Take the Monkey and Run (11 page)

I nodded. “I can see that. But it doesn't help us with her name.”

“No, but this might.” He pointed to the second photo on the fridge.

“How?” I leaned in to look at the photo.

The two girls posed cheek to cheek in front of what was obviously a bar. Besides coming to the brilliant conclusion that the two were roughly the same age and appeared to be friends, I was not seeing how it would help.

“This woman is the only link we have to Veronica.”

“But we don't know who she is or where this picture was taken.”

He studied the photograph. “There's actually a lot to go on in the photo. See the name tag on her shirt?”

I peered at it. “It's cut off.”

“Not all of it.” Kai opened one of the two kitchen drawers and found a pen, then started writing on his hand.

“There are three letters in the first name. The first letter might be an
L
,
J
, or
I
. Judging by the second letter, which looks like an
M
, I'd say her name starts with an
I
.”

“The third has to be an
A
, right?”

“I think so.”

“Ima?”

“Yep. The last name is totally cut off, unfortunately.”

“Still,” I said, “Ima is an odd name. Maybe it will help us find her.”

“There's also a good bit going on in the background. If you know the bars in New Orleans, you might recognize the location.”

“Assuming it was taken here and not wherever she came from.”

“It's worth a shot, though,” Kai said.

It was. “Belinda might have an idea.” I knew she'd been in the city awhile, but even if she didn't recognize the bar, she could get ahold of Magnificent Marvo, or even the shot girls, Shay, Sheba, and Judith. They certainly knew the French Quarter well. “Let's head back to the B and B and ask.”

Kai shook his head. “You can check with Belinda about the bar—I'm going to take this photo of Anya to the NOPD and see if I can get them to do a reverse lookup and get an ID from the DMV.”

“Wow,” I said, pretending to be impressed. “That was a lot of acronyms.”

He ignored my comment.

“Come on,” he said. “Let's go.”

“Ten-four.”

Kai shot me a look, but I just smiled. As I started to follow him out of the kitchen, it occurred to me I needed to refill Coco's bowl.

“Hang on. I have to leave some food for the cat.”

Opening the cabinet where I'd found the dry food the day before, I paused when I saw the bag.

“Kai, I think someone has been here.”

He came to stand beside me and looked at the bag of cat food.

I pointed to the brand-new, nearly full bag.

“The other day, there was another bag. It was almost empty and this one hadn't been opened.” I looked at him. “You think a neighbor is coming by?”

“It's the most logical explanation if Veronica left with the intention of returning.”

That would mean she hadn't been kidnapped by Logan after all. Not wanting to tread on the delicate subject of Logan's involvement, I simply nodded, poured food in Coco's dish, and set it on the floor.

I felt Coco's approach before she slipped through the cat door.

“Like magic,” I said.

“What is?”

“The way cats can hear food being dished into their bowls from a mile away. I should have thought of that when we first got here.”

With a happy
meow
, Coco trotted into the kitchen. She took a couple of bites of kibble before turning to beg for attention.

“I'm going to see if I can get more info from her,” I told Kai. “Maybe we'll get lucky.”

“You do your thing.”

“Hi, Coco.” Squatting, I ran my hand over her patterned fur and she began to purr quietly. Soft, relaxed waves of contentment rolled through me.

Nice. Pet.

You're a sweet kitty, aren't you?

Coco puff.

I smiled.
Does Veronica call you that?
I pulled the image of the cat's owner to the front of my mind and used the tendrils of our mental connection to present it to Coco.

The purrs intensified.

Where?
Coco asked. She was clearly missing Veronica.

I don't know, Coco.

I asked about Veronica, but didn't get much. Coco wanted to know where her owner was as much as I did.

Usually, if an animal has seen something upsetting happen to a particular person, just asking about him or her would trigger the memory.

I spoke to Kai without looking up. “Whatever happened to Veronica, Coco didn't see it.”

“Has she ever seen Logan around?”

