Take the Monkey and Run Page 9

  “And she knew where you were staying?”

  “Yes, she handled everything. In fact, she was going to pick me up from the airport, but I got a call from her saying something had come up and she couldn’t make it.”

  “Interesting,” Kai said.

  “What?”

  “The whole thing seems like a setup, don’t you think?”

  I exchanged a look with my sister. “After everything that’s happened—yes.”

  “I’m going to call Jake. See if anything comes up when he runs their names.” Kai lifted his phone to his ear and a moment later I heard a faint “Yo,” which meant homicide detective Jake Nocera had answered the call.

  Kai made his request, listened to something Jake was saying, and flicked his gaze to me. “Yeah, you know how it goes,” he said. “I don’t think so but let me ask. Grace, do you have any more info on Anya or the psychiatrist?”

  “No, I told you everything.”

  “I might be able to help with that,” Belinda said. “If you’re open to letting me do a reading.”

  I glanced at my sister, whose eyes had lit up with excitement. “Sure,” I said. “Why not?”

  CHAPTER 6

  “Give me a second and we’ll get started.” Rather than leading us into the shop, where the small table was set in a nook, Belinda had gone and gotten her tarot cards to do the reading in the kitchen.

  “Do you need to light candles or anything?” Emma asked as she and Hugh cleared the last few plates from the table.

  Belinda waved the question away. “Please, the only thing I need is a sip of wine and this.” She held up a small drawstring bag made out of colorful fabric.

  “What is it?”

  “Some people call it a conjure bag, or mojo bag. I call it a gris-gris. I filled it with charms and herbs and whatnot. It keeps my energy from affecting the reading.”

  “So if you’re having a bad day,” Emma said, “it won’t bleed over and make it seem like she’s having a bad day?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Does that mean we should leave, too, so you don’t get any stray vibes?” Hugh asked.

  “No, we’re the only two touching the cards, so everybody can get comfy.”

  The group settled around and Belinda nodded to me. “Okay, cher, let’s get started.”

  She set the deck of tarot cards in front of me. “Go ahead and start shuffling. When you’re ready, cut the deck into three stacks.”

  I did as asked, fumbling a little with the large cards.

  “I do things a little different. In case you hadn’t noticed—I’m not your average, everyday psychic,” Belinda said with a wink. “When you get your three stacks, I’ll start going through the deck. I’ll be guided to stop at a certain card and flip it over. Sometimes I’ll have a strong sense of the meaning of the card, but sometimes it’s very general.”

  “Okay,” I said, still focusing on not sending the cards flying with my sucky shuffling skills.

  “The first card I’ll draw represents the situation you’re facing. I’m hoping we can use it to learn a little more about this Anya woman and her doctor friend.”

  “We’ll learn more than we know now, right?” I said. Finished shuffling, I cut the cards three times as instructed. Belinda gathered them into one pile and began laying them, one by one, facedown on the table. After over a dozen cards, she finally paused and flipped one over. We all leaned in to get a look at the card.

  I was no expert, but it didn’t look good.

  “That,” Kai said as he angled his head to study the card, “looks bad.”

  The tableau depicted a dark-haired woman, blindfolded and bound. She stood surrounded by eight swords, which pierced the muddy ground around her.

  “Well,” Belinda mused. “It’s not good news, but it’s not altogether bad. The Eight of Swords is a card of temporary hardship. Conflict and treachery—which isn’t much of a surprise. I’m also sensing a withdrawn or introverted personality involved.”

  “Like me?” I asked.

  “You’re not withdrawn,” Emma said. “Maybe a little introverted, but—”

  “Not Grace,” Belinda said. “I’m sensing a male in connection with that energy.”

  “Barry?”

  “Can’t say for sure. But there’s one other thing that’s coming through. These ropes here”—she tapped the bindings on the card with a glossy fingernail—“ain’t symbolic. Someone is being held against their will.”

