Take the Monkey and Run (25 page)

Thankfully, Kai walked into the room then and Ronnie's tears were stopped before they'd gotten started.

“Is Belinda here?” I asked.

“No. Actually I was just coming to see if you've heard anything.”

“I'll check with Emma,” I said.

“She's still in with her client,” my sister said when I got her on the phone. “The reading must be running late.”

“Okay, thanks.” I hung up. “She's running late.”

“I'm going stir-crazy waiting around,” Ronnie announced.

“I'm sure Belinda will be here soon.”

“I need to go for a walk or something,” Ronnie said.

“Not alone, you're not,” I told her. “Moss and I will go with you.”

“Hold it,” Kai said. “Neither of you are going anywhere alone.”

“We won't be alone,” I said. “We have a guard dog.” I waved to where Moss was sitting at the door, ready to go.

“Make that two,” Ronnie added, pulling the stun gun out of her pocket and waving it in the air.

“Okay, fine,” Kai said. “Just remember Barry has a gun and if he's pointing it at either one of you and you zap him with that thing, he could pull the trigger and kill someone.”

“We'll be fine,” I assured him. “Call me if Belinda gets here before we get back.”

With a quick peck on the cheek, I left him to hold down the fort.

The dreary, sunless day and bracing wind made me wish for a parka.

Moss, of course, was happy as could be in the cold. His wolfy roots always put a spring in his step on crisp days.

He'd probably go bonkers in the snow. The thought made me promise myself to take him to play in it someday.

Ronnie didn't seem to mind the cold, either. I suppose her worry and impatience was keeping the fire within burning hot. That, and her argument with Jason.

I hated talking about touchy subjects so instead I said, “Kai's right, about the stun gun.”

“Don't worry, I won't sic my electric guard dog on anyone who's holding a gun.”

“Good, because I don't feel like getting shot.” I shivered and picked up the pace.

“Do you really think we're going to run into one of the bad guys?”

“You never know,” I said.

“I almost hope we do, now that I have backup.” She pointed her chin to Moss.

“Don't even say that.”

“Think about it. If we could grab one of them, maybe we could make him tell us where my
mamere
is.”

“Really?” I said. “With what? Your stun gun?”

“Or your guard dog.”

I stopped. It took Ronnie a second to notice, but when she did she faced me.

“No. These people are way out of our league, Ronnie. If we see them, we run.”

She held up her hands in surrender. “Okay, got it.”

We continued down the sidewalk, and I took a second to admire some of the homes in the area.

“Hattie's house is pretty amazing,” I said. “She must've been a really successful psychic.”

Ronnie smiled. “That, and she had a very wealthy lover.”

“Really?”

“Actually, more than one.”

“Go, Grandma,” I said.

“She's coy about it, but I can tell. You want to know how she got the house?” Ronnie asked.

“Of course.”

“A man came to her for a reading. She told him he couldn't trust his business partner and advised him it would be better to invest his money in a company with fruit as a logo.”

“You're kidding.”

“It's true. All that Apple stock has paid off.”

“I bet. Belinda said she was the talk of the town.”

“She was, until my mom died,” Ronnie said.

Okay, so much for avoiding touchy subjects.

“What happened?” I asked.

“She saw it happen. Standing at her potting bench one morning, she got a flash of her daughter dying. And there was nothing she could do to stop it. I don't know why I'm telling you all this,” she said with a sigh. “I'm usually a lot less candid. But I feel totally comfortable with you. Maybe it's the psychic thing.”

“Odd birds of a feather flock together?”

“Makes sense, doesn't it?” she asked.

“Maybe,” I said, remembering how at ease I'd felt talking to Belinda when we'd first met.

Could there be a connection that went beyond the shared experience of being misunderstood or even disliked because we were different? Something more fundamental about the way our brains were wired that created a kinship?

“I'd never met another psychic, before Belinda,” I said.

“Yeah? My family's full of 'em. And you know what?” she said with faux enthusiasm. “Every single one of them that's had some sort of sensitivity or whatever you want to call it, ended up crazy or dead. Except my
mamere
.”

The sadness in her voice made me itch for Emma's knack for saying the right thing at the right time to cheer someone up. My sister knew when to sympathize, when to reassure, and when to just listen.

I typically got the signals crossed and made things worse, so decided it would be easier on us both if I asked about someone else in her family.

“What about Max?” I said. “Does he have any special ability?”

“My brother?” she scoffed. “Yeah, he has the ability to cause trouble, get into trouble, and make trouble for everybody he knows. The idiot.” Though the words were harsh, the way she said them made me think she was not as critical of her brother as she let on.

“He's a good dancer,” I said with a half smile.

“Oh Lord—you saw him dance? When?”

I told her the story of chasing him through the parking lot, and she was actually laughing by the time we made it to the coffee shop.

Maybe I was learning a thing or two about cheering people up after all.

Ronnie started up the entry steps but I was stopped by a sign posted on the door that read
NO DOGS. NO EXCEPTIONS.

“Hang on, Ronnie.” I pointed to the note when she turned to look at me. “We'll have to wait out here,” I said, shivering.

Ronnie looked at the sign with a frown. “We can go somewhere else. There's a place a few more blocks away.”

I hesitated. I didn't really want to spend that much more time out in the open where we could be spotted, or in the cold. My nose was already numb.

“Dad, look!” The child's voice was accompanied by running footsteps. “A wolf!”

I turned to see a girl, maybe ten years old, headed toward us.

“Anna, don't—” The girl's father was right behind her and looked a little worried about the fact that his daughter was running full tilt toward a giant canine.

