the bar down the street from me, Dickie’s Tavern. Dickie’s is one of those bleak neighborhood bars that puts red wine in the refrigerator and has no lights except a lit-up Old Style sign in the window.

Why would Cran go there if he doesn’t drink? Sure, they nominally have pizza, but he wouldn’t go there for that—believe me, I’ve ordered that pizza and the Yelp reviews are right. Plus, didn’t Claudia say Cran was a health nut?

Claudia.

Shit.

I totally forgot that I need to talk to her! I check my phone, and it was her calling while we were in the car—she called twice, but didn’t leave a message either time. And she didn’t reply to my texts.

I try calling back. She doesn’t pick up.

Then I text again.

Me:I’m sorry we keep missing each other, but I really need to talk. Murder plot real. Johnston brother in on it, but there’s a mastermind, identity unknown. Any leads??

Then, because I need her to know how serious this is, I text again.

Me:Please, this is urgent. Need to know who other guy is

By now I’ve finished my beer and yes, I’m a little tipsy, but I can feel myself getting worked up about this, and I have to find a way to not completely freak myself out.

Why won’t Claudia respond? Is she ignoring me because I tried to offload the dogs to Tond and quit the investigation?

Petty, yes. But on-brand? Also yes.

After about three minutes of stewing about being ignored, I decide to just go over to her house and beg for forgiveness. I mean, I know where she lives. And it’s so close. That’s not weird, right?

Well, it’s definitely not weirder than anything Claudia does.

Maybe I’ll take her a beer.

As a house gift.

It’s closing in on 9 p.m. when I get there, gift beer in hand. We probably only have a few more weeks of summery weather, and even though the sun has set, the sky is still a light, glowy pink.

Claudia’s bungalow, on the other hand, is totally dark.

I knock lightly on the door, loud enough that she’d hear if she was still up, but not loud enough to wake her.

No answer.

Is this situation urgent enough to wake Claudia up by ringing the doorbell?

Claudia’s voice rings in my head.I dunno, Mo, ismurderurgent?

Then Chris’s voice:You took what you heard out of context and blew it way out of proportion. This was so obviously an accident.

Ugh. Dick.

My finger hovers over the bell, which is one of those video doorbell camera thingies. Of course Claudia’s got cutting-edge security. This is peak crime-prevention stuff. She’s probably got a friggin’panic roomin there.

I lean into the doorbell, because I might as well cover all my bases.

“Claudia,” I whisper. “It’s me, Mo.”