  “Veronica?” I looked at Kai for his input.

  “That would be my guess,” he said. “You still have the card Logan gave you?”

  I nodded.

  “We’re going to need to call him.” Kai’s face was tense, but the emotion driving the expression was hard for me to identify.

  “Wait,” Belinda said, drawing our attention back to her. She’d turned over a second card.

  I let out a relieved sigh. This card didn’t look nearly as foreboding as the last. In fact it was kind of pretty. It showed a woman sitting with a lion.

  “That’s not so bad, right?”

  Belinda shook her head, frowning. “Strength,” she said. “Usually a card of balance. An expression of mental and physical health.”

  “I’m sensing a ‘but’ here,” Emma said.

  “It’s reversed, see? It’s upside down. Which usually indicates a feeling of vulnerability and self-doubt, but I’m getting another vibe here.” She looked up from the card to study me, confused. “It’s you. You’re the tamer of lions. Literally.”

  “It’s true,” Kai said. “Grace . . . ?”

  He waited for me to explain, which I appreciated.

  “I can communicate with animals telepathically.”

  Belinda’s already arched brows shot higher.

  “I thought you might have picked up on it,” I told her.

  “I only get what I get,” she said with a shrug.

  I nodded, understanding completely.

  “But,” Belinda said, touching the card, “this is more than your ability. It’s you and only you. You’re the only person who can stop this—”

  She slid the first card forward.

  I looked at the card. The bound woman, the swords, the marshy ground.

  “Crap.”

  After the reading, the discussion jumped around a bit but it became obvious those who’d been on the road trip from Jacksonville were beat. Everyone, except Belinda, decided to call it a night and start fresh the next day.

  I was a little disappointed at Kai’s quick “See you in the morning” before he closed his door.

  My sister’s room was across the hall. I knocked and when she said, “Come on in,” opened the door.

  Emma’s room was smaller than mine, but it suited her. Mainly because of the large armoire that dominated one entire wall. She’d opened its double doors wide and was busy putting her clothes away. The scent of cedar and lemon oil wafted through the room and tickled my nose.

  “Need help?” I asked.

  “Nope. I’m almost done.”

  I noticed she’d brought some of her favorite outfits and felt a pang of guilt. My sister had come all the way to New Orleans to include me in her birthday celebrations and we’d been talking about a kidnapping the whole time.

  With a silent promise to make it up to her, I crossed over to the sleigh bed and ran my hand over the smooth wooden footboard.

  “What was all the nudging about down there?” I asked as I sat on the bed and bounced a little to try it out. Comfy.

  “I was trying to stop you from making Kai mad. Not that it worked.”

  “Mad?” He had seemed frustrated. “What did I say?”

  “It was all the Logan talk.”

  “What about it?”

  “Logan seems to come to your rescue a lot. And you se
emed worried at the idea that he might be hurt.”

  “Only because I’ve been mentally bad-mouthing him since he took my phone. I’d feel terrible if something had actually happened to him.”

  “Well, you might want to tell Kai that.”

  “Why?”

  “I think Kai might wonder what’s going on between you.”

  “Going on?”

  “If there’re some romantic feelings.”

  I blinked at my sister in confusion. It was true, the first time Logan had decided to help me, Kai hadn’t exactly appreciated it, but I’d assumed he’d simply been worried about Logan’s status as a wanted criminal with ties to the mob.

  After that, well, I thought I’d made that clear, hadn’t I?

  “Kai knows I’m not interested in Logan,” I said, finally.

  “You sure?”

  Was I? It seemed obvious to me.

  “You think I should say something?” I asked.

  “Men can get protective over what they think is theirs, sweet cheeks.”

  I frowned. Being referred to as someone’s possession aggravated me. At least it should have. But really, thinking that Kai felt possessive of me didn’t bother me that much. On the contrary, I felt a pleasant warmth ripple through my chest.

  That aggravated me.

