Take the Monkey and Run (10 page)

“That's happened before, hasn't it? With Roscoe?”

Roscoe was a papillon who'd witnessed his owner's murder. The little dog had had a flashback of the scene so strong I'd nearly panicked.

I shook my head. “This was different, I wasn't seeing anything traumatic. It was just me, holding some beignets, while he was sitting on a float.”

“And you didn't hear or see anything that startled him? Maybe he saw the cop?”

“No, I have no idea what he was trying to tell me,” I said.

“That he wants beignets and to ride in a parade?” Emma suggested.

“That's what I thought at first. I told him I'd give him some beignets if he'd tell me about Veronica. And just like that”—I snapped my fingers—“he freaked.”

“So it was thinking about Veronica that triggered his response.”

“Yes, but I wasn't really picturing her. Just saying her name in my head. It's too abstract a concept for Cornelius to have reacted to.”

“Why? You ask Moss about people he knows.”

“Exactly. It has to be someone he knows. If I say, ‘Where's Emma?' he can tell me. But if I were to ask about Jake, who he's met but doesn't really know, without picturing him, Moss would have a hard time understanding who I was talking about.”

“Well, there's your answer. The monkey and Veronica are more acquainted than you realize.”

The next morning I awoke in a more familiar fashion than I had the day before.

Giant dog at my feet. Tiny cat on my face.

As I attempted to extract myself from the pair, Voodoo squeaked out a yawn, stretched, and went back to sleep. Moss, on the other hand, hopped down and let out a barely audible
woof!

“You need to go out?”

Potty
, he confirmed.

I got dressed and decided to wear the loaner jacket from Belinda, figuring my red wool coat, though warmer, was still too conspicuous. With the ski hat and gloves, I was almost comfortable in the crisp winter air.

I ended up taking all three dogs for a walk, which was a little awkward due to the fact that the Pomeranians had to take at least four steps for every one of Moss's. We figured out a rhythm finally and made it back to Belinda's in time to help with breakfast.

Like the night before, Belinda, wearing her Hot Stuff apron, doled out tasks, and everyone got to work. Everyone
except Kai, who had stepped out into the courtyard to take a call from Jake.

“Well,” he said a few minutes later, when he'd finished the call. “Jake came up with zero information on Anya Zharova.”

“Think she's using an alias?” Hugh asked. He'd been recruited to set the table and was placing an assortment of mismatched antique plates on the round table while Emma assisted by laying out napkins and silverware.

“What about Barry?” I asked as I sprinkled cinnamon and powdered sugar on the platter of French toast Belinda handed me.

“He was a lot easier to find,” Kai said. “He is a psychiatrist. Until recently, he worked at a research facility doing something with brain scans.”

“Here in New Orleans?” Emma asked.

He shook his head. “Outside of Atlanta. I called the research facility but they had no interest in talking about one of their ex-employees. They would only tell me Dr. Schellenger decided to go into private practice.”

“Meaning he moved here and started seeing patients?” Again, I tried to picture Barry providing help to the mentally ill, but couldn't.

“It's hard to say,” Kai said. “Jake couldn't find him listed as a psychiatrist in New Orleans or anywhere else in Louisiana.”

“So he is a fraud, like Logan said.” My sister gave me her I-got-your-back nod.

Kai didn't notice. “Not necessarily.” He took his phone out of his pocket to check his notes. “Dr. B. M. Schellenger is a licensed psychiatrist in . . . five states.”

“Okay.” I tried to boil it down to the bottom line. “He's really a psychiatrist, just not Veronica's psychiatrist.”

“That depends. He could have treated her somewhere else. We need to know more about Veronica. At the very least, we need a last name to go on. Jake tried Zharova—nothing came up.”

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.”