Take the Monkey and Run Page 5

  “Room or reading?” she mused, tapping a perfectly polished fingernail on full lips.

  I glanced at the sign glowing in the window. It featured a crescent moon and other celestial symbols.

  Still not sure I was in the right place, I asked, “You’re Belinda?”

  “In the flesh.”

  “In that case, I could use a room, actually.”

  She snapped glitter-tipped fingers. “I knew it. Come on, let’s get you settled.”

  I followed her inside and found that the interior of the shop was as unique and surprising as its proprietor. Kind of Scheherazade goes on an African safari and has an estate sale.

  There was fabric draped everywhere. A nook by the front window featured a small table with a set of tarot cards and a crystal ball.

  “Thanks for opening up for me,” I said as Belinda walked to a life-sized statue of Nefertiti.

  “No problem, cher.” Reaching around to the queen’s back, Belinda clicked on a light, turning the statue’s headdress into a torchiere.

  “I guess I owe Magnificent Marvo,” I mused.

  “Who?”

  “The magician.”

  “Marv? He told you to come? Huh. I haven’t seen him in a coon’s age. How’s that old charmer doing?”

  “Fine, I guess,” I said, confused. “He didn’t call and tell you to expect me?”

  “Oh, I knew you were coming, cher. I always know.”

  Ookaaay . . .

  I glanced at the crystal ball and it clicked. “You knew I was coming because you’re a psychic.”

  “I am. And you’re thinking—this queen is crazy. Don’t deny it. I can tell.”

  “Well . . .” Had I been thinking Belinda was crazy? Not exactly. Different, yes. Unexpected, certainly. But crazy? No. I’d been called crazy too many times to point that finger at anyone. “I don’t think you’re crazy—I’m just a little overwhelmed right now.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “Come on. You look like you need a bedtime snack.”

  My stomach rumbled at the suggestion.

  The hall leading to the kitchen was lined with bookcases. Their shelves were clogged with not only books but all sorts of interesting photos, artwork, beaded African masks, and several oddities I couldn’t identify.

  I paused at what looked like some sort of altar decorated with yellow and orange candles and a vase of peacock feathers. An assortment of odd items was scattered at the altar’s base. Lipsticks and mini–perfume bottles, a dainty silver comb, assorted coins, and several photographs. Below it was a velvet cloth with an intricate symbol embroidered on it.

  Belinda saw me studying the beaded cloth.

  “For Oshun. Mother of Sweet Waters. She’s a goddess of beauty and love. Like me.” Belinda winked, then turned to motion to the opposite side of the hall and another altar. It was similar to the first but had blue and white candles and the vase held a trio of white roses. “This is Yemaya’s shrine. She’s a powerful spirit. A great protector of women and children. She takes requests. Just ask for her help and make an offering.”

  I’d never seen an honest-to-goodness voodoo altar. They were pretty neat. On a whim, I fished a coin out of my pocket and muttered, “Yemaya, if you can help me out with some protective awesomeness, I’d be grateful.” Then I followed Belinda down the hall.

  The kitchen, like the rest of the first floor, had soaring ceilings that made the place seem bigger than it was. A glass-fronted cabinet held a myriad of bottles, jars, and strange little odds and ends. Next to the cabinet was a tall chest with dozens of tiny drawers that looked like it belonged in an apothecary.

  Belinda motioned for me to sit at the round table. As soon as I did, the blond Pomeranian hopped up to settle into my lap.

  “That’s Priscilla,” Belinda said. “Elvis is the black one. He’s my little helper, aren’t you?”

  “Yip!” Little helper. The King!

  I smiled at the dog, then my host—or was it hostess?

  Whatever. Her name was Belinda—I was going to stick with that.

  This situation was surreal. Although, that morning, I’d boarded a plane hoping to talk to a cat about a missing woman, so maybe surrealism is subjective. But things had gotten weirder for sure.

  I thought about Logan.

