Take the Monkey and Run (19 page)

“What?” Will glanced at the knife, seeming surprised to find he was holding it, then set it on the counter. “I don't mean no harm. I'm just telling the story of the
rougarou
.”

When Kai didn't sit, Will picked up a piece of jerky, turned, and offered it to Moss.

“For true, I don't. Here. Come see.”

Moss trotted forward. I wasn't worried. My dog was
much faster than Will. And I was watching—the slightest hint that he was going for the knife and I'd let Moss know to protect himself.

But Will fed Moss the jerky without incident. Kai relaxed and took his seat, and Moss finished his treat, licked his chops, and sat.

Treat?

“You're hungry, eh?”

Will fed him another bite.

“He'll eat you out of house and home if you let him,” I warned.

Will chuckled. “Okay, go on now.” He shooed my dog away.

“Moss, come.”

Reluctantly, my dog obeyed.

“We need to know about the murder of Sean Preaux,” Kai said.

Picking up a long wooden spoon, Will stirred the pot of gumbo. “Oh? And why's that? He kin to you?”

“No—” Kai sounded frustrated so I decided to cut to the chase.

“We're interested in his niece, Ronnie. What was her involvement with the murder?”

“A good question, that. We never found out.”

“Do you have a theory?” Kai asked, nearing exasperation.

Will didn't answer. In another part of the house, I heard water running. I guessed T. Paul had decided to take a shower.

Setting the spoon aside, Will adjusted the flame on the burner and came to sit at the table.

When he sat down I asked, “What does
possédé
mean?” Thanks to Judy and Banjo, I already knew the answer, but I wanted to see Will's reaction.

“Like
possédé
Preaux?”

I lifted my shoulder in a you-tell-me gesture. He smiled, looked at Kai, and said with a twinkle in his eye, “I like her.”

“Me, too,” Kai said, which brought a rush of heat to my cheeks and made me thankful for the dim lighting.

“Keeps you on your toes, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

His comment earned a wry look from me and a hearty laugh from Will. Then he said, “
Possédé
means
possessed
, but not like you're thinkin'. Mostly, we'd say
possédé
and we're talkin' about a very bad child.”

“So people around here think the Preauxs are bad?”

He made a noncommittal gesture. “For that family, maybe a better way to say it is
cursed
. See, every one of them comes into tragic times. Death, accidents, suicide, murder—that family lives under a cloud. Being touched, it comes with a price.”

“Touched?”

“You know,” he said, twirling his finger next to his temple.

“Crazy?”

Will shrugged. “Folks around here know—it's best to stay away from the Preauxs.”

“What happened to Sean?”

“He was what we call a
traiteur
, a healer. He went missing for a few days. Nothing strange about that as he was prone to get the
thracas
to head off into the bayou on his own.”

“Thracas?”

“You know, like a need or calling you can't fight. Anyways, nobody was too worried. Then, all of a sudden, here's Ronnie coming to the station sayin' her uncle's dead and askin' what we were gonna do about it. We asked how she knew he was dead and she tells us she had a bad feelin', is all.”

“You didn't believe her,” Kai said.

“Didn't know what to think. Then she tells us she can show us the body. Well, that caught our interest, for true.”

“He was in the swamp, wasn't he?” Kai asked.

“Sure was. And Ronnie came very close to findin' the exact spot. There are miles of bayou out here. She got within thirty feet.”

“You think she had something to do with his murder?”

“With that family, you just don't know. Ronnie, she's a
sweet girl. Always a little bit in her own world, I think, but no crime in that, eh?”

“So you don't buy into the murder-for-insurance-money theory?” I asked.

“Heh! You been talkin' to Detective Bryant.”

Kai nodded. “He seemed to think Ronnie and Max were guilty.”

Will made a derisive sound, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms over his wide chest. “He didn't tell you what really made his case against them fall apart, did he?”

We shook our heads.

“There was no insurance. None.”

“Sean didn't have a life insurance policy?”

“Never even applied for one. And there's no evidence he talked about getting one—to anybody.”

“That's quite a screwup on Bryant's part,” Kai said.

“Dat man has no business with a badge.”

