Page 77 of Don't Cross Mo Ellery

Check and mate.

He scrambles to his feet, and I realize I’ve only got my fists, so I hold them up like an old-timey boxer and hope I look intimidating.

But he just starts hyperventilating. He leans against the counter to support himself. “Claudia isdead?” he wheezes.“Was it botulism??”

Playing dumb, huh? Well, this crossing guard wasn’t born yesterday.

“Spare me the theatrics,” I say.

He’s not hyperventilating anymore, but he doesn’t look guilty, either, just sort of confused. A criminal mastermind, no doubt.

“But. Why would I kill Cran? He was the one who was good at business. I hate this stuff.”

“Because... okay, that’s a fair question.”

“And I literally just told you—Cran died of botulism. It’s all right here.” He reaches into his pocket, and reflexively, I punch him.

Except I’ve never punched anyone in mylife, and my aim is terrible. I just barely clip his shoulder, but it still sends streaks of pain up through my elbow. He grabs his shoulder, looking more emotionally injured than physically. “Ow! Why the violence?” he says, handing me a folded-up piece of paper.

“Sorry,” I say, shaking my punching arm. “I thought maybe you were pulling a weapon.”

I unfold the official-looking paper. Sure enough—unless he forged this report on forged letterhead, Cran died of botulism.

Not murder. Damn.

Well, accidental poisoning could explain the slurring and stumbling Cran was doing before he died. Maybe the vomit deluge too.Turns out Claudia was half-right when she suggested radium poisoning, I think sadly.

Also, note to self: Check on symptoms of botulism in case it’s something I should consider worrying about.

“But like for real, who the fuck is Benny?” Tond asks. “I’m telling you, I don’t know this guy. And turn that damn thing off.” He points at my phone.

I hesitate, then press pause because obviously my whole plan has been flushed down the crapper.

Once Tond sees I’m not recording, he leans in and whispers: “I had that conversation withMerleat the funeral.”

Merle. Merle. Why do I know that name? “Who’s Merle again?”

He looks appalled. “You don’t know the name of your own alderman? Do you even vote?”

“Okay, I’m really not about to take civic responsibility lessons from a—” I stop as the full impact of what he’s said hits me. Merle Carey. Not justmyalderman.Tasha’s alderman.

Tond drunkenly bulldozes on. “And anyway, why would I give somebody bribe money and then simultaneously kill them? Does that makeanysense to you?”

“Well, I guess not,” I admit.

“Plus, if she’s dead, her house goes to her next of kin... what a mess. Our company’s going to hemorrhage money until it’s out of probate. The red tape alone could bankrupt us.” His face crumples in grief as he cries out, “I mean,me.”

Oh.

God, I feel so stupid. There’s clearly a whole lotta bribery going on, and political bribery no less—which, by the way, is already giving me a stomachache—but no murder. Just a couple of accidents.

Accidents happen all the time—they are, in fact, the fourth-leading cause of death.

And I’ve been so desperate to not feel like my life is in the toilet, Imayhave gotten a bit carried away. Getting carried away might be, maybe, possibly... a big problem for me.

I hand back the cause-of-death report.

Tond and Benny: officially not murderers.