Take the Monkey and Run (14 page)

“I'm okay,” I said. “Sorry.”

“You sure? You went all loosey-goosey on me.”

“I'm good,” I said, relieved to discover it was true. Other than a slight headache, I was fine. “I can tell you this, though. Anya's got a screw loose. Big-time.”

I shivered at the thought of her and Barry working together.

“What happened?” Belinda asked. “What did you see? Did Anya say something?”

“We'll have to go over that later.” Hugh's voice interrupted the rapid-fire questions. “Anya's on the move. Headed back the way she came.”

“I'm on it,” Kai said.

The plan had been for one of the group to trail Anya to wherever she'd parked, as the rest of us got ready to follow. Because Belinda and I had the motorcycle, we were up first.

“Belinda, you ready?” Kai asked.

“I was born ready.” She started the bike and its engine thundered to life. Cackling as we pulled away from the curb, she said, “I've always wanted to say that.”

“We're going east on Camp Street,” Kai said.

“East?” Belinda asked. “Oh, you mean toward the CBD. Got it.”

“What's the CBD?” I asked.

“Central Business District. There's no east and west in the Crescent City. But I follow. I'll head that way.”

“Take your time,” Kai said. “If she goes west—I mean . . .” He waited for Belinda's correction.

“Uptown,” she said.

“If she heads Uptown,” Kai amended, “and you have to do a U-turn, she might notice.”

We drove to Camp Street and turned. When we could see Kai and Anya, who was walking along the sidewalk almost a block in front of him, Belinda turned onto the next street.

She used a driveway to do a three-point turn, pulled up to the corner, and puttered to a stop next to the street sign.

“She can't have parked too much farther away,” Belinda said as we waited.

Sure enough, a few seconds later Kai said, “Anya's getting into a white, paneled van.”

“Of course she is,” I muttered. “What else do kidnappers drive?”

“She's pulling out,” Kai reported. “Turning toward the CBD.”

Belinda made the turn, and we saw the van immediately. She kept our pace slow. Traffic was extremely light and we had to hang back to avoid being spotted.

Thankfully, Belinda knew the city and its various construction projects and was able to predict bottlenecks that might jam us up and let Anya get away.

One of those bottlenecks, which consisted of concrete dividers, a floppy chain-link fence, and a very confusing set of orange cones, was our undoing.

We, with our much smaller vehicle, were expected to maneuver around the larger cars. At least according to the motorcyclist behind us.

He honked and, when we didn't move, honked again.

It was the second honk that did it.

I could see Anya's face in the long, driver's-side mirror.

She glanced over to see what the commotion was about.

“If you don't pull up,” I said, “she's going to get suspicious.”

“But then we'll be right next to her,” Belinda whispered.

Even knowing she couldn't see my face, I wasn't keen on the idea, either. “Pretend you can't get into gear or something.”

Belinda started fiddling with the handles and shaking her head. I turned and shrugged at Mr. Happy Honker.

The guy made a couple of exaggerated gestures to express his frustration.

Traffic started moving again and we breathed a sigh of relief.

“Hang back as much as possible,” I said to Belinda. “Kai, where are you guys?” It would be nice to have our backup in place.

“Trying to catch up. Hang in there—we're on the way.”

“She's turning,” Belinda said, and gave the rest of the group the details.

We slowed to a stop at the corner Anya had taken and looked down the street. The van was nowhere in sight.

“Maybe she turned again.”

Belinda drove around the corner, sped to the next street, slowed, and looked both ways.

No van.

“Damn!” I said. “We lost her.”

“Ah—no, we didn't.”

“What's going on?” Kai asked.

I leaned over to check Belinda's side-view mirror. The white van was backing out of a driveway,
rapidly
.

“She's behind us.”

Tires squealing, Anya jerked the van into a turn and lurched toward us.

“Get out of there,” Kai ordered, unnecessarily.

Belinda was already moving. “Hang on, Grace!”

Another redundant order. I was clinging to her like a frightened baby lemur.

We rocketed forward, then screeched around a corner, only to have to brake at an intersection. A moment later we were charging down the road, but again, had to slow for traffic. Each interruption in our forward progress allowed Anya to slip closer.

Even though my dad's a master mechanic and I grew up around all kinds of vehicles, I don't know that much about motorcycles. One thing I was pretty sure of—if we could get on a straightaway, we could outrun a van.

Belinda seemed to be thinking the same thing, kind of.

What I'd had in mind was getting on the highway, but it appeared my pilot had other ideas.

We reached St. Charles Avenue and Belinda turned, not onto the road but onto the dirt-lined streetcar tracks that ran along the center of the avenue.