“I agree,” I said. “And that's a fact.”

Will laughed.

“Here's what I think. It's tradition for a
traiteur
to pass their knowledge on to someone in the family. I think Sean was teaching Ronnie what he knew, and she might have been with him when he was killed.”

“You think she was a witness.”

Will nodded. “I tried to get her to tell me, but she wouldn't open up. Too scared, most likely.”

“That theory works with what we know,” Kai said. He took out his phone to show Will the photos of both Anya and Barry.

“These two might be involved. Have you seen them before?”

Will held the phone away, squinted, and stood up. “Need my glasses.” Retrieving them, he came back to study the photos. “No. I don't think so.”

“Why would someone want to kill Sean?” I asked.

“I asked myself that a thousand times. I don't know.”

“Were they into shady stuff?”

“Sean and Ronnie?” He shook his head. “Her brother, Max, that's a different story. But like I said, that family has had a hard time.”

Footsteps clomped through the fish camp and a few seconds later T. Paul appeared in the doorway.

“We got to get going soon, yeah?”

Kai nodded, and T. Paul headed out to get the pirogue ready.

“Speaking of Ronnie's family, do you happen to know her grandmother?”

“Josephine Preaux died years ago.”

“Preaux. That would be her paternal grandmother, right? What about her mother's side?”

His expression changed slightly, seeming to close off for the first time since we'd arrived.

“I knew her. That woman”—he shook his head—“moved to town round the same time Josephine died.”

“By
town
you mean New Orleans?” I wanted to confirm what I'd assumed, listening to T. Paul and his wife.

Will nodded.

I felt a surge of excitement. “Does she still live there?”

“Don't know. She changed her name when she left.”

“To what?”

“Don't know that, either.”

Damn!
Just as we'd come close to learning something useful.

“What name did you know her by?” I asked.

“Why so many questions about her?”

“We think she might know how to reach Ronnie.”

He shook his head. “Doubt it. The woman cut the whole family off when she left. Ronnie wouldn't have known how to get in touch with her. But if you want to take the chance, when she lived here her name was Arlise Dulac.”

“Can you think of anyone who might know what she changed her name to?”

“One. But I don't think he'll talk to you.”

The person Will had been referring to turned out to be Ronnie's brother, Max.

T. Paul informed us the young man could be found in one of two places—jail or the Cat and Mouse Club.

We started with option two. Though it was getting late by the time we made it back to Bluebell, we decided to head to the area's one and only nightclub.

I'd expected a podunk, backwoods watering hole with a dusty parking lot dotted with a small spattering of pickup trucks. The only part of my expectation that turned out to be accurate was the dusty bit.

Cat and Mouse was a real nightclub, complete with beefy bouncers, laser lights, and blaring music.

The delighted shrieks of a dozen women sounded as we weaved our way inside.

After a second, I could see why. There was a male revue going on, and the dancer currently occupying the stage had just ripped off his tear-away motorcycle pants. After a few slow, rolling hip thrusts the dancer spun around, leapt into the air, and landed in a center split.

“Holy cow!” I said, with real admiration. Kai shot me a look. “What? The guy has talent.”

“Yeah,” Kai said, looking back to the stage where the dancer had moved onto all fours and begun gyrating wildly. “He's a real artist.”

Rather than argue the merits of different forms of artistic expression, I decided to focus on the task at hand.

“How are we going to find Ronnie's brother?” The place was packed.

“Well,” Kai said, raising his voice to be heard over the noisy crowd and pounding music. “It's about ten to one women to men, so it shouldn't be too hard.”

Good point.

We headed to the bar and Kai leaned over to talk to the bartender. “Have you seen Max Preaux?”

“I'm looking at way too much of him right now.” The guy raised his brows and looked pointedly at the stage.

“The stripper?” I asked.

“He goes by Mad Max,” the bartender said. He seemed unimpressed with the name.

I exchanged a look with Kai and we headed toward the stage. At the steps leading into the sunken seating area, we encountered our first obstacle. A bouncer wearing a T-shirt at least two sizes too small barred our way.