I showed the cat an image of Logan, with and without his beard.

“Nope,” I said to Kai. “Nothing with him.”

“Try asking about Anya.”

“You don't still think she could be Veronica's sister?”

“No, but, like Cornelius, they might know one another better than we realize. It might give us something,” he said. “Like Anya's real name.”

With a slow breath, I focused on thoughts of the tall, pretty blonde, then asked Coco,
Do you know Anya?

The cat didn't connect with the name but she knew the face and accent. In a flash of memory I heard Anya's voice and the click of high heels on the wood floor.

It was early in the day and the bright morning sun streamed like a spotlight into the room.

From her kitty hammock in the sleeping loft Coco could see the woman pacing the length of the small apartment as she talked into a cell phone.

The cat wasn't really listening to what was being said. It wouldn't have helped, anyway. Anya was speaking Russian, which, as it happens, is one of the many languages I don't understand.

Hey, don't judge—at least I can speak whale.

Anya paused to look up at Coco, and I knew one thing. The woman was not a cat lover.

Oblivious to the contempt on the woman's face, Coco watched sleepily as Anya walked out the front door, and continued to observe from the window as she walked down the steps. Anya stopped to speak to a man at the bottom of the stairs.

With the slow blink of tired cat eyes the memory faded.

I didn't recognize the man Anya had spoken to but I knew it wasn't Barry.

Was there another player in the game?

“Grace.” Kai's harsh whisper cut into my thoughts. “There's someone coming.”

While I was still processing what he'd said, Kai pulled me to my feet and we ducked into the only place we could hide—the tiny bathroom.

The sound of rapid footfalls stopped at the door and were followed by the rattling
click
of the lock.

Kai clicked off the bathroom light and pushed the door partly closed. We huddled behind it and listened. A woman called out as the apartment's door swung open.

“Coco! Hey, kitty. You hungry?” The voice was gentle and carried no trace of the Baltics.

Coco responded with a
meow
of greeting.

Layla.

“You want foodies?”

Coco answered with another
meow
.
Pet
.

“Okay, let's get—hey—your bowl is still full. Come here. You feeling okay?”

I slipped into the cat's mind to get a look at her caretaker but she had lifted Coco into her arms and the only thing I could see was the view over the woman's shoulder.

“Let's make sure you have water.” The woman set Coco back on the floor. From that vantage point, all I could see was a pair of well-worn tennis shoes and two jeans-clad legs.

I urged Coco to look up at the woman. But the cat was busy rubbing her face and scent along Layla's legs.

“You haven't been eating frogs again, have you?” Layla asked. “They'll make you sick.”

I felt Kai move next to me and I abandoned the cat's perspective for my own. Kai had shifted to peer out into the apartment. After a few seconds he eased back behind the door.

A moment later, his hand found mine and gave it a reassuring squeeze. We waited while Layla took care of Coco's water and chatted with the cat.

“I still haven't heard from your mama. But don't worry, I'll take care of you until she gets back. All right, sweetie, I'm double-parked and I've got to go to work. Be good. No more frogs.”

A few seconds later the front door opened, then closed. I could hear the woman trot down the stairs.

“Come on,” Kai said, and we crept out of the bathroom.

“That was close,” I said. “Though I guess we could've stopped her to ask about Veronica.”

“I think we would have given her a heart attack. Plus, we're breaking and entering.”

“Yes, but she obviously knows Veronica, so she might know where she is. Should we follow her?”

Kai had moved to look out the window. “She's long gone. I didn't get a good look, but I think she might be Veronica's friend in the photo.”

“I don't think so,” I said. “Coco called her Layla, not Ima. But maybe they're the same person? I can ask—” I was going to say “Coco,” but in that moment I realized the cat wasn't inside.

“Ninjas!”

“You want to talk to ninjas?” Kai asked.

“No.” I waved off the silly idea. “Cats. They're like freaking ninjas. Coco's gone. She must have slipped out the cat door.”