I glanced back. Anya, too, maneuvered the van onto the tracks.

“She's still coming.”

“Where are you?” Kai's voice came over the speakers.

“Um . . . on St. Charles, sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“We're in the middle.”

“On the railway tracks?”

“It's the only chance we have to outrun her,” I said. A car horn blared as we barreled through an intersection.

I looked back, hoping Anya would be stopped by the traffic.

She careened through the cars and kept coming, in fact—“Um, we need to speed up, Belinda. She's gaining on us.”

“I can't,” she said. “The dirt is too loose here. I can't get enough traction, and if we have to brake . . .” She trailed off, leaving me to fill in the rest.

“We crash.”

“Right.”

Crap!

“Belinda.” My sister's voice was calm and soothing. “You just focus on driving. Grace, we need to know where you are. Give us a cross street.”

I peered over Belinda's shoulder to look for a sign.

Mistake.

We were headed right for an oncoming streetcar.

Gritting my teeth, I squeezed my eyes shut and attempted to mute the scream that would no doubt hinder Belinda's concentration.

I was not completely successful but figured the guttural “errrrrh,” was better than, “AAAAAH!”

I felt the bike tilt slightly without slowing, and I opened my eyes in time to see a green blur and hear the incongruously cheerful ding of the streetcar's bells as we whizzed by.

I checked behind us. Anya had also avoided a collision, but she'd had to veer wildly and it had cost her some speed.

Not enough, though. I watched as the van started creeping closer again.

“Grace?”

Right, I was supposed to be telling the rest of the crew where we were.

“Hang on,” I said, looking ahead for a street sign. Seconds later, we zipped through an intersection. Horns blared, and I clenched my teeth to keep from yelping, then said, “We just passed Eighth Street.”

“Going which way?”

I tried to get my bearings. “Heading toward the Quarter, I think.”

Suddenly, Belinda asked, “What time is it?”

“Almost two thirty,” Kai answered.

“Perfect.”

Obviously, Belinda had come up with a plan. She was a native, so I hoped it would be a good one.

She cut over the middle of the grassy road, back into the oncoming streetcar track, then, as we cleared the next intersection, pulled onto the pavement, merging into traffic like we were on a freeway.

I expected her to gun it now that we were on the pavement, but instead she slowed, eased into the right lane, and made the next turn.

This unimpressive maneuver had not thwarted our pursuer.

Anya was so close, I was pretty sure she was going to be able to ram us within seconds.

That was when Belinda proved she wasn't just another pretty face.

After an abrupt right turn we passed through a pair of iron gates set in a tall, white wall. Ornate crypts and mausoleums whizzed by on either side as we sped down the center of what was obviously one of New Orleans's famed cemeteries.

The center aisle was wide enough to accommodate a van,
and a quick glance over my shoulder confirmed that Anya made it through the gates and was bearing down on us.

She was gaining fast, because we were slowing down.

“Um, Belinda?” I squeaked.

“I know. Hang on.”

I tightened my hold, tucked my head to the side, and flattened my chest against her back.

The van's hood appeared in my periphery. I braced for impact and felt my stomach do a backflip when we swooped around a crypt onto one of the narrow alleyways leading into the labyrinth of tombs.

Tires screeched behind us. I eased off the death grip I had on Belinda and looked back just in time to see the van slam into the base of a large mausoleum.

Belinda reached the end of the alleyway and slowed to a stop. Planting her feet on either side of the Harley, she looked over her shoulder at the van.

The left side was crumpled against the solid stone. Steam billowed from under the hood.

The van was out of commission. Anya wasn't.

Through the steamy haze I could see her making quick, jerky movements.

“What's she doing?” Belinda whispered.

“The impact must have jammed the door,” I said. “I think she's trying to force it open.”

“Let's get out of here before she succeeds.”

There turned out to be four entrances to the cemetery, one on each side. We found the closest one and slipped out quietly. Or as quietly as possible while riding a Harley.

“Give us an update,” Kai said.

“We gave her the slip,” I said.

“Well,” Emma said, “you better hope you're as lucky with the cops.”

As she spoke, I could hear sirens in the distance. “You think they'll stop us?”

“If they're responding to a car chase down the middle of
St. Charles and are looking for two people on a motorcycle, then, yes.”

“Easy,” I said. “Stop and let me off.”

“No,” everyone said at once.

I told Kai where we were. “How close are you?”

“Not close enough,” he answered.

“At least five minutes,” Emma said. “You two created quite a stir. Traffic is bogged down, and everyone is trying to use the side streets.”

I spotted a cluster of people on a walking tour. “There.” I pointed. “Drop me off with them. I'll blend in and wait for Kai to pick me up.”

