Page 78 of Don't Cross Mo Ellery

And that’s when I realize I’ve gotten poor, innocent Benny in some very serious trouble.

I flash back to the doorbell video, and it’s like the whole thing comes into focus. He wasn’t just dropping off an envelope of money. He was in the middle ofwalking dogs, and (oh god) I bet if I’d lookedclosely enough, one of them would have been mop-dog Charlie. Benny was just running an errand for Merle. He probably didn’t even know what he was doing.

And if Rodney O’Malley IS right about what happens in Chicago holding cells?

The neighborhood’s hottest dog walker is getting rolled and burged and whatever else Marlowe called it.

Because of me.

I need to find him and get him out of jail. Stat.

“Phew, well, glad we straightened that out,” I say. “I’ve really got to run—”

“All we wanted was a stupid beautiful cash cow of a parking garage,” Tond says, his blue eyes pleading. “I didn’twantto bribe anyone.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, backing toward the door and snapping my fingers for the dogs. “Come on, guys.”

“It’s a classic Chicago move,” Tond says, shaking his head and popping another pinch of sauerkraut. “It’s why I’m so bad at business. I lose track of everybody I’m supposed to bribe.”

I grab Jean in a full-body hug to pull him off what is probably his favorite sofa.

“Gotta bribe the old lady,” Tond says, counting on his fingers. “Gotta quid pro quo the alderman. Gotta bribe the gas company.”

“Good lord, dog,” I mutter as the dog makes himself deadweight. “Comeon, we’ve got to get a man out of jail.”

But then I process what Tond just said.

He holds up three fingers. “Well, I guess that’s just three bribes, but it feels like a lot when you’re doing it.”

“Tond,” I say, going still. “You bribed the gas company?”

He shrugs. “We had to bribe the gas company to pass inspection on some seriously not-up-to-code stuff. Some cousin of Merle’s wife. You didn’t start recording again, did you?”

“Holy shit,” I whisper.

“What?” he whispers back.

“Tond, Claudia died of a gas leak.”

He slaps a hand over his mouth. “You don’t think—”

There’s a bang on the window, and both of us scream. Tond dives to the ground, and I swear like a (terrified) sailor. But just as quickly, I recognize the face pressed up against the glass and it’s not a new, third murderer.

It’s Marlowe.

I throw open the window, furious. “What did I tell you about tracking my phone? This is super dangerous! This guy could have been a murderer!”

“?’Cept I’m not,” Tond pouts, holding his funny bone gingerly.

I lean out of the window and see that she’s balancing on the water meter. “You need to go home.”

But Marlowe’s eyes are wide. “Mo, I made a text autocorrect translation app.”

“Of course you did. Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

“No, listen. I finally translated that text Claudia sent me the night she died.”

Tond pads over to us and together we lean out of the window to look at Marlowe’s phone screen. She holds it up.