  What the hell had happened to him earlier? Why hadn’t he shown up for our meeting—a meeting he had arranged?

  Belinda set a cup of steaming tea in front of me along with a small plate.

  “Chamomile tea to help you sleep. And a piece of banana bread. My special recipe.”

  Whatever was in it, it was delicious. I washed the bread down with a sip of tea and sighed as its warmth melted into me. “This is great. Thank you.”

  “I aim to please.”

  “Is there anyone else staying here?” I asked.

  “No. I kept this week vacant. I had a feeling.”

  “Like the one you had earlier?”

  “I learned a long time ago not to fight the Tingle.”

  “The Tingle?”

  “I get this little tingle along my left side. It always happens just as an idea pops up out of the blue. Take tonight, for example. I was getting ready to take off my makeup and thought, I need to take Elvis and Priscilla for a walk—right now. As soon as the idea hit me, I felt the Tingle. So out the door I went, and there you were.”

  Curious, I found myself asking, “What happens if you ignore it?”

  “Ignore what? The Tingle?”

  I nodded and took another sip of tea.

  Belinda made a tsking sound as she shook her head. “I gotta respect the Tingle. I regret it when I don’t.”

  “Well, I’m grateful to you and the Tingle.”

  “Like I said, I’m happy to oblige. Now, how about I show you to your room so you can get some sleep?”

  The switchback staircase leading to the upper floors was so steep and uneven I wondered how guests managed it after a night out on nearby Bourbon Street. Heck, I wondered how Belinda managed the climb in the high heels. At least here my lack of luggage was a plus. It would be a treacherous climb toting a full suitcase.

  Still, the place had a sort of careworn charm. The wood banister—wonky as it was—was polished to a gleam. The exposed brick wall, though chipped and dotted with holes and remnants of paint, gave the place warmth and character.

  “Here we are.” Belinda opened a door to a cozy room with a queen-size canopy bed. I might have sighed out loud when I saw the fluffy comforter and pillows.

  “I’ll send Elvis to check on you in the mornin’.”

  “Works for me,” I told her as she shut the door. I was used to getting a wake-up call from dogs—and cats, for that matter.

  Thinking of Voodoo made me wish she were there. I could always count on my cat to deliver a dose of purr-induced bliss that put me to sleep in a nanosecond. It turns out a night running around in the cold and drinking absinthe worked the same way.

  •••

  I woke the next morning with an unfamiliar canine brain buzzing in my head. Even after I’d opened my eyes, it took me a second to remember where I was and what had happened the day before.

  I’d gone from worrying about the repercussions of being more open about my ability to running from an armed weirdo. Thanks to Logan, I had no phone, no clothes, nothing. Except, it seemed, a persistent Pomeranian entreating entrance at my chamber door.

  Elvis?

  The King!

  Thought so. Anticipation radiated from the little dog. He was soon joined by Priscilla, who let out a dainty yip.

  Open!

  Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I rolled out of bed and crossed the room to open the door.

  “Come on, you two.”

  Both puff-balls spun in delighted circles at my invite, then trotted into the roo
m. That was when I saw the note. It was attached to Elvis’s harness with a safety pin. He rose on his hind legs, one forepaw resting on my shin, and let out a quiet bark.

  For you.

  Thanks, buddy. I bent and retrieved the note.

  Little helper!

  You’re the best.

  The King!

  Elvis promptly sat, obviously waiting for me to read the note.

  I shook my head at his adorableness and unfolded the paper.

  “Good morning! Come on down for breakfast when you’re ready. Fresh towels and extra toiletries in the hall bath just across the landing. Coffee?”

  Below the word coffee Belinda had drawn two boxes, one with a Y and the other with an N.

  Smiling, I found a pen next to a notepad on the writing desk and checked the box for Yes then added a “thank you!” Because I was grateful and really needed coffee.

  As soon as I’d reattached the note to Elvis’s harness, the little dog trotted out of the room and bounded down the stairs.