There were at least twenty people on the tour—it was a perfect cover. It took some explaining to convince everyone the plan would work but, in the end, we agreed.

“Okay,” Belinda said. “I'll head through Uptown, circle around the city, and meet y'all back at my place.”

She gave Kai directions on how best to find me, and I dismounted and removed my helmet.

“Wait—what do I do with this?” I held up the rainbow-striped, unicorn-emblazoned helmet.

“Stick it inside the jacket. Here, like this.” She fastened the zipper, put the helmet over my belly, and with a
ziiiiip
, I went from wanted daredevil to profoundly pregnant.

“Don't forget to waddle,” Belinda said before rumbling off.

It felt strange, not just pretending to be hugely pregnant, which was weird enough, but suddenly not being in constant contact with everyone made me feel as if I'd been set adrift.

The tour guide frowned at me when I eased into the group, but, really, who's going to tell a pregnant lady to get lost?

Playing the part, I tottered along and half listened as the guide talked about the different types of architecture found in the Garden District.

A few minutes later I heard the rumble of Bluebell's engine as she turned the corner.

I waddled over and climbed into the backseat next to
Emma. “It was Belinda's idea,” I said before any comments could be made.

“It seems to have worked.” Kai glanced at me in the rearview mirror before pulling away from the curb.

“You make a cute pregnant lady,” Emma teased.

I rolled my eyes and changed the subject. “Have you heard from Belinda?”

“I'm still on the phone with her.” Hugh, who was sitting in the front passenger seat, turned to show me his earpiece. “So far so good.”

I leaned back with a relieved sigh.

As we rode back to the B and B, Hugh kept tabs on Belinda to make sure she hadn't been arrested.

After decompressing on the ride, I was shaky and almost too worn out to face the idea of going on the hunt for Cornelius.

Oh well. No rest for the wicked. I decided to indulge in brewing a fresh pot of coffee, just to keep the fire burning.

Kai was in the courtyard on the phone with his contact at the NOPD. I tapped on the glass to get his attention and held up a mug. He nodded.

“Anyone else want coffee?” I asked as I poured myself a cup.

“I'll take some,” Hugh said.

“Belinda?”

“No thanks,
cher.
Let me finish getting this wig off your sister and I'll make some tea.”

Emma was seated at the kitchen table while Belinda worked. She cut her eyes to the side and looked at me. “Grace, can you put the kettle on?”

I nodded and did as I was asked.

A minute later Kai came through the back door and with a smile accepted the mug I offered.

“Well?” I asked.

“There was no sign of Anya in the cemetery. The van
has been towed to the impound lot. I left a message with the crime scene investigator working the case—maybe they'll let me take a look when they finish going over it.”

“Do you think they'll get prints from the van?” I asked.

“Anya was wearing gloves today. But they might get lucky.”

“Maybe we'll find out who she is,” Hugh said.

“Aside from a crazy person?” I plopped onto the chair next to Emma and took a sip of coffee. “I'm telling y'all, the woman is mean. She almost shot Coco just because she was ticked off that I hadn't shown up.”

“I agree.” Belinda set the wig aside and pulled off the stocking cap holding Emma's hair. “You should've seen her face when she realized she was being followed,” Belinda added. “It was like laser beams were coming out of that woman's eyes.”

“Grace gets a look like that sometimes,” my sister said.

“No, I don't.”

“You do. It's this hyperfocused, icy glare. Doesn't really work on me, though.” She smirked and ran her fingers through her hair.

“I've seen the look,” Hugh said.

“Me, too,” Kai added.

“Guys, this was way worse. Believe me. The way Anya talked to Coco, about how she didn't tolerate things that
ver not useful
,” I said in my best Russian accent—which was pretty bad. “I'm telling you, she's got zero compassion.”

“All the more reason to get going and find Cornelius so we can figure out what he knows about Ronnie,” Kai said. “Grace, the monkey showed you a sunset, right?”

I nodded. “Or a sunrise. I can't be sure. And it was just for a split second. The only part of the vision with any color at first was the glittery purple of the float, but just as the image blinked out, I could see the sky through the window.”

“I think we can assume he was showing you a sunset, because he wanted food tonight, right?”

“Probably.”

“Then we have a timeline to work from.” He checked his watch. “It's almost four, so we better hurry.”

“Let's say you manage to catch him,” Hugh said. “And if anyone can, it'll be you, but how are we going to hold on to him? We can't just walk into the museum with a cage.”

“Grace can carry the monkey, can't you?” Emma asked.

My sister often thought I could do much more with my ability than I actually could. I shook my head. “Even if I managed to get ahold of him, I'm not sure I could keep him calm for very long. We need to come up with something else.”