Take the Monkey and Run (12 page)

“That looks like a Rex float,” Belinda mused.

“Rex?” I asked. “Is that a Mardi Gras krewe?”

She nodded. “One of the oldest.”

“Can you find out where it's stored?”

“Yep, we already have a list.” Emma tapped a piece of paper between them.

“I have another favor to ask.” I pulled up the photos on my phone and opened the snapshot I'd taken of the picture of Veronica and her friend.

“I know it's a long shot,” I said, handing the phone to Belinda. “But is there any chance you might recognize something in this photograph that can tell us where the picture was taken?”

“Mmmm . . . let's see.” Belinda studied the image. “Oh, Erin Rose.”

“Veronica's real name is Erin Rose?” I asked the question at the same time Emma said, “You know her?”

“No. That's the name of the bar—the Erin Rose. See the flower?” She pointed to a neon light over the bar in the shape of a red rose outlined with a green shamrock. “It's on all their shirts and whatnot. The place has been there forever.”

“So it's in New Orleans.” Finally, a break.

“It's in the Quarter. Just off Bourbon on . . .” She paused to think about it. “Toulouse, maybe?”

“Conti,” my sister said, holding up her phone. “Googled it.”

“Are they open this early?” I asked. It was well before noon.

“I'm not sure they ever close,” Belinda said.

“It says ten to six,” Emma said.

“A.m.? They're open until six in the morning?”

“Sounds about right,” Belinda said.

I looked at Emma.

“Let the good times roll,” she said, and turned to Belinda. “You coming?”

“I wish I could, sugar, but I've got a client coming in for a reading. You girls have fun, though.”

“Where's Hugh?” I asked when I realized he wasn't around.

“He went to sweet-talk that zookeeper. She wasn't answering her phone.”

“I don't blame her,” I said. “The Fleur-De-Lis Homeowners' Association president has probably been calling her nonstop.”

“Who?” my sister asked.

I explained my run-in with the grumpy, self-important man. “He reminded me of Mr. Cavanaugh—I swear they could be brothers.”

“If that's the case, I wouldn't answer my phone, either.” My sister had had plenty of run-ins with our crotchety neighbor.

“Is it okay if Moss stays here?” I asked Belinda. “He doesn't want to disturb Priscilla.”

“What a sweet boy,” Belinda said to Moss. “Of course you can stay.”

“Hugh should be back soon,” Emma added. “He can take all the dogs out when he gets back.”

With that settled, Emma and I headed out to see if we could find Layla, who may or may not have been the friend from the photo, or, at the very least, someone who could tell us Veronica's last name.

The Erin Rose is what I would call a dive bar, but in a good way. It was small, with what seemed like decades of bar decor layered on the walls.

There were only a few patrons sipping beers at the counter. The bartender looked up from the pint he was pouring and nodded a greeting to us as we walked in. There wasn't anyone inside who looked like the woman with Veronica in the photo.

“Check the back room.” Emma cocked her head toward the rear of the bar. “I'll talk to the bartender.”

With a bright smile my sister went to lay on the charm and get some info. I headed through a narrow hall into a small room with a tiny bar along the back wall. A mural depicting larger-than-life people in various modes of drinking had been painted around the room. The faces were so distracting that at first I didn't notice the blonde behind the bar.

She was busy wiping water droplets off freshly washed glassware and stacking the glasses on top of one another.

Bingo
, I thought, smiling. I had found the girl from the photo.

“Hey, what can I getcha?” she asked when I approached.

I noticed her name tag, sounded it out in my head, and laughed. “Ima Loza?”

“My boss.” She rolled her eyes. “He makes you wear it if you lose your name tag.”

“But you're Layla, right?”

“Right,” she said with a smile. “You need a drink?”

“No thanks. Actually, I was hoping to talk to Veronica.”

She frowned for a moment, then asked, “You mean Ronnie?”

“Yeah, Ronnie.”

“She's not here today. But I can tell her you stopped by when she gets back into town.”

“That would be great. My name is Grace. Did she go back home?” I asked. Maybe I could find out where Ronnie was from.

“You know what, I don't know. She called me in a big rush a few days ago and asked me to feed her cat. I try not to pry into people's personal lives, so I didn't ask her.”

