Take the Monkey and Run (16 page)

“No time,” Kai said.

She held up a key. “See if there's any scuttlebutt about the mysterious bikers involved in the chase today,” Belinda said.

“I'd planned on it.” Kai took the key and headed out.

I wandered back to the table to sit with Emma and Hugh.

I was bone-tired and my brain was ready to shut down, but as much as I wanted to, I couldn't bring myself to call it an early night and hit the sack. Not knowing what I did.

“I feel like we should be doing something,” I said, sinking into the chair.

“You mean, aside from sitting here letting our food digest?” Hugh asked. “I agree, but what can we do?”

I looked from him to my sister, then turned to Belinda when she came to sit next to me. “Any ideas?”

“Not really. Unless you can think of a place to look for Cornelius. He's the one with the information we need.”

“We could try the museum again,” Emma suggested. “I know it's closed but walls don't matter to you. If he's inside, you might be able to get him to come to you, right?”

“In theory.”

“Are you up for it?” Belinda asked. “What if he shows you more of what he saw?”

“Then I'll know more than I do now,” I said. “Oh no!”

“What?”

“Coco.” I couldn't believe I'd forgotten about the cat. “We've got to get her out of there.”

“
You
don't need to go anywhere near that apartment,” my sister said. “Anya has had her hands full—she won't be going back to Ronnie's today to hurt Coco.”

“What about Ronnie's friend from the Erin Rose?” Belinda asked. “Don't you need to warn her?”

“Belinda's right,” I said. “We have to talk to Layla. If she goes to feed Coco tomorrow and runs into Anya . . .”

“Okay,” Emma said. “We'll talk to Layla and let her know what's going on.”

“Ask her if she can take Coco,” I said.

“We will. You and Belinda can head back to the Mardi Gras place and try to find Cornelius.”

It was better than sitting around doing nothing.

Belinda, Moss, and I piled into Bluebell and headed back to the Bon Temps Mardi Gras Museum.

Unlike the inside, the exterior was ablaze with light.

After discussing the best approach, it was decided I should walk around the outside with Moss. You know, out for a stroll, just letting the dog lead the way.

It took only one complete circumnavigation of the huge, metal-clad building to know Cornelius was not there.

Shivering, I climbed back into Bluebell.

With Belinda at the wheel, we cruised the surrounding area. I kept my eyes closed and my senses open.

No monkey.

Hoping Emma and Hugh had had better luck with Layla, and Cornelius had found somewhere warm to sleep, we gave up and called it a night.

•••

I awoke the next morning with a familiar canine at my feet and a kitten tail tickling my nose. I brushed away Voodoo's tail, closed my eyes, and had started to drift off when there was a soft knock at the door. I ignored it. The door swished open.

Emma.

I knew because Moss, though awake, didn't stir. Which meant he'd caught her scent before she'd opened the door.

Whatever his issues with my sister, there was one thing my dog knew—she was safe, and was probably the only person he'd allow to approach me or Voodoo while we were sleeping without at least a soft
woof
of warning.

“Grace?” Emma's voice was almost too quiet to hear. Or maybe I was still half asleep.

I opened my eyes and blinked at my sister. Because she knows and loves me, she was holding a cup of steaming coffee.

Stretching to encourage my limbs to get moving, I yawned, sat up, and took the mug.

Printed in large letters were the words
LET'S GET SOMETHING STRAIGHT: I'M NOT.

“What time is it?” I asked, noticing I'd forgotten to bring my phone into my room.

“Around eight. I plugged your phone in for you. It's in the kitchen.”

“Thanks.”

“Belinda is finishing breakfast. She sent me to fetch you.”

Elvis nosed open the partly closed door and trotted into the room.

He stopped at my sister's feet, sat, and wagged his tail.

“Poor Elvis.”

“What?” Emma asked, looking down at the dog.

“You're putting him out of work. And he's fallen in love with you.”

Emma made a face.