  “I know.” My sister lifted her hands in defense. “You hate thinking about this sort of stuff. But you need to.”

  By “this sort of stuff,” my sister meant anything with an emotional weight greater than a feather.

  This was heavier. Being open meant being vulnerable emotionally with another human being.

  “God, Em, I don’t even know how to bring it up.”

  “Just say, ‘Hey, I think I should reiterate that I don’t know what’s going on in Logan’s head. I really don’t think he has the hots for me but you should know even if he does, I have zero romantic interest in him.’ That should cover it.”

  It sounded so easy coming from Emma. Somehow, I always seemed to mess up conversations like that and say the wrong thing.

  “Do you love him?” my sister asked, gently.

  The question took me by surprise. I blinked at her. “Do I—wait, what?”

  “You heard me. Do. You. Love. Him?”

  “Come on, Em, I don’t even know him that well.”

  She crossed her arms and gave me a don’t-BS-me look so reminiscent of our mother’s, I almost laughed. “What?”

  “You’ve been seeing each other for over six months.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything. For all I know, Kai has a secret family stashed in another state.”

  “He doesn’t. I checked.”

  “You did not.” I knew my sister too well. Oh, I knew she was serious about checking up on Kai, but she’d had help. “You got Wes to do it.”

  “Of course,” she said without a hint of remorse.

  I rolled my eyes. Wes Roberts and I had been friends since we were kids. He’d grown up to become a fabulous attorney with lots of connections and almost as much sass as Belinda. He and Emma had a long history of conspiring when it came to what was best for Grace. I was used to it.

  “Stop avoiding the question,” my sister said.

  I sighed and flopped onto the bed. Love?

  “I don’t know, Em. I’m not even sure I know what love is.”

  Yes, I loved my sister and my dog—maybe not in that order—but that wasn’t the same thing as being in love with someone.

  “Hmmm,” Emma mused, coming to sit next to me. “Well, is he the first person you think about calling with news?”

  “Good or bad?”

  “Either.”

  “That depends on the level of criminal activity involved.”

  She laughed, but I wasn’t kidding.

  “Okay, how about this—does thinking about him make you smile?”

  “Usually, but thinking about Krispy Kreme doughnuts makes me smile, too.”

  “Then it’s settled,” she said, laying on the sarcasm. “You must love him.”

  “Tease all you want, but I’m serious. I have no clue. Look at what happened with Dane.”

  Dane Harrington was the guy I’d fallen for in college. He’d completely swept me off my feet. Then dumped me on my rear the second he’d found out about my ability, so it couldn’t have been the real thing.

  “Dane was an ass.”

  “Yes, but I loved him. Or thought I did. So, how can you be sure? For all I know, my feelings for Kai are just as skewed as they were for Dane.”

  “You were, what, twenty-one? Come on.”

  “Okay, say I do love Kai. What if he doesn’t feel the same way?”

  “Then he’s an idiot.”

  Thinking about all the possible complications of falling into the quagmire called love was making my head hurt, so I changed the subject.

  “I think this town is messing with my ability.”

  “Because you’re not vibing with the monkey?”

  “I’m telling you, Emma, he’s a weird little guy.”

  “Maybe you’re just adjusting to new circumstances. It’s happened before.”

  She meant it had happened when I was almost murdered by a lunatic several months ago. Before then, my ability was limited to a dozen feet or so. Something—the stress or maybe the panic—had led to a breakthrough in that area, and now my range, if you wanted to call it that, was much wider. I hadn’t taken a formal measurement, but it had to be over three times as much.

  “This doesn’t feel like an adjustment, as you call it. It’s as if his thoughts are disconnected. Like when he was showing me the image of the Mardi Gras float, I got this surge of . . . terror. It wasn’t the monkey’s fear, or at least I don’t think it was. It was more like he was remembering someone else’s pain and expressing it to me.”

  “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.”

  CHAPTER 7

  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 s
ki 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.”