Take the Monkey and Run

by Laura Morrigan

  None of us were surprised at that.

  After a stout meal and lots of coffee, Kai leaned back in his chair. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” he said. “Grace, you and I will head back to Veronica’s apartment. If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to take a look at her mail and come up with a last name. Hopefully, you’ll be able to talk to Coco as well.”

  “Maybe you’ll get extra lucky and the monkey will show up,” Emma added as she cleared the plates. “You can find out how well he knows Veronica.”

  “If not, maybe Coco will know,” I said.

  “What are you two talking about?” Hugh asked.

  I explained the theory that Veronica and Cornelius were closer than we’d first assumed.

  “He isn’t her monkey, though,” Hugh said. “You would have noticed a cage in her apartment.”

  “I didn’t look everywhere, so I don’t know. You know, some people don’t keep their primates in cages.”

  Hugh and I shared a look that said how stupid we both thought that idea was.

  “It’s illegal to have a monkey in the city,” Belinda said. “Even if Cornelius is her pet, Veronica would hide him. Especially from her landlord.”

  “In any case, we can’t count on his showing up,” Kai said. “We’ll have to track him down another way.”

  “You have an idea?”

  He nodded. “I’ve been thinking that what Cornelius showed you was really specific. Maybe he was just reflecting your thoughts, but maybe he was asking you to meet him somewhere. Belinda, is there a way to look at photos of Mardi Gras floats? Maybe if we can figure out the exact float, we can find him.”

  “You could check the Internet, but that might take too long.” She took a thoughtful sip of coffee and turned to me. “Grace, you said the monkey was sitting on a float. Was it inside or out?”

  “Inside. I could see a dark wall and a window but no detail of the building.”

  “What about the float?” Kai asked. “Could you see any specific decorations or words anywhere?”

  “No words. He was sitting on a rounded surface covered with lots of purple glitter.” I thought about it. “There were also stars. Just a few of them, on the purple.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Not with the float, but through the window I could see the sky. It was either sunset or sunrise.”

  “If it was sunrise you missed your date,” Hugh said.

  “I’m thinking the float has to be one of the Mardi Gras museums,” Belinda said. “They’re not really museums. More like big warehouses where floats and whatnot are stored and repaired. Some have workshops where you can watch the artists work on a new design.”

  “How many of these places are there?” I asked.

  “Several, and they’re big.”

  “Emma”—Kai turned to look at my sister—“can you check out Mardi Gras floats? There has to be a way to narrow the search down.”

  Belinda nodded. “I can help with that. Don’t worry, we’ll figure out where the Mystery Monkey is headed.”

  “One more thing,” I said. “We’re going to need to take Cornelius somewhere once we find him.” I started to look through my jacket’s pockets for Marisa’s number. “Somewhere in here I have the number for that keeper at the Audubon—”

  “Marisa. I’m on it,” Hugh said. “She called me to check up on you, remember?”

  “Ain’t this somethin’?” Belinda said with a wide smile. “I feel like we need to put our hands together and yell, ‘Go, team!’ Y’all ever do that?”

  Emma chuckled. “No, but we should. Maybe we need matching T-shirts.”

  “That say what?” I asked.

  “Go Wilde, what else?” Emma grinned at me in delight.

  “Ooh, yes!” Belinda linked her arm with my sister’s and as they walked out of the kitchen I heard her say, “I know a guy who does the ’80s-style airbrushing, with glitter paint . . .”

  I shook my head and looked at Kai. “They’re going to make T-shirts.”

  “Seems likely.” He tried to hide it by taking a sip of coffee but I saw his lips twitch in a smile.

  “You think it’s funny?” I tossed my napkin at him. “You’ll be wearing one, too.”

  “Proudly.”

  •••

  Thankfully, Moss was content to stay at the bed-and-breakfast with his new buddies and Voodoo. It would’ve been considerably more difficult to sneak into, well, anywhere really, with my giant white wolf-dog.

  Moss tends to attract attention. Which he loves.

  Magazine Street was clogged with all manner of traffic and I was glad we’d taken Belinda’s advice and ridden the streetcar. I couldn’t imagine finding a parking place for Bluebell on one of the brick-paved side streets.

  On the ride over, I’d considered taking my sister’s advice and telling Kai about my feelings, or lack thereof, for Logan. But the streetcar was crowded and Kai, being a gentleman, had given up his seat to an elderly woman.

  I decided to wait for a better time.

  Yeah, no avoidance issues there.

  We got off the streetcar near Veronica’s place. Something I’d learned recently was that a big part of getting away with something you shouldn’t be doing is acting natural. Knowing this, I followed Kai’s lead and nonchalantly mounted the stairs leading to Veronica’s apartment.

  I started getting nervous only when I stood by loitering as he flipped open the top of the mailbox to peer inside.

  “Just a ‘current resident’ mailer.”

  “So . . . now what?” I asked.

  Kai studied the door’s lock, then turned to sweep his gaze over the landing, which doubled as a small balcony.

  There wasn’t much to see. Space was too limited for patio furniture or a grill, but Veronica had set a couple of potted plants in one corner.