I slipped on the fluffy robe I'd found hanging on the door and followed my sister downstairs. Kai had already headed back to the impound lot to do more supersleuthing with the van, and Belinda was rummaging through the refrigerator when we walked in. “Someone missed a call,” she said from behind the door.

Emma lifted her phone off the table. “Not me.”

I went to check mine and saw I had a new voice message. “I'm almost afraid to play it. It could be Anya.”

“Or Logan,” Emma said.

“He always calls from a blocked number.”

I hit the message and put it on speaker.

It was the Monteleone, calling to inquire about the bag I'd left in my room.

Crap.
I'd forgotten about my backpack.

“Well, you can't risk going to get it,” Emma said.

“Get what?” Hugh asked, and he walked into the kitchen.

“Grace has luggage at the Monteleone.”

“I can go get it,” he offered.

I shook my head. “There's nothing in the bag that can't be replaced.”

“Call and see if they'll mail it to you,” Belinda suggested. “It will be worth whatever they charge if you can avoid going back there and running into one of the bad guys.

“Better safe than sorry, my
mamere
used to say.”

“Mamere?”

“My grandmama.”

“That's what that means?”

“What's up?” Emma asked, not understanding the significance.

“That's what Coco called the lady with the bunny slippers. Mamere.”

“You're thinking Ronnie got Coco from her grandmother?” Emma said.

“It makes sense.”

“Does that mean Anya and Barry are really after Ronnie's
mamere
?” Belinda asked.

“I'm thinking that's a definite yes,” Hugh said.

“They could want something her grandmother has,” I said.

Emma shook her head. “Maybe, but I think Hugh's right. There aren't that many things people will endure torture to protect. And family's one of them.”

“We've got to warn her,” I said, tension coiling in my gut.

“We still don't know how to find her,” Hugh pointed out. “Not without a name.”

“We have Ronnie's last name,” Emma said. “If it's her paternal grandmother, we might get lucky.”

Hugh nodded. “It's something to work with, at least.”

“And we'll start working with it as soon as everyone is fed,” Belinda declared. “I made a quiche.”

The quiche was delicious and we finished it completely, much to Moss's disappointment.

“We'll get you a treat later,” I told him.

Treat?

“Don't let him fool you,” Belinda said. “I cracked an egg over his food earlier.”

“Did you?”

Nice try, buddy. She ratted you out.

No treat?

I shook my head. Dogs.

With a full stomach and half a pot of coffee in my system, I'd hoped to be more awake.

Maybe I just needed more coffee.

We cleared the table and Emma brought out her laptop so we could try to track down all the Preauxs in the greater New Orleans area.

There were a lot.

“Holy cow,” I said when we started scrolling through the list.

“Let's narrow it down,” Emma said. “Belinda, which are the areas most likely to have wrought-iron railings?”

“Ooh, that's a tough one. You mean the thick, heavy-duty stuff? Like the fence around Jackson Square?”

“Yes.” I thought of the would-be dove hunter I'd seen stalking through the fence on the first day I'd arrived. “Something very much like that.”

“That narrows it down some,” she said. “Let's see. Let me get a map.”

Belinda went into the other room and returned with a foldout map of New Orleans. She smoothed it out on the table and began outlining areas with a black marker.

“It's still a lot of the city,” I said when she'd finished.

“Can't give up before we've started.” She turned to Emma. “Read me the first address.”

“Well, the first is for a Charles Preaux. Should we skip the men for now?”

“Good idea.”

“Okay, let's see . . . the first woman listed is Diana Preaux.” Emma recited the address and Belinda shook her head.

“She's in the Ninth Ward. What's the next one?”

Emma read the next address. Belinda nodded. “That's in the Garden District. Right through here somewhere.” She ran her finger along a street.

Hugh used his phone to look up the exact location on the online map.

“Let me see,” I said, and looked at the display. Finding the cross streets on the paper map, I put an
x
at approximately the right spot.