I smiled and waited for him to unclasp the velvet rope separating the two areas of the club. After a once-over he obliged and I walked past. Kai, apparently, didn't pass muster. Before he could follow me, the bouncer reattached the velvet rope.

“He's with me,” I told the bouncer—though it was obvious.

“Ladies only,” the beefcake said.

“We need to speak to the dancer—it's important.” I pointed to the stage. After glancing that way, I saw Max had waded into the sea of screaming women and was accepting tips.

“Ladies only,” the bouncer repeated.

Kai reached into his back pocket and flashed his badge at the bouncer.

“Federal Agent Duncan—with the Special Investigations Unit,” Kai said. He returned his ID to his pocket before the bouncer could get a very good look. “I need to speak to Mr. Preaux. If you insist on hindering my ability to do so, you will be interfering with a federal investigation.”

The man's demeanor changed abruptly. He slid a glance toward Max, who'd noticed us and was watching intermittently as he moved among the tables.

I thought I heard the bouncer mutter something about
possédé
Preaux, but before he could unlatch the rope to let Kai pass, Max turned and bolted.

“Wait!” I yelled, charging after him. “Max, we just want to talk to you.”

Ronnie's brother either didn't hear me or didn't care. He sprinted to the left of the stage and disappeared behind a thick, dark curtain. Figuring Kai was not far behind me, I followed. Without slowing down, I pushed through the curtain and ran down a narrow, dark hallway. Max had disappeared. My steps slowed but after a few seconds of indecision, I heard the hollow
thud
of a door slamming closed.

Gotcha!

Following the sound, I picked up speed, rounded the corner, and crashed through the back door. Breathing hard, I took a second to pause and scan the area. Luckily for me, the rear parking lot was well lit and it only took a moment to pick out Max's scantily clad form running along a row of vehicles.

Figuring he didn't carry his car's keys in his G-string, I took off after him.

Max was in good shape—he was fast. He was also barefoot, which gave me a slight advantage. When I reached the row he'd turned down, I called out again, trying to convince him to stop. Predictably, he didn't comply.

Why the heck was he running? For a moment I had a
glimpse of how cops must feel when they want to talk to someone and the person bolts for no apparent reason.

What had Max done? Was he involved somehow with the disappearance of his sister? It was easy to become suspicious when people acted like suspects.

Speaking of cops, where was Kai?

A quick glance back at the exit door showed no sign of him. For the moment, I was on my own.

I was going to have to figure out a way to catch Max or at least get him to listen to me. Trying to anticipate his trajectory was almost impossible. I didn't know Max or the area. What I did know was if I could get Moss in on the chase, Max wouldn't stand a chance. I considered trying to herd Max around to the front of the building where Moss (better be) patiently waiting, but I wasn't a border collie.

If you can't bring the mountain to Mohammed . . . I focused as much of my energy as I could, while still running, on extending my mind to connect with Moss.

Hey, big guy, can you hear me?

It was a stretch. My dog was on the other side of the building, which put him at the very edge of my mental reach. I sensed his energy and zeroed in on his location at the same time as I projected where I was. I sent him the message:
Moss, come.

Even though our connection was tenuous, I felt his response immediately. A heartbeat later, help was on the way.

Just when my quarry and I were running out of parking lot, and I was wondering how far into the darkness we'd make it before hitting water, Max stumbled. Hissing out an inaudible curse, he hobbled a few more steps and stopped.

I jogged to a halt a few yards away and took a few seconds to catch my breath. A moment later, Moss charged out of the darkness.

Steady, Moss.
I didn't want my dog to tackle the poor guy.

Moss planted his paws, sending gravel and shells flying
as he skidded to a stop. Head low, ears pricked in readiness, he snarled at the shivering, nearly naked guy in front of me.

“
Arret toi!
I give up! I give up!” Max said, voice high with panic. “See? I stopped. I stopped.”

My dog didn't change his aggressive posture. His growl continued to rumble. The cloud produced by his heated breath roiled out from between his bared teeth like smoke from a dragon's maw.

I have to admit, he looked pretty scary.

Max's eyes, round with fear, were glued to my dog's teeth.

I was just about to call Moss off when I realized I was standing at the far, dark end of a parking lot next to a panicked man who outweighed me by at least fifty pounds of muscle.

