Page 88 of Don't Cross Mo Ellery

“I really hope we’ll get to know each other better,” I say, squeezing her arm tenderly, “so another fun fact about me is that I always take the full dose of any medication I’m ever prescribed.”

“Ah.”

“So back to the murder stuff: I know it’s a lot to take in,” I say.

“Mo,” she says, not unkindly, “this isn’t old-school Chicago. There aren’t hit men at the gas company anymore. Actually, I’m not sure that was ever a thing. There are rules and laws and checks and balances. One of which isme. I know everything that happens in the office. I would have known if Merle was... killing people.”

“You don’t believe me,” I say, my heart deflating in my chest.

She bites her lip, like she’s wrestling with something for a minute, and then says, “I want you to have faith in city government, but I also want you to feel heard.” She blushes a little bit and then clears her throat. “Truth is, Merle’s a little out of it these days. Val and I are kind of picking up the slack.” She puts her hand on my arm. “Only temporarily; I swear he’s not always like this.”

I shiver. “Like what?”

She holds up a finger and then calls, “Merle? I’ve got a constituent who wants to meet you.”

“Tasha!” I squeak.

I know there’s fight or flight, but is there also pee your pants a little?

Seriously, what is she doing?

“Oh goody!” calls a booming voice from the back. “Never miss the chance to meet a voter!”

And following that is about three solid, uncomfortable minutes of clanking, banging, and groaning noises. When Merle finally emerges from the back office, I see him for the first time: a small, rosy-cheeked, gray-haired man, who hobbles his way past the cubicles, leaning on crutches that he’s using to accommodate, that’s right,the giant cast on his entire right leg.

“Here, let me help,” Tasha says.

“Now, Tasha, I’m not a feeble old man,” he says, just as he catches one of the crutches on the floor and nearly goes down. “I have to figure this out by myself.”

“What happened to you?” I ask. “Er, Your Honor.”

He shakes his head. “I was at a funeral last weekend, and the stairs out front—woooowee. It’s like they’re trying to get more business, if you know what I mean!” He winks at me.

Tasha laughs awkwardly and then mimes popping a pill, nodding at Merle.

Holy cow,what. Merle doesdrugs?My mind is spinning a million miles a minute. This is bad. This means digging up dealers, sticking my nose into a seedy underbelly of the city I hadn’t even considered—

Wait. She’s mimingpainkillers. For the leg. Got it.

“So... you fell down the stairs at the funeral?” I ask, making absolutely sure I understand.

“Broke my leg in two places. I got the hardware to prove it!” He knocks on his cast and nearly topples over. Tasha helps prop him back up. “I got screws, nuts, bolts, the whole megillah!”

I echo what he said. “You broke your leg in two places.”

He frowns. “Well, in one place. The funeral home.”

“And the screws... you got those at the hospital?”

“Well, I didn’t get ’em from Ace Hardware!” He guffaws at this and then squints at me. “Did I?”

I shake my head. “I think they’re different screws.”

He nods, then turns to Tasha. “What am I doing out here?”

“Meeting a voter,” Tasha says. “This is Mo Ellery.”

“Hi. So,” I say. “Bear with me, I’m really interested in, um, how fast injuries heal—”