“Well,” Kai said, “we have more than we started with. Ima and Layla might know each other,” he said as we walked out the door. “The more people we can talk to who know Veronica the better.”

“If I can find the bar,” I said as he replaced Veronica's key.

“It's how investigations work.”

“I remember.” Kai had made the point before. “You have to
collect
the dots before you can
connect
them.”

I'm not a patient dot-collector.

We headed toward Magazine Street to try to catch a cab, and out of the corner of my eye I got a glimpse of a man who looked oddly familiar. I stopped and turned to look for him.

“What?” Kai asked.

“There was just this guy—he looked like someone Coco showed me, I think.” Looking from face to face, I scanned the people in the area, but didn't see him again. “He's gone.”

“When did Coco show him to you?” Kai said as we continued down the sidewalk.

“When I was asking about Anya. Coco was in the loft and
she could see Anya talking on her cell phone downstairs. When she left, Coco saw Anya meet up with this guy outside.”

“Just a guy? Coco didn't know him?”

“It was hard to tell. The cat was dozing in the window, so she wasn't really focused on the people around.”

“Could be a neighbor.”

“Or he could be working with Anya and Barry.”

“Or Logan.”

“Possibly,” I conceded. “Though Logan's kind of a loner. Not that I know him that well—it's just the impression I get,” I added quickly.

“He's not that much of a loner. He keeps popping up to protect you.”

“Not because I want him to.” I took a deep breath and said, “Kai, listen. I don't invite any kind of attention from Logan.”

Before I could expound on the point, a cab pulled to curb next to us and let out a rushed-looking man in a suit.

Kai waved a questioning hand at the cabby. The man nodded and we were on our way to the Quarter. I didn't want to talk about Logan in the cab, and hoped what I'd said was enough to get my point across.

It must have been because Kai asked the cab to wait while he walked me to Belinda's front door. He gave me a quick kiss before promising to call with any information on Anya.

I'm a little embarrassed to admit how much I enjoy moments like that. Strange how a simple kiss, or the brush of his hand down the back of my arm, can make me feel connected and safe.

I glanced around the shop as I headed inside. The curtains were pulled back from the nook where Belinda did readings and no customers were browsing the shelves so I called out, “Hello?” before walking toward the kitchen.

Voodoo was the first to answer my call. Sprinting down the stairs with a
meow
, she threaded between my legs at light speed—a move that nearly killed us both on a regular basis—and ran through the kitchen door.

Bubba!
The kitten had seen Moss—whom she called Bubba—and informed him of my return.

Bubba! Grace here.

“Hey, y'all,” I said as I entered the kitchen. My sister and Belinda were seated at the table, huddled together looking at Emma's laptop. Moss, who was under the table, swished his tail across the floor a couple of times but didn't get up. I bent over and saw why. Little Priscilla was curled on his front paws, fast asleep.

“She's in love,” Belinda said, peering at me over the top of her cat-eyed, crystal-encrusted reading glasses. On anyone else the glasses would have looked ridiculous. But Belinda—well, she made it work.

“He's a heartbreaker,” I said with a sigh.

Elvis poked his head up from Belinda's lap and yipped.

Hey, Elvis.

The King!

“I hope he's not jealous.”

“He's happy to have my lap to himself. Besides, the King doesn't get jealous, do you?”

He answered by climbing up Belinda's chest to shower her chin with doggy kisses.

Voodoo ribboned between my legs.

Up.

I scooped her off the floor and came around to see what my sister and Belinda were working on. Mardi Gras floats, of course.

“Make any progress on the float ID?”

“We have a few contenders,” Emma said, and clicked on a series of images she'd saved onto her computer's desktop.

I leaned over her shoulder to study them. “It's hard to tell. Cornelius was on the float, not next to it, so it's obviously a different perspective, but I'm going to say this one is closest.” I pointed at the second photo of a float that featured a king. His cloak was purple and dotted with gold stars.