Once we got the rhythm of the search down, it took only an hour to go through and mark the names.

There were eight.

“That's still a lot of ground to cover,” Emma said.

Belinda checked the time and said, “You'll have to do it without me. I've got a client coming in fifteen minutes.”

“We'll figure it out,” I told her.

“Yeah,” Emma added. “We got this. Go be fabulous.”

“No other way to be.” Belinda flipped a lock of her wig over one shoulder and sauntered into her shop.

“Maybe we can find out how old these ladies are,” Hugh suggested. “We're looking for a grandmother.”

“Good idea,” Emma said, leaning over to kiss his cheek with an exaggerated smack. “Let's do the math. If Grandma had a child at eighteen and they had a child at eighteen, we're looking at thirty-six years. How old is Ronnie?”

“She works in a bar,” I said. “So she's over twenty-one.”

“Okay, that puts us at fifty-seven or older, give or take a few.”

“Still doesn't help us,” Hugh said. “What are we going to do, call and ask how old they are?”

“We can give the list to Kai,” I said. “Maybe his contact can look up their driver's licenses.”

I tried calling him, but got his voice mail. I left him a message to call me and turned back to Emma and Hugh.

“We could search social media sites,” Emma said. “A lot of grannies have Facebook pages.”

It was better than doing nothing.

With everyone manning a smartphone or a computer, it took us another hour to eliminate four of the names.

“We're getting there.” Emma stood and stretched.

I followed her lead. Moss took this as his cue to be taken out.

Walk?

“Heck, yes. I need a break.”

“We all do,” Emma said as she took her jacket off the back of her chair and shrugged it on.

“I'm in,” Hugh added.

Kai called me back while we were on our walk. I told him about learning
mamere
meant grandmother and explained our hopes that tracking down the Preauxs would lead us to Ronnie's.

“I don't have the last four names with me,” I said, “but I can text them to you when we get back.”

“There might be an issue with that.”

“What?”

“I'm off the case.”

“Does that mean no more favors?”

“Not with the crime scene unit.”

“What happened?”

“It's an interesting story. I'm not really sure how to answer. I'm on my way back to Belinda's now. I'll fill you in when I get there.”

Kai Duncan—master of suspense.

We converged in Belinda's kitchen at almost the same time.

“Well?” I asked Kai as I pulled off my gloves and hat.

“It seems someone broke into the impound yard and contaminated the van by stealing its radio.”

“What's that have to do with you?”

“I'm the only variable in the equation.”

“Why would someone want a radio from a crappy cargo van?” Emma asked.

“That was my question,” Kai said. “No one seemed to have a theory.”

“I have one.” I looked around, feeling it should be obvious. “It was Anya.”

“Okay, but why would Anya want a radio from a crappy cargo van?” Emma repeated her question.

“I don't know. But what are the chances someone would break into the police impound where I'm guessing there are plenty of other, more valuable cars—” I looked at Kai for confirmation. He nodded with a slight smile. “And target a beat-up van?”

“Exactly,” Kai said. “Which brings us back to the question—why would she want the radio?”

“Maybe she left her favorite CD in the player,” Hugh said.

“What kind of radio was it?” Emma asked. “Did it have GPS or anything?”

I looked at Kai, hoping the answer was no. The idea that we could have been so close to being able to track where Anya had gone was too frustrating to contemplate.

He shook his head. “It was nothing fancy. I remember noticing the radio was different—it was retrofitted with mismatched knobs—but I didn't pay much attention to the detail.”

“Well, she wanted it badly enough to risk breaking into police property to get it,” Emma said.

A contemplative quiet settled on the group. I was sure we were all doing the same thing—wondering what the hell was so important about that radio.

Finally, I said, “I'm still not clear on why you're to blame. The criminal who'd been driving the van came to the impound lot and broke into it.”

“There's no evidence that it was Anya,” Kai said.

“How is that possible?”