I smiled to reassure the man and, when Moss let out an excited whine, urged him to be gentle.

Easy, big guy.

Friend?

Yes, but be easy, she's a kid.

Moss understood the concept of kids versus adults and usually instinctively knew who he could roughhouse with, but it never hurt to reinforce the idea.

He wagged his tail and let his head drop low in his best I-mean-no-harm posture.

“You can pet him,” I said, loud enough for the girl and her father to hear. “He won't bite. He might lick you, though.”

The girl squealed in delight when Moss did just that.

“I'm sorry,” the dad said. “She loves animals. Is he really a wolf?”

“Not completely, but his mom was a timber wolf. He takes after her,” I said, looking over my shoulder at Ronnie, who was still halfway up the steps waiting for me to decide what to do.

“I can order and we can sit outside,” she suggested. “Though you look like you're freezing.”

“You can leave him with us while you go in,” the girl said. “Right, Dad?”

“Ah—sure,” he said. Any resolve he might have had melted at his little girl's wide-eyed plea. “But only if it's okay with his owner.”

“We'll take care of him,” she said, turning her big, doe eyes to work their magic on me. “Really. I'll hold his leash and won't let him go anywhere.”

I wasn't going to break it to her that if Moss decided to go, he would. With or without her permission.

Moss? You want to stay out here with your new friend while I go inside?

Stay.

He sat, for emphasis.

“Okay,” I said to the little girl and her father. “But if you get tired of petting him or you need to go, come get me.”

“He's so beautiful,” she said, enraptured. “Can I brush him? I have a comb in my backpack.”

Moss, beautiful.
My dog looked up at me, with a smug expression on his face.

“It's your comb,” I said, and looked at her dad.

He shrugged and held out his hand for the leash. I handed it to him and he squatted down to partake in the petting.

“You're not worried they'll try to steal him or something?” Ronnie asked.

“Moss is undognappable,” I said. “Believe me, he's not going anywhere.”

We made our way inside and I immediately saw the reason for the ban on canines.

A pair of long, lanky Siamese cats lounged on a cat tree in the corner. One was gazing out the window at Moss with unveiled disdain.

His tail began to twitch rapidly as he eyed my dog.

I knew, without having to be telepathic, that given half a chance, the cat would attack my hundred-plus-pound wolf-dog.

I shook my head and walked to the cat's perch.

“Not the best idea, kitty cat,” I said. At the same time, I tried to calm his agitation with thoughts of friendship.

Swat!
was the cat's reply.

One of those, are you?

Swat!
the second cat added.

Oh well.
I shrugged off the twin felines' attitude—it wasn't important enough to pursue. Moss was staying outside, thrilled to be fawned over by the little girl. The cats could hold dominion as they pleased.

“That's Ming,” the woman working behind the counter said with a rueful smile. She was older, plump, and looked like she should be baking a pie. “The other one is Thing.”

“Ming and Thing.” I glanced back at the cats. They were both focused on Moss. Thing had begun to growl softly.

“I wouldn't try to pet them with a dog around. They get hissy.”

“I'll take your advice and try the coffee,” I told her, turning to look at the menu items listed on the wall.

Ronnie ordered a large mocha cappuccino. I decided to follow her lead and got the same.

We sat at a booth by the window where I could keep an eye on Moss. Removing my gloves, I cradled the cappuccino in my frozen fingers and let the warm steam tickle my nose for a moment, then took a sip.

Heaven.

After a second, bigger sip, the hot coffee started working its magic, warming me from the inside out.

I set down the mug with a sigh.

“Better?” Ronnie asked.

“Coffee makes everything better.”

“Exactly how I feel about chocolate.”

“Different strokes.”

I'd been so focused on warming up, I hadn't noticed the man who'd entered the coffee shop until he broke away from the two women he'd been holding the door open for and headed in our direction.

“Ronnie!” I hissed out her name in warning, but it was too late.

A heartbeat later, Barry was sliding into the booth next to me. Without pausing, he lifted his arm to rest around my shoulders and pressed close. The movement was punctuated by the sharp jab of what I knew was a gun barrel being pressed to my ribs.

I suppressed a wince, but could tell from Ronnie's expression she knew what was going on.

His eyes roved around the room in that unsettling way I'd noticed before. Finally, he said to Ronnie, “So glad to finally meet you, Veronica.”

I was trying really hard not to panic.

“How did you find us?” I asked, hoping if I got him talking for long enough I'd be able to calm down and start thinking clearly.

“I found you and followed you, of course,” he said dismissively. “Now, we're going to chat politely for a few minutes, without making a fuss. Aren't we?”

He pressed the gun harder into my side.

I gritted my teeth.

“Yes,” Ronnie said hastily.

I pressed my lips together and nodded.

“Good. I'd hate to hurt an innocent bystander.”

An instant later his threat was amplified when the plump, pink-cheeked woman who'd served us our coffee stopped by the table and smiled at her new customer.

“Can I get something for you, sir?” she asked Barry.

“A regular coffee, please,” he told her.

“Coming right up.” She smiled cheerfully and bustled away.

“You took my
mamere
.” Ronnie spoke the words with quiet calm but there was enough acidity in her tone to let Barry know what she thought of him.

“Miss Hallowell is with us, yes.”

“Why? Why are you doing this to my family?”

“You must know how special you are.” He looked at me
as if expecting me to back up his declaration. When I didn't he said, “What she can do—it's very unique.”

“What am I,” I said, unable to help myself, “chopped liver?”

Nerves make me babble, and right then, with a gun barrel stabbing me in the ribs, I was feeling pretty darn nervous.