  “Pretty neat system,” I said to Priscilla. “Why aren’t you the messenger?”

  Priscilla pranced in a circle and flopped onto her back to beg for a tummy rub.

  Get the belly!

  Gotcha.

  Kneeling, I obliged and grinned as the little dog squirmed in delight.

  Apparently, Belinda knew a note would get pulverized or torn off during Priscilla’s joyful, supine squirmfest.

  After a final pat, I stood and made my way to the bathroom.

  In this ancient house I’d expected to find a claw-foot tub and pedestal sink but in keeping with the theme of encountering the unexpected, instead I walked into a small bath that reminded me of an upscale Asian spa.

  Though the floors were the same scarred, wide, wooden planks as everywhere else in the house, the rest of the room was sleek and modern.

  In the shower, I chose the Revive scented body wash, which, according to the label, was good for mental clarity and invigoration.

  I can’t say if it was that or the prospect of coffee, but by the time I started down the stairs, I was ready to take on the day.

  Little Elvis, who’d heard me coming, pranced out of the kitchen to greet me and fulfill his duty by showing me where to go.

  I followed him into the kitchen, where Belinda stood at the stove. She was decked out in head-to-toe leopard print, and wore a long wig in a shade of red nature reserves for scarlet macaws. Somehow it worked.

  I must have been staring because she asked, “What, you don’t like my hair?”

  “No. I mean, yes. I was just thinking you look amazing.”

  She gave me a delighted smile.

  “Well, you know what they say.” She flipped a scarlet lock over her shoulder with a flourish. “You can turn it down, but you can’t turn it off.”

  I smiled. “Is that what they say?”

  She winked and turned back to the stove. “How’d you sleep, sunshine?”

  “Like a dead rock.”

  “Good.”

  “It smells great in here.”

  “Coffee’s still on, there are scones on the counter next to the mugs, and I’m making jambalaya.”

  “For breakfast?”

  “Baby, it’s almost eleven thirty.”

  “Really?” I paused in my coffee pouring to look out the window into the courtyard—it was overcast. Hard to tell where the sun was in such gloom. “What time did I get here last night?”

  “Close to one.”

  My eyes widened. I rarely stayed out until one in the morning. “Must have been the absinthe,” I mumbled.

  Belinda chuckled. “Marv loves the green fairy.”

  “Weird. I don’t have a headache or anything.”

  “Absinthe was originally medicinal. It’s been used to treat all sorts of ailments. Stomach pain, inflammation—even helps with mild depression and stimulates your brain.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. A number of banned substances, like wormwood, which is the stuff in absinthe, hallucinogenic mushrooms, and the like, have been used for thousands of years as medicine.”

  I took a sip of coffee. It was perfect. Nice and strong, no trace of acidity. I took a second sip and decided I’d stick to caffeine to stimulate my brain for the time being. After several seconds of no big ideas, I gave up. I was going to have to become more caffeinated to come up with a game plan.

  “Sit,” Belinda said, motioning to the small round table.

  I did as I was told and enjoyed a few more sips of coffee.

  Thinking of the sign I’d seen in the window the night before, I wondered if the shop was open for walk-ins and hoped Belinda wasn’t missing business to cater to me. “How often do you do readings?” I asked as she set a plate in front of me and sat in the chair opposite mine.

  “Every day. I’m the only psychic voodoo drag queen in the Quarter. Or so I’m told.” She winked and I noticed the false eyelashes she wore were tipped in glitter.

  “I’m not keeping you from clients, am I?”

  “No, I’ll hear the bell if someone comes in. Most of my bread is buttered doing special occasions, anyway. A surprise reading for the bride, that sort of thing.”

  Belinda had to be at least six-six in heels, and that wasn’t counting the hair. I’m not sure the word surprise was sufficient.

  “But enough about me—let’s talk about you, cher.”

  “I’m not sure where to start.”