  One of the terra-cotta pots was nestled in a saucer. Kai lifted both and I shook my head when I saw a key gleaming in the morning light.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” I said. “Who leaves their key in such an obvious spot?”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “I am.”

  Kai opened the door and we slipped inside.

  As quietly as possible, we went through the tiny apartment.

  Coco was nowhere to be found, which would have worried me if it weren’t for the empty food bowl on the floor. That told me the cat had come home at some point in the last day and eaten.

  Maybe the tabby would show up while we were there and I’d get a chance to talk to her.

  “Well,” Kai said after several minutes of searching, “I think you’re right. Something’s off with this place.”

  “It’s too neat for someone who’s supposed be schizophrenic, right?”

  He shook his head thoughtfully. “It’s not that.”

  “Then what?”

  Kai didn’t answer right away, but continued to look around. I could almost see the gears in his head turning as he analyzed the space.

  “Too bad you don’t have your field case,” I said when he squatted to examine a scuff mark on the floor. Who knew what the CSI gadgets he used for work might uncover?

  “I didn’t think I was going to need it.” He cut his eyes toward me with a wry expression. “Should’ve known better.”

  “Hey,” I said, “I’m not always this unlucky.” At least I hadn’t been until I’d started coming clean about my ability earlier that summer. Since then, I’d been dragged into a murder investigation, stalked by a psychopath, and nearly shot.

  Kai didn’t comment—he’d stopped to study the two photos stuck to the fridge.

  “A nice touch, don’t you think?” I said.

  “What?”

  “That’s Anya.” I pointed to the photo with only one person in it.

  “It
is?”

  I nodded. “I’m thinking she planted it to reinforce her claim of being Veronica’s sister.”

  With the back of his pinky finger, he lifted the edge of the photo and bent to look at the back. Then took out his phone and snapped a photo of the picture.

  “Interesting,” he murmured. “You may be right. Which means this”—he pointed to the photo next to it—“is the only personal photo in this place.”

  I’d seen the picture the first time I’d been there. It was a snapshot of Veronica and an unknown girlfriend grinning at the camera.

  “What’s more,” Kai continued, “both of the photos are stuck to the fridge with the type of magnets a tourist would buy.”

  “Okay. What’s that tell us?”

  “Not much on its own,” he said. “But let’s look at the whole picture.”

  He opened the cabinet under the sink and pulled out a caddy filled with cleaning supplies. “These have hardly been used,” he said, lifting the basket to place it on the counter. “There aren’t any pots or pans anywhere, and the only cutlery in the drawers are plastic.”

  “Meaning Veronica prefers takeout to cooking?” I guessed, though I was pretty sure it was the wrong answer.

  “I would have thought so but there’s no art on the walls and the curtains are so new they still have creases where they were folded.”

  I finally got where he was going. “You think she just moved in? But there aren’t any boxes anywhere,” I pointed out.

  “I’d guess Veronica only recently came to town and arrived with little more than what she could fit in a couple of suitcases.”

  I nodded. “I can see that. But it doesn’t help us with her name.”

  “No, but this might.” He pointed to the second photo on the fridge.

  “How?” I leaned in to look at the photo.

  The two girls posed cheek to cheek in front of what was obviously a bar. Besides coming to the brilliant conclusion that the two were roughly the same age and appeared to be friends, I was not seeing how it would help.

  “This woman is the only link we have to Veronica.”

  “But we don’t know who she is or where this picture was taken.”

  He studied the photograph. “There’s actually a lot to go on in the photo. See the name tag on her shirt?”

  I peered at it. “It’s cut off.”

  “Not all of it.” Kai opened one of the two kitchen drawers and found a pen, then started writing on his hand.

  “There are three letters in the first name. The first letter might be an L, J, or I. Judging by the second letter, which looks like an M, I’d say her name starts with an I.”

  “The third has to be an A, right?”

  “I think so.”

  “Ima?”

  “Yep. The last name is totally cut off, unfortunately.”

  “Still,” I said, “Ima is an odd name. Maybe it will help us find her.”

  “There’s also a good bit going on in the background. If you know the bars in New Orleans, you might recognize the location.”

  “Assuming it was taken here and not wherever she came from.”

  “It’s worth a shot, though,” Kai said.

  It was. “Belinda might have an idea.” I knew she’d been in the city awhile, but even if she didn’t recognize the bar, she could get ahold of Magnificent Marvo, or even the shot girls, Shay, Sheba, and Judith. They certainly knew the French Quarter well. “Let’s head back to the B and B and ask.”

  Kai shook his head. “You can check with Belinda about the bar—I’m going to take this photo of Anya to the NOPD and see if I can get them to do a reverse lookup and get an ID from the DMV.”

  “Wow,” I said, pretending to be impressed. “That was a lot of acronyms.”

  He ignored my comment.

  “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  “Ten-four.”

  Kai shot me a look, but I just smiled. As I started to follow him out of the kitchen, it occurred to me I needed to refill Coco’s bowl.

  “Hang on. I have to leave some food for the cat.”

