Page 70 of Don't Cross Mo Ellery

I push myself off the fence and am finally about to head back home, but stop before I get very far, because—what thehell—now there’s someoneelsein front of Claudia’s house, pacing on the sidewalk, raking a hand through his floppy dark hair, and talking feverishly into his phone. He runs up to the door and rattles the locked doorknob, then tries to peek into the mail slot, then kicksthe door, all with the casualness of someone who is currently being electrocuted.

Well well well, if it isn’t the big fish himself: Tond.

Based on how freaked out he seems, heknowssomething went wrong.

And it’s not hard to figure out what it was: IfIhad someone killed, I definitely wouldn’t want a clue full of nudies sitting around with my name on it. This murder bro came back for the envelope I am currently clutching in my armpit.

Totally fine. Totally not scary at all.

He yells something into the phone, shoves it into his pocket, and starts taking huge strides in the opposite direction.

Okay, I know I just clocked out my imaginary detective time card for the day, but this is probably an opportunity, right? Tailing him is the obvious next step.

Didn’t Rodney O’Malley have a tailing video?

I fumble with my phone and pull up his YouTube Channel, but Tond is already slipping away, so I hustle after him while also scrubbing through the video titledTailing Suspects 101: Is That Your Tail or Are You Just Happy To See Me.

I catch a few useful things like “keep your distance” and “don’t panic” and “pretend you’re supposed to be there,” along with a long rambling story about the time Rodney tailed a perp through the city sewers and ended up in the hospital withE. coli, which is personal nightmare material. The rest of it feels pretty generic, as far as advice goes, so I pocket my phone and a minute later, I’m tailing a murderer down the block while wearing a neon vest so bright it could be seen in the deep sea.

I keep my distance, partly because I can’t walk as fast as Tond—this man is definitely stress-walking. He turns the corner at the endof the block and so do I, but then he whips around, andoh shit he’s looking at me.

Prentend you’re supposed to be hereflashes through my brain, so my lightning-fast reflexes hurl me onto my knees in a random lawn, where I suddenly become a crossing guard who also happens to be pulling up weeds. My hair hangs like a veil, shielding my face, and IthinkI’ve managed to shove the brown envelope under my vest in time. I silently pray to every known deity that no one is watching me from the front windows as I yank up a hunk of what is probably perfectly good grass.

Tond starts walking toward me, and I double down my lawn duties, holding up and studying what is very clearly just a leaf.“Unbelievable,”I say loudly and pull out my phone to... what?

I decide on a fake phone call.

“Yeah, get me Smitty,” I say. “Yep, it’s exactly what we thought. No, of course they don’t have a permit, what do you think?”

Tond stops dead (ha) in his tracks. He spins on his heels and hustles back down the street.

I’m going to pass out. That wastoo close.I’m just not built, constitutionally, for this kind of stress.

In my periphery, I see him go up a walkway and let himself into the one weird, modernist box-shaped house that sticks out like a sore thumb among the old brick bungalows lining this block.

Figures that this would be the Johnston Bros lair.

I need to get into that house.

I stand up, my whole body shaking, and promptly plop back down on the grass. I need to get into the house... but maybe notright now, when there’s a murderer in there, and I’ve got his blackmail shoved in my bra.

I limp back home to safety, take the dogs out (through thefrontdoor this time, a luxury I might as well take advantage of while Sheila’s here), and then dig around my kitchen for the scissors I “borrowed” from Chris.

It takes me a minute to find them, especially because Jean thinks I’m going to give him another treat (which of course I do, just to get him off my back). Then I finally get too impatient and grab a knife instead. I slice open the packing tape and pull the envelope open.

My guess was wrong. It’s not geriatric nudie photos.

It’smoney.

The envelope is absolutely bursting with hundred-dollar bills.

I flip the envelope over again and reread the message scribbled on the paper.

This is just for starters...

Chapter 23

I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting in my pink chair. I’m not sure how many times I’ve counted the money.