Good boy, Moss. Guard.

My dog obeyed.

“Stay right where you are,” I commanded in my most potent I-am-alpha-bitch voice.

And guess what? Max obeyed, too.

“Ain't that something?” I murmured one of Belinda's favorite phrases.

“Please. Don't let him bite me!”

I glanced down and saw a smear of blood on the shells at his feet. Figuring the guy was no longer capable of escape and wouldn't be fast enough to attack me, I said, “That's enough, Moss.”

Good boy.

“Is—is that the
rougarou
?”

I rolled my eyes. What was it with these people and the stupid werewolf?

“What do you think?”

“No?”

“No.”

“Please—” Max didn't move, but he finally managed to pull his gaze from Moss to look at me. “I don't know where she is. Okay?”

“How do you know I'm looking for her?”

“She called me. Said she was being stalked by someone and told me if anyone asked about her, to tell them I didn't know anything.”

“Is that true? You don't know anything?”

“Hand to God,” he said, making the sign of the cross and raising his hand as if swearing on a Bible.

“When's the last time you talked to her?”

“A couple of days ago.”

The heat generated from the run must have been wearing off because Max crossed his arms over his bare chest and shivered.

“Grace!” I heard Kai call out from somewhere behind me.

“Over here.” I answered without taking my eyes off Max.

“Look, all I know is she told me to lay low.”

“And this is your interpretation?” I motioned to his lack of clothes.

He gave me an aw-shucks grin that probably got him out of a number of tight spots as a kid.

Kai finally made it to where we stood. I glanced over at him and frowned. His hair was mussed; he had a smear of red lipstick on the corner of his mouth and another on his neck.

I felt my brows arch as my fingers curled into fists. I didn't like seeing another woman's lipstick on him. Not one bit . . .

Flicking my gaze over the rest of him, I noticed his belt was partly unbuckled.

Moss growled, mirroring my feelings.

Once I got over my initial spike of anger, I realized Kai looked a little shell-shocked.

“You okay, man?” Max asked Kai.

“I think it was a bachelorette party.”

“Really?” I asked.

“It was like being attacked by, what's her name? Shiva? With all the arms?”

“Shiva's male,” I said, a little more tartly than I'd intended. “So probably not.”

Jealousy is not an emotion I've spent much time with. Probably due to the fact that I hadn't dated anyone in years.

The bizarre rush of burning anger made me feel stupid and immature.

Not wanting to dwell on those emotions, I decided to focus on Max.

“Do you know someone named Anya Zharova?” I asked him.

“No.”

Kai brought the photo of her up on his phone and presented it to Max.

He shook his head. “Never seen her. And I'd remember—she's hot.”

“What about a Dr. Schellenger?”

He shook his head. “Are these the people after Ronnie?”

“Yes, and they are dangerous. If you see either of them, call the police.”

I knew Kai's advice would fall on deaf ears.

“Right,” Max snorted. “Like the cops give a shit about me.”

I could imagine the police investigation targeting him and his sister for their uncle's murder had left him reluctant to trust the police. I'd recently been on the receiving end of some overzealous cop-ness.

It was no fun.

I knew Kai wouldn't like what I was about to say, but Max needed to understand how serious the situation was. “You're right, the cops probably don't care much for you. But I can almost guarantee they don't actively want to hurt you, either. I can't say the same for the people looking for your sister.”

Kai took his wallet out of his pocket and started fishing around in it. “I have a friend on the New Orleans PD. Let me find his card . . .”

Something in Kai's wallet caught Max's attention. “Wait—are you a cop?”

“No,” I said.

Kai said, “Yes.”

Max's face became completely closed off. I could have killed Kai for making such a mistake.

“I've gotta get back to work,” Max said. “Getting the frissons out here.”

He started to limp away.

“Wait,” I called out. “We need to get in touch with your grandmother.” When he ignored me and kept hobbling toward the club, I added, “She might be in danger.”

He stopped to look at me. “Why? Who'd want to hurt an old lady?”

“Think about it. First, your uncle is killed. Now Ronnie is missing. If someone is targeting your family, your grandmother has to be warned.”