“You don't happen to know Ronnie's last name, do you?” I asked, then quickly amended my question when she frowned. “I mean, what her name is now. I know it used to be”—I searched the bottles lining the bar behind Layla for inspiration—“Jameson, but I'm wondering if she went back to her maiden name, you know, after the divorce.” I had no idea how I was coming up with this stuff, but it looked like Layla was buying it, so I kept going. “It was ug-ly.”

“Really? Ronnie? She never mentioned being married. Bad, huh?”

“Oh yes.”

“That explains a few things, I guess. Like, she said she was starting over here, but that's why a lot of people come to the city.”

“Layla! Shake a leg with those glasses.”

“Crap, that's my boss. Gotta run. But Ronnie definitely wasn't going by Jameson anymore. It's Preaux. One of the
possédé
Preaux, she says.”

“What's that mean?”

“Some Cajun thing, I guess. You'd have to ask her.” With
a parting smile, Layla picked up the stacked pint glasses and scurried back to her duties.

I walked out of the back room and nodded to my sister. One of the guys at the bar had bought her a shot that she was trying to politely refuse. When I gave her the thumbs-up, indicating we'd gotten what we came for, she regarded the shot for a moment, shrugged, and tossed it back.

The guys at the bar cheered. Emma gave them a slight bow and bid them farewell.

“I don't get how you can be so healthy in one second and do a shooter the next,” I said as we stepped onto the sidewalk.

“Hey, that was Jägermeister. Which is basically herbs and roots. So technically, it's pretty healthy.”

I thought about what Belinda had told me regarding absinthe and chuckled.

“It's true,” Emma persisted. “I mean, it tastes awful . . .”

“I believe you. I was just thinking you and Belinda really are made for each other.”

“I'm already making plans to come back and visit when things calm down. You're totally coming with,” she said as we started down Bourbon Street. “I've already talked to Wes.”

“I'm kind of surprised he's not here this weekend.”

“He was going to come, but has a huge case starting Monday. He promised to make it up to me.”

“I think I'm going to have to make that promise, too. You came all the way here and haven't done anything for your birthday.”

She shrugged. “It's not exactly what I had in mind for a birthday getaway, but we're all together and you know that's really what matters.” She looped her arm through mine as we walked. “But you're still going to have to make it up to me. Starting with buying me lunch. Come on, Central Grocery has a muffuletta with my name on it.”

I called Kai as we walked, but got his voice mail.

While waiting in a considerable line at Central Grocery, my sister informed me that the place, which was just as
much a deli as a grocery store, though famous for its muffulettas, also offered chocolate-covered crickets.

Oh goody.

Kai returned my call, which gave me a reason not to listen to my sister list any other weird “snacks” available.

“How'd the search for Ima go?” he asked.

“Better than I'd expected. It turns out Ima and Layla are one and the same.” I explained the gag name tag.

“What did she tell you?”

“Well, she didn't know where Veronica—known to her friends as Ronnie—went, but I did get her last name. Ronnie is Cajun. Last name, Preaux.”

“Good. I can pass this on to the contact Jake hooked me up with here and see what shakes loose.”

“How about you? Any luck with your acronyms?”

“Nope. Louisiana doesn't allow you to use the DMV data for facial recognition, which means I got nowhere fast trying to do a reverse lookup with Anya's photo.”

The man behind the sandwich counter shouted, “Next!”

“Where are you?” Kai asked.

“A place called Central Grocery. You want me to pick up something for you?”

“Sure. You know what I like. Thanks. Hey, did you make any progress with the float identification?”

“Possibly. There's one serious contender, but it's hard to know with such a small piece of the whole to go on.”

“We'll find the monkey. And Ronnie.”

“I hope so. At least if Cornelius is in a warehouse, I won't worry about him freezing. As for Ronnie—I think I'm going to worry about her after that tarot reading.”

“You really think Belinda has a psychic ability, like you?”

“No, not like me. But I get what you're saying. The answer is yes. I think Belinda is hyperintuitive. Like I said before, she just
knows
things.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I can buy that,” he said finally. “But the card reading is harder to get my head around.”

“I think that maybe she uses the cards as a way to focus. They're just a tool.”

“Right.” The word was contemplative rather than skeptical. I decided to let him come to his own conclusions in his own time.