  “You could start by telling me about the man you’re running away from.”

  I blinked at her in surprise. “You saw that in a vision or something?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve been around this old Quarter a few times and I know the look of someone who’s been betrayed, and you had it last night.”

  “I did?”

  “We can’t always understand why people do what they do. Sometimes, you give someone your trust, they break it. But it’s not your fault.”

  I shook my head. “I never trusted him.”

  “You sure? Because I was getting something else from you.”

  “You were?”

  “It’s a kind of hollow energy. Usually, I feel it when a person is disappointed and confused because someone they care about has hurt them and they can’t understand why they would act the way they do.”

  “But . . .” I started to protest when it hit me. Belinda wasn’t talking about Barry; she was talking about Logan.

  Except I didn’t trust Logan, either—did I?

  The more I thought about it, the clearer the answer became. As angry as I’d been with him for stealing my phone, deep down I’d believed he’d show up and explain what was going on. I hadn’t just been ticked off when he’d stood me up—I’d been disappointed.

  It seemed I really had come to trust him. How the heck had that happened?

  “You okay?”

  I blinked over at Belinda.

  “Sorry, what?”

  “You look kinda mystified,” Belinda said.

  “I’m just surprised at myself for being so stupid.”

  “You can’t blame yourself for something someone else does, cher.”

  Something about Belinda made me want to open up. I couldn’t tell her the whole story—it was too complicated and would take too long—so I went with the abbreviated version.

  “So this Logan,” she said when I’d finished. “You think of him as a friend?”

  I winced. “Not in the traditional sense, but for the most part? In a convoluted way, yes.”

  “Do you think he stood you up on purpose? Maybe he tried to get a message to you but couldn’t.”

  “Logan has always seemed pretty resourceful, but I guess I could call the hotel where I was staying to see if I have any messages.”

  She looke
d up the number for the Monteleone for me then handed me her phone.

  The reception clerk put me on hold to check and came back on the line a minute later.

  “No messages, Miss Wilde, but there’s a package for you.”

  “Package? From who?”

  “Let’s see. It’s not marked.”

  It had to be from Logan.

  “I’ll be by to pick it up soon.”

  “Be sure to have your ID with you.”

  That, at least, I had.

  I thanked the clerk, hung up, and looked at Belinda.

  “You need to go back to the hotel?” she guessed.

  I nodded. The only problem was Barry and Anya. “I’m not sure how to get into the hotel without being spotted by the people Logan warned me about.”

  “Leave that to me, honey. Belinda is the queen of incognito.”

  It turns out Belinda and I have different definitions of incognito.

  CHAPTER 4

  I don’t think I would’ve felt half as ridiculous had we not been on bicycles, but Belinda assured me it would be the quickest way to get to the Monteleone and pointed out that no one would be looking for a blonde on a bike.

  You heard correctly. I was blond. And not just a run-of-the-mill, regular blond. I was sporting a wig that would put any Texas pageant queen to shame.

  The outfit really wasn’t that bad. I’d kept my blue jeans but traded my bright red, rather conspicuous, wool coat for a white, down-filled jacket that made me look like the Michelin Man. Though I don’t recall the Michelin Man ever wearing angel wings and a halo.

  “It’s Twelfth Night,” Belinda had told me.

  “Meaning?”

  “You know, the Epiphany.”

  “When the wise men went to visit Jesus?”

  She’d nodded as she straightened my wings. “Everyone will be dressed up. There’ll be angels, wise men, snowflakes, whatever.”

  “People dress up for the Epiphany?”

  “Yes, baby. Twelfth Night is the first day of Mardi Gras.”

  “You’re telling me Mardi Gras starts today?” I wasn’t sure if I was excited or terrified at the idea of being in New Orleans during the infamous party season.

  “We are going to blend right in,” Belinda promised as she’d finished pinning the halo on my head. And wouldn’t you know it, she was right—mostly.