Take the Monkey and Run (24 page)

“Ronnie, what was that?”

She stared into my eyes, a little crease forming between her eyebrows. Then she said quietly, “You can't hear me?”

I arched a brow at her. “Of course I can hear you, you're standing two feet away.”

With another quick glance at Jason, she motioned for me to follow her toward the far end of the attic.

“What are you?” she asked in a whisper.

“Huh?”

She reached out and grabbed my hand. “I can feel it. You're a telepath, right?”

Whoa.

“Uh—yeah. How did you—”

She talked over me. “Then why can't you hear what I'm thinking?”

“Oh, it doesn't work with people.” She looked completely confused, so I added, “I talk to animals.”

“Seriously?” I was having a hard time interpreting the look on her face. She either thought it was the dumbest thing she'd ever heard or thought I was kidding.

“I need a chocolate,” she said abruptly, walking back to where the men were standing. “My stash is in the kitchen. Do you guys want anything?”

She didn't give them a chance to respond. “Grace, why don't you help me grab some drinks?”

With her hand firmly clamped on my wrist, she dragged me down the secret staircase. Moss followed on our heels, wondering why we were suddenly rushing around.

Go?

Nope, just following a crazy girl.

Once in the kitchen, Ronnie opened the fridge and grabbed a chocolate bar. Tearing open the wrapper, she broke off a piece and popped it in her mouth.

I recognized the brand. Organic, 73 percent cacao, non-GMO . . . It was one of Emma's favorites—which meant it was expensive.

“A pricey habit,” I said.

“We all have our vices.” She offered me a piece and I accepted.

I have to admit—it was pretty delicious.

Never one to be left out in such situations, Moss came to sit in front of her.

Treat?

“Chocolate's bad for dogs,” she said, but turned back to the fridge. “Can he have a piece of cheese?”

Cheese!

I sighed. “Sure, why not.”

Ronnie took out what looked like the remnants of a block of cheese and fed it to Moss. He inhaled the cube without hesitation and looked up at Ronnie.

Treat?

She raised her eyes to me.

“I feed him. Really.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What's going on, Ronnie? Why did you really drag me down here?”

“Jason doesn't know.”

“About?”

“You know,” she said as another piece of chocolate disappeared into her mouth. She talked around the food. “Have you told him?”

“Told him what?” She was losing me fast.

“That you're telepathic.”

“Actually, it hasn't come up. Ronnie, tell me what's going on. Why did you drag me down here?”

“Jason doesn't buy into the whole psychic thing.”

“I got that impression,” I told her. “But I'm not sure I understand. He's known Hattie for years. He just thinks she's a charlatan?”

“Pretty much. But in a sweet, grandmotherly way.”

“You're kidding.”

“Nope, and she hasn't done readings in years and never talks about it in front of anyone. Out of sight, out of mind.”

“So you do have an ability,” I said.

She nodded. “My
mamere
was helping me understand how to use it. It's not easy. What I can do is unusual.”

I thought about what Will Besson had said about her uncle's murder, and it clicked.

“You can find things,” I said. “That's how you knew where your uncle's body was. You didn't witness the murder—you were just able to locate him.”

She nodded. “It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do.”

I could only imagine. “I'm sorry, Ronnie.”

She lifted her shoulder. “I thought if I found him, the police would be able to catch who did it. What a joke. All they did was hassle me and my brother.”

“You can't really blame them, at least for wanting to know how you knew where to look for the body.”

Ronnie glared at me and I decided to switch topics. “You said what you can do is rare. Is it hard to locate things?”

Relaxing, she took another bite of chocolate. “It's called remote viewing. And I can only do it sometimes. But that's not uncommon. Lots of people can find things. What I'm really good at,” she said, leveling her gaze at me, “is sensing psychic abilities in others. It kind of runs in the family.”

“Really?” I'd never heard of any other telepaths in my family, but then again, I'd never thought to ask.

“Back in the early 1800s one of my great-aunts could do the same thing. People from all over the parish would bring their babies to her to ask if the child was touched.”

“Neat.”

“You might think so, but after a while, people were scared of her. One of the babies she sensed was psychic was dumped into the bayou by its father.”

I stared at her, horrified.

“He thought it would turn into a
rougarou
,” Ronnie explained.

“What is it with the stupid werewolf?”

“People can be superstitious. Especially Cajuns.”

“And you really think Jason won't believe you? Even if we back you up? Kai knows what I can do—he'll talk to Jason.”

“Jason's not like your boyfriend,” she protested. “He doesn't get it.”

“It took some doing with Kai, too, I can promise you.”

“He'll think it's a giant waste of time.”

“Who cares what he thinks?” Obviously, she did, but I was betting she cared about her grandmother more. “Listen, if there is even the slightest chance you might find Hattie, shouldn't you try?”

“That's just it,” she said. “I've already tried dozens of times. I can't get a read on her. At first, I thought it was just something wrong with me. The stress was messing with my head, or something. But when you showed up the other night, I knew without a doubt that you were like me.”

“See? Then you should try again. I have a friend who knows a lot about this stuff. We can call her. See if she can help.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Listen. We can figure out a way to get rid of Jason if you really want to. But for the record, I think you should tell him the truth.”

“Tell me the truth about what?”

Crap.

I met Ronnie's eyes and hoped she could read the apology
in mine. I tried to think of something diffusing to say, but one look over my shoulder at Jason told me that wasn't going to happen.

“Jason . . . I—” Ronnie stopped and glanced at me. I gave her what I hoped was an encouraging nod. “There's something I need to tell you. I want you to hear me out, okay?”

He crossed his arms over his chest and waited. Not the most open posture, in my opinion, but maybe he'd listen.

“I'll let you two talk,” I said, and started out of the room.