“Next!” the muffuletta man called out again. Emma nudged me.

“I've got to put an order in. I'll see you at Belinda's.”

We hauled four huge muffulettas—no crickets, thank you very much—back to Belinda's.

Hugh had indeed made it back and ended up not only taking the dogs for a walk but Voodoo, too.

He'd also gotten the okay from Marisa to bring Cornelius, when we found him, to the Audubon for an evaluation and temporary housing while we tried to figure out where he'd come from.

“Marisa loaned me a cage, too. It's in the back of your Suburban,” Hugh said, unfolding the paper wrapping of his sandwich.

Belinda, who'd been pouring pomegranate-infused tea into everyone's glasses, set the pitcher on the table and said, “I narrowed it down to two places. The float you're looking for is in one of them. You have time to go through both.”

“Good,” I said, liking how much progress we'd made. “It can't hurt to be early.”

I sat at the table. Before I managed to unwrap my veggie muffuletta from its paper, Moss appeared next to me.

“No,” I said.

Bite?

No.

Please bite?

I pulled in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

“Stop acting like a beggar.”

He let out a high, pitiful whine.

Bite?

Shaking my head, I pulled my mental shield into place to
block out the pleas. Even though I couldn't hear his litany of requests for a bite of my sandwich, being seated at the table put his head level with my shoulder, which made his sad, I'm-starving face hard to ignore.

I gathered my sandwich and drink and moved to stand at the counter.

Moss was undeterred. Following me, he let out another whine, then licked his chops.

I tuned him out and unwrapped the muffuletta.

As soon as I'd taken the first, oily bite, my phone started ringing.

Annoyed, I set my sandwich down and almost choked when I saw the number on the phone's display.

“What?” my sister asked.

“It's Anya.”

“Answer it,” Emma said.

I forced down the barely chewed bite. “And say what?”

“Just see what she wants—play it by ear.”

Crap!

I hit the green accept button and answered.

“Grace, this is Anya Zharova.”

“Oh, hi, Anya, how's it going?”

Grace Wilde—smooth as a shark's backside.

“I'm calling to see if you have reconsidered speaking to Coco again. I realized today that I'd neglected to tell you something that might be important. Veronica mentioned that she had adopted Coco from a person, rather than an animal shelter. Perhaps that is helpful?”

I grabbed a paper napkin and scribbled the words
talk to Coco again
, added a big question mark, and looked at my sister.

“Well . . .” I stalled to give Emma time to read and consider. “I'm not sure . . .”

Brows knitting, she met my wide-eyed gaze and nodded firmly.

“I guess it might be worth a try.”

“Good. I can pick you up at the hotel in an hour.”

“Um . . . an hour?”

Emma lifted her shoulders. She made a monkey face—a pretty good one, actually—then tapped her watch and lifted her hands, palms up.

I understood her question.

Will it give us time to find Cornelius?

It would have to.

“I'm not at the hotel but I can meet you at the apartment.”

“Fine, I will see you there.”

I hung up and said, “Crap! I just agreed to meet Anya.”

“You did what?” Kai asked from the doorway.

“If we hurry,” Emma said, “we can set a trap.”

“A trap?” he countered. “What do you think she's planning—a picnic?”

“The same thing,” I answered, and looked at my sister. “He's right—it's totally a trap.”

“Of course it is,” she said. “But we have the advantage. She thinks you're alone. So when you don't show up and she leaves, we'll be able to follow her. Grace doesn't even have to be there,” Emma said. I could tell by Kai's expression he was considering it.

“Okay. We're going to need everyone in on this. Hugh?”

“Yep.”

“Don't forget about me,” Belinda said.

“No.” I shook my head. “We can't ask you to get involved.”

“Really? I don't see anyone else here who's lived in this city their entire life, do you? I'm going.”

“If anyone should stay here it's you, Grace,” Hugh said. “I mean, haven't we determined that this is a trap? Why walk into it?”

“Let's look at this logically.” I set down my sandwich and wiped oil from my fingers. “Anya goes to the apartment. She waits for a while. I don't show up. What's her next move?”

“Call you and see if you're running late,” Emma suggested.

I nodded. “Right, she calls me. I can either answer and tell
her I'm not coming or ignore the call. Either way, she figures out I'm going to be a no-show. What's her move after that?”