Chapter 10 #2
First step, I look up the closest police precinct and dial the number, wishing I’d kept that cop’s card after all.
A bored-sounding receptionist answers.
When I tell her I need to talk to somebody about a dead person’s stuff, she sounds a little less bored and transfers me to the cop on duty.
“Yelloooo, Detective Mierzwiak,” says a deep voice on the other end.
I quickly explain that I need to get the three poodles to Cran Johnston’s next of kin.
There’s a pause, and then he says, “Lady, I’m a cop, not a dogsitter.”
And then he hangs up on me.
Old me would’ve just let it go and dealt with my new identity as dog housekeeper, but new me takes initiative.
So I call again, tell the receptionist that I got cut off, and then when Mierzwiak picks up, I say, very quickly, before he
hangs up on me again, “You weren’t at the scene of the crash this morning, but that cop’s card, uh, accidentally got thrown into a sinkhole, and I don’t know who else to talk to about this, but the tl;dr is there
was a car crash, I took the dead guy’s dogs, and that was a mistake.”
“You stole the property of a vehicular DOA?”
“What?” I squeak.
“What’s your name and address?”
I hear laughing in the background. Are they making fun of me? Or is that menacing “I’m gonna get you” laughter?
My turn to hang up. Would it just be possible to start this day over? Just erase the whole thing—unanswered texts, dead guys,
pooping dogs, mean cops, puking corpses? That last image flashes through my mind and I shudder.
I decide on a hot shower to wash off the general morbs, then throw on my comfy threadbare Cubs tank and pajama shorts, and
pull out some pepperoni for lunch. The dogs all line up in front of me looking pathetic, so I cave and loop them in on the
pepperoni train (after sternly reminding them that they will be cut off if any of them poop inside again). Time for one of
my favorite activities: Ignoring the Problem by Watching Some Soothing Haircut Videos on YouTube. Honestly, it works like
a dream. I’ve completely forgotten the dogs and become fully invested in a kicky little bob when I get a text.
Claudia Alonzo: Come to my house in 15.
Claudia.
Shit.
I’d completely forgotten I’d given her my phone. In my defense, it was before she revealed herself to be a total conspiro
nutjob, but I make a mental note to not be so loose with my number again.
Now I have to gently let her down.
Me: Mammogram!
Claudia: You don’t have a mammogram. Come to my house.
How did she know? Do I have a tell? Ugh. Okay. I’ll be less gentle.
Me: I don’t go to strangers’ houses, and even though we had a traumatic experience together, we are still strangers
Claudia: Fine. Meet you on your corner in 15.
No! No no absolutely no.
I decide to ghost this lady, stat. Ghosting isn’t exactly the most grown-up option, but sometimes, you do what you have to
do.
Unfortunately, she’s insistent, sending text after text.
Claudia: I’m serious. You need to be there. You’re in this now.
I’m in this now? What does that even mean? And more importantly, how do I get out of “this”?
I leave that message thread and instinctively go into Hannah’s, because she’s who I ask about stuff like this, except it reminds me that she still hasn’t replied about the toothbrush thing.
She can’t be mad at me, can she? I mentally flip through everything I said yesterday, can’t come up with anything objectionable.
Me: Hey Han
Need to be strategic here. Getting sucked into a phony murder investigation with a crazy old lady leans a little too far into
“hot mess” territory. If Hannah’s already cranky with me, I don’t want to sound too unhinged and needy.
But before I get any further, Claudia sends me another text. I swipe it away. Then there’s an attachment. And then another.
And another. The more I swipe, the more they keep coming. With a lot of trepidation, I switch back over to her thread.
Oh fuck.
It’s all the pictures she took of the dead guy.
Cran.
Photo after photo of him, slumped over the steering wheel, at different angles and with varying amounts of gruesomeness. The
pepperoni in my stomach revolts.
Me: Please stop sending me snuff photos????
Claudia immediately texts back.
Claudia: Then meet me at the corner.
And she sends me another photo.
I take a deep breath. I’m handling it! I have it under control! Hot messes do not take deep breaths! I go back to the Hannah thread.
Me: Quick Q!
How to phrase this? Casual. Non-needy.
Me: Got any UPGRADE tips on how to say no to a job you don’t want?
Me: If like the hiring manager is being real pushy? Oof!
While I wait for an answer, Claudia sends me two identical close-ups of Cran’s bloody nose. Help.
Claudia: Sorry for the repeat
Right, that’s definitely the problem here.
And then, to my relief, Hannah finally responds.
Hannah: OMG a new job! Mo! Congrats!
Wait.
No. I was clearly too casual. Too not-needy. Faking being normal is so hard.
Me: Hahaha thanks but like what if I REALLY don’t want this job
Hannah: You can totally keep looking for your dream job while you’re pulling in a paycheck at not-dream job! Right now money is the
thing, right? Go go go! You got this!!
Something still feels off. Is Hannah faking normal too? She’s not usually this cheerful.
But then I wonder if she has a point. Would Claudia pay me? I wonder.
My phone pings with a close-up of Cran’s vacant eyes. Jesus.
Nope. There’s no money in this, only suffering.
Hannah: What’s the job??
Oh. Oops. Of course she would ask. She’s a good friend.
Time to pivot.
Me: Tell ya later - oh hey btw guess who flirted with a hot government official yesterday?
Hannah: !!!
Hannah: Nature is healing
Me: Ha ha, yep!
Thankfully, Hannah has always been easily distracted by romance. She’s a pushover when it comes to that stuff.
With her derailed, I grimly face my destiny in Claudia’s text thread.
Me: Fine. I’ll be there.
Claudia: 10 minutes.
Me: What happened to 15??
Claudia: Tick-tock.
I groan and reluctantly ditch my comfy outfit to put on a pair of jean shorts, socks, and shoes. And then I have another thought.
If Claudia’s going to be so pushy, then she can take the dogs.
“Come on, fellas,” I say, and the dogs scramble to their feet. “You’re going to stay with Aunt Claudia.”