“No. Grace, please stay.” Ronnie looked desperate so I did as she requested.

She turned back to face Jason. “You know how Mamere's a psychic?”

Jason arched a brow. “Yeah.”

“Well, so am I.”

“You're what?”

“I'm a psychic. Grace is, too,” she hastened to add, as if that would help her case.

“Ronnie, what are you talking about? You want to read people's fortunes?”

“No, that's not what I can do.” Ronnie looked at me for help.

“She's not talking about pursuing a career, Jason,” I said.

“You mean you're psychic, like, really psychic.”

“Yes,” Ronnie said.

He laughed, though there was no humor in it. “Okay, then, what am I thinking?”

“I'm not that kind of psychic. But I do know what you're thinking.”

“Yeah?”

“You think I'm full of it.”

“Well, look at that, maybe you are psychic.”

Kai appeared in the doorway. He looked around at each of us, clearly picking up on the tension. “Everything okay in here?”

“Yeah,” Jason said. “Everything is perfect. Ronnie here has decided she's a psychic.”

Jason had said the word
psychic
like someone might say
fairy godmother
.

Kai looked at me, then Ronnie. “I see. To be fair, I'm not sure it's something you decide.”

“Don't tell me you believe this happy hog shit,” Jason said.

Kai didn't cross his arms but he leveled his gaze at Jason and held it. “I do, because it's true.”

“This is ridiculous. Hattie's missing and you're wasting time with this?”

“It's not a waste of time,” Ronnie snapped.

“Great. If you're psychic, then where is she?”

“I don't know.”

“Because you're not that kind of psychic, either?”

“Actually, I am that kind of psychic but I just can't get a good read on her.”

“This is crazy. Okay, fine, you're psychic. Great, let's move on to something useful.”

“Don't you patronize me, Jason Broussard. You know I wouldn't lie about this. Not now.”

“You know something, Ronnie? I don't think I know you at all.”

“See?” Ronnie looked at me. “This is pointless.”

“Hang on,” Kai said. “Everyone take a breath, for Hattie's sake.”

Though she looked like she was ready to spit nails, Ronnie pulled in a couple of deep breaths and said, “Okay.”

Jason nodded.

“Good,” Kai said. “Jason, you don't have to believe Ronnie or us, but you can agree that we want the same thing, right? We want to help Hattie. And to do that, we have to work together. Everyone brings something different to the table.”

“I'll say,” Jason muttered.

Ronnie shot him a withering look.

Kai plowed on. “I have a few questions about a couple of unsolved cases that might be connected. Why don't we talk about those? Grace and Ronnie, you work your angle.”

I noticed Kai was careful not to say the word
psychic
, which was probably smart, given Jason's bad attitude.

I agreed, but didn't know how much help I would be.

“I've got some notes upstairs. We can start there,” Ronnie said.

Moss and I followed her up the hidden staircase to the attic.

“I've tried to keep notes, but it's really hard to focus on what I'm seeing and try to describe it on paper at the same time.” Ronnie's frustration was evident on her face.

“What about using a tape recorder?” I asked.

“That was my next option. I used to have an audio memos feature on my phone but . . .”

“Right. No phone.”

I thought about Logan's sudden case of sticky fingers when it came to my phone and wondered if he'd taken mine to protect me.

There was a way to track people with a phone, wasn't there? Had Anya or Barry figured out a way to hack into my phone?

I shook off the scary thought. I'd think about it later, when a grandmother's life wasn't in danger.

“Did you manage to make sense of anything you saw?”

She shook her head. “Not really. It all just seems completely random. Here,” she said, opening the drawer of the bedside table and taking out a notebook. “I'll show you.”

Ronnie set the notebook on the table and opened it. “These are just impressions, really. It felt like I could never get a firm grasp on her energy.”

I looked over the notes. Basically there were a bunch of words and doodles. Things like
dark road
and
chain-link fence
along with a lot of question marks.

“What's this about diamonds?” I asked.

“I don't know.”

“Like the shape or the gemstone?”

“Gemstone. I saw a bunch of loose diamonds sparkling—but that's all.”

“Does that mean your grandmother is somewhere where she can see diamonds? Or is that some sort of a metaphor?”

“I don't know.” Ronnie's voice was strained. “My
mamere
knew a lot about all this stuff. I've been trying to learn but . . .”

“Hey, remember the friend I told you about? I'm going to call her. I'm sure she'll be able to help.”

I called Emma, who put Belinda on.

“You found her?” Belinda said. “You found Ronnie?”

“We did. She's been hiding out in the attic of Hattie's place.”

“Then who was the woman Cornelius saw?”

“Hattie, maybe, we're not sure. Listen, Belinda, we need your help.” I explained the situation.

“Damn. I've got a client coming any minute. They're persnickety, too. I can come when I finish up. Maybe forty-five minutes?”

“We can come to you,” I said.

“No, it would be better if I could get a feel for Hattie in her own space. And we'll be able to find some personal items to use as a focus.”

“Okay, we'll see you soon.” I hung up and looked at Ronnie. “Help is on the way.”

We settled in to wait, but Ronnie started pacing after about fifteen minutes, even though I'd explained that Belinda had a client.

“You know,” I said, “Belinda did mention something about needing some of Hattie's personal items. Maybe you could grab a couple of things so they're ready when she gets here.”

“Yeah, good idea.” Ronnie went down to the second floor, but my quest didn't keep her busy for long. Ten minutes later she returned to the attic with a shoe box. I looked in the box. There were a couple of items of jewelry.

“Why are you smiling?” Ronnie asked.

“I thought you might bring bunny slippers.”

“How do you know about her bunny slippers?”

I explained that Coco had shown me a well-worn pair and referred to the woman wearing them as Mamere.

“She loves those bunny slippers. They're not here, so she must've been wearing them when . . .”