Normally, I HATE waking up before my alarm, but as Tasha snuggles up to me under the covers, I’m definitely reconsidering. Tasha – local Chicago government hottie in the streets, local, uh, also hottie in the sheets. (Still workshopping that one).
Why is she wearing a bathrobe in bed, I wonder, just as she licks my cheek.
“ABSOLUTELY NOT, DUDE,” I yell, unvelcro-ing myself from the standard poodle in my bed. Scratch that—one of the THREE standard poodles in my bed.
I am teetering on the very edge here. In more ways than one.
That’s when it sinks in. Tasha wasn’t here at all – that was just a dream. She doesn’t sleep over in my crappy studio, not on weekdays anyway.
And let me be very clear. These are not my poodles.
They are the poodles of a dead man. A dead man whose murder I am not solving. A dead man who was not even murdered! I am really almost pretty sure about that.
My phone is smashed somewhere under one of the dogs, and now that I’m VERY awake, I hear the faint, fur-covered alarm. I am, of course, late again.
I throw on my work uniform (it’s giving deranged mailman), feed the dogs and me a bit of pepperoni, grab my stop sign, and the four of us run out to the street corner where I work.
That’s right. I am a crossing guard. It’s a long story.
I’m fantasizing about a giant cinnamon-laced latte just as a horde of kids scream their way in my general direction. Thanks, I hate it. I’m managing to just barely contain the chaos, when things get even worse.
A pointy tween finger pokes my shoulder.
“Any new leads on the murder?” It’s Marlowe, the pink-haired nuisance who is living proof that someone put a curse on my ancestors.
“We are not discussing urder-may right now,” I hiss. “Don’t you have a math teacher to harass?”
She rolls her eyes and says some words that are technically English. Why can’t I have a sidekick my own age who uses slang I understand? What even is a “sigma” FFS. Ugh. SUCH an inconvenient murder. I mean accident.
But Marlowe really knows how to get under your skin. Feeling guilty about my crappy detective skills, I decide to stake out the neighborhood dive bar and look for suspects. Unfortunately, I down too many Malört shots, and as I’m leaving, stumble straight into a bush, scratch up both arms, appear to have an allergic reaction and/or deadly blood infection, go to urgent care where my old pal Jessie antagonizes me per usual, taking my $25 copay only to tell me I’m fine. I am NOT fine. I have a Malört hangover and it’s barely noon.
I’m about to throw in the towel on the whole day…when I get a text.
Tasha: lunch break my place? *winky face*
Maybe I can turn this day around after all.
DON’T CROSS MO ELLERY
Genre: Cozy Mystery
Release: August 2026
Format: Print, Digital, Audio
Purchase Link
A laugh-out-loud mystery following the indomitable hot mess Mo Ellery, whose job as a school crossing guard pulls her into an unhinged murder investigation.
Mo Ellery’s 29th birthday is a disaster. After one small accident—the exposure of her boyfriend’s genitals (well, maybe not that small) on a work video call—she manages to get fired, dumped, and kicked out of their overpriced Chicago apartment. Luckily, a sign appears to guide Mo to her new life: “Looking for flexible part-time work? Become a school crossing guard!” It’s everything Mo has been looking for: health insurance. How hard can it be?
A few weeks later, Mo is adjusting to her new low-paying job, her bisexual reawakening, and her new neighborhood’s wacky characters. There’s Claudia, an old woman who refuses to let Mo help her cross the street, and Marlowe, a tween cell phone prodigy whose antics terrify her. But Mo’s greatest nemesis is Poodle Dude, a guy with an SUV full of poodles who speeds through her intersection each morning. . . until the day he speeds into a sinkhole. Mo tries and fails to shield innocent eyes from his bloody corpse, but succeeds in accidentally becoming the guardian to his three poodles.
And that’s not the worst of it: some of the locals are convinced that Poodle Dude was murdered. Their allegations are obviously ridiculous, but Mo, desperate for distractions—and for several hot neighbor-suspects—reluctantly agrees to help. But Mo the detective is just as chaotic as Mo the underemployed adult, and the three entitled poodles are not helping. When a second local dies under mysterious circumstances, it’s going to take all of Mo’s broadly applicable and transferrable skills to find the killer.
Murderers beware. . . DON’T CROSS MO ELLERY!
Meet the author
Birdie Horne is the combined pen name of former enemies Eden Robins and MW Garguilo. Over the years, they have been love rivals, co-godmothers, and neighbors across an alley in Chicago. Separately, they have published over twenty books, and together they have a resume full of the kinds of jobs that genuinely worry their parents. One of them was nominated for—and lost—Chicago Crossing Guard of the Year. Don’t Cross Mo Ellery is their first outing as Birdie Horne.