  Opening the cabinet where I’d found the dry food the day before, I paused when I saw the bag.

  “Kai, I think someone has been here.”

  He came to stand beside me and looked at the bag of cat food.

  I pointed to the brand-new, nearly full bag.

  “The other day, there was another bag. It was almost empty and this one hadn’t been opened.” I looked at him. “You think a neighbor is coming by?”

  “It’s the most logical explanation if Veronica left with the intention of returning.”

  That would mean she hadn’t been kidnapped by Logan after all. Not wanting to tread on the delicate subject of Logan’s involvement, I simply nodded, poured food in Coco’s dish, and set it on the floor.

  I felt Coco’s approach before she slipped through the cat door.

  “Like magic,” I said.

  “What is?”

  “The way cats can hear food being dished into their bowls from a mile away. I should have thought of that when we first got here.”

  With a happy meow, Coco trotted into the kitchen. She took a couple of bites of kibble before turning to beg for attention.

  “I’m going to see if I can get more info from her,” I told Kai. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  “You do your thing.”

  “Hi, Coco.” Squatting, I ran my hand over her patterned fur and she began to purr quietly. Soft, relaxed waves of contentment rolled through me.

  Nice. Pet.

  You’re a sweet kitty, aren’t you?

  Coco puff.

  I smiled. Does Veronica call you that? I pulled the image of the cat’s owner to the front of my mind and used the tendrils of our mental connection to present it to Coco.

  The purrs intensified.

  Where? Coco asked. She was clearly missing Veronica.

  I don’t know, Coco.

  I asked about Veronica, but didn’t get much. Coco wanted to know where her owner was as much as I did.

  Usually, if an animal has seen something upsetting happen to a particular person, just asking about him or her would trigger the memory.

  I spoke to Kai without looking up. “Whatever happened to Veronica, Coco didn’t see it.”

  “Has she ever seen Logan around?”

  I showed the cat an image of Logan, with and without his beard.

  “Nope,” I said to Kai. “Nothing with him.”

  “Try asking about Anya.”

  “You don’t still think she could be Veronica’s sister?”

  “No, but, like Cornelius, they might know one another better than we realize. It might give us something,” he said. “Like Anya’s real name.”

  With a slow breath, I focused on thoughts of the tall, pretty blonde, then asked Coco, Do you know Anya?

  The cat didn’t connect with the name but she knew the face and accent. In a flash of memory I heard Anya’s voice and the click of high heels on the wood floor.

  It was early in the day and the bright morning sun streamed like a spotlight into the room.

  From her kitty hammock in the sleeping loft Coco could see the woman pacing the length of the small apartment as she talked into a cell phone.

  The cat wasn’t really listening to what was being said. It wouldn’t have helped, anyway. Anya was speaking Russian, which, as it happens, is one of the many languages I don’t understand.

  Hey, don’t judge—at least I can speak whale.

  Anya paused to look up at Coco, and I knew one thing. The woman was not a cat lover.

  Oblivious to the contempt on the woman’s face, Coco watched sleepily as Anya walked out the front door, and continued to observe from the window as she walked down the steps. Anya stopped
to speak to a man at the bottom of the stairs.

  With the slow blink of tired cat eyes the memory faded.

  I didn’t recognize the man Anya had spoken to but I knew it wasn’t Barry.

  Was there another player in the game?

  “Grace.” Kai’s harsh whisper cut into my thoughts. “There’s someone coming.”

  While I was still processing what he’d said, Kai pulled me to my feet and we ducked into the only place we could hide—the tiny bathroom.

  The sound of rapid footfalls stopped at the door and were followed by the rattling click of the lock.

  Kai clicked off the bathroom light and pushed the door partly closed. We huddled behind it and listened. A woman called out as the apartment’s door swung open.

  “Coco! Hey, kitty. You hungry?” The voice was gentle and carried no trace of the Baltics.

  Coco responded with a meow of greeting.

  Layla.

  “You want foodies?”

  Coco answered with another meow. Pet.

  “Okay, let’s get—hey—your bowl is still full. Come here. You feeling okay?”

  I slipped into the cat’s mind to get a look at her caretaker but she had lifted Coco into her arms and the only thing I could see was the view over the woman’s shoulder.

  “Let’s make sure you have water.” The woman set Coco back on the floor. From that vantage point, all I could see was a pair of well-worn tennis shoes and two jeans-clad legs.

  I urged Coco to look up at the woman. But the cat was busy rubbing her face and scent along Layla’s legs.

  “You haven’t been eating frogs again, have you?” Layla asked. “They’ll make you sick.”

  I felt Kai move next to me and I abandoned the cat’s perspective for my own. Kai had shifted to peer out into the apartment. After a few seconds he eased back behind the door.

  A moment later, his hand found mine and gave it a reassuring squeeze. We waited while Layla took care of Coco’s water and chatted with the cat.

  “I still haven’t heard from your mama. But don’t worry, I’ll take care of you until she gets back. All right, sweetie, I’m double-parked and I’ve got to go to work. Be good. No more frogs.”