Free Take the Monkey and Run by Laura Morrigan

couldn’t go back to the hotel, and I’m pretty sure Anya is involved.”
    Kai’s voice came over the line. “Where are you?” he asked.
    â€œSafe. I’m sitting in a café next to a police station in the French Quarter.”
    â€œStay there. We’ll call you when we’re ten minutes away.” His voice was steady, but I thought I heard a trace of irritation in his words. Maybe it was worry. I wasn’t very good at interpreting human emotions, which was why I didn’t know what to say to people half the time.
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œBe careful. We’ll be there in a couple of hours.”
    If I had any hope of waiting that long, I was going to need a coffee and an order of beignets. I squeezed into the café and waited in the very long line.
    Twenty minutes later, I was sitting back in the courtyard and washing down the sweet, fried confection with a hot café au lait.
    A street performer who had set up next to the café to sing for tips kept me entertained. He had a great voice and inspired applause after every song. After a truly impressive version of “Will the Circle Be Unbroken,” I got up and walked around the ornate iron fence to toss a dollar into his tip jar.
    My reward for this moment of generosity was to return to find I’d lost my table. I didn’t really mind though—the couple who’d claimed it had two little kids who would probably be hopped up on sugar in no time. But it left me with limited seating options.
    The hum of a feline mind caught my attention and I glanced around to see if I could pinpoint the source. A moment later I caught sight of a large brown tabby cat as he emerged from the landscaping to slink over to a sizable bowl of food someone had placed under one of the concrete benches. I abandoned my search for a table and went over to have a chat with the cat. Might as well talk to someone while I waited for the cavalry.
    After a few minutes of mostly one-sided conversation, the cat moseyed off to curl up for a nap in its warm kitty spot. The thought brought on a sudden acute awareness. I realized my butt was becoming colder than a well digger’s toes where it made contact with the concrete bench. I considered tryingto wedge myself into the café again, but after a glance through the crowded doorway, nixed the idea.
    Abandoning the cold concrete bench, I stood and glanced at the portico to my right. Maybe I could warm up inside the police station?
    I walked toward the station. As I climbed the white marble steps I noticed a sign advertising the sale of merchandise inside.
    A perfect excuse to loiter. Maybe I’d get lucky and they’d have a scarf for sale. Making my way inside through the tall glass-and-wood doors I discovered the NOPD offered its wares in a unique way—with vending machines.
    There were a number of items sporting the crescent moon and star logo of the department. T-shirts, ponchos, even drink koozies, but no scarves. I took my time deciding and had settled on a long-sleeve T-shirt when my attention was snagged by two words: “Mystery Monkey.”
    I turned to see Marisa, the zookeeper I’d met the day before, speaking to a tall, uniformed police officer.
    â€œWe’ve had a number of sightings reported to the hotline in the area,” she said.
    â€œLast time, it was a raccoon in a shed,” grumbled the cop. “But we’ll check it out. You want to meet us there in case this is legit?”
    I tiptoed closer. Had someone caught the Mystery Monkey? Good news if they had. Not only was it too cold for a capuchin monkey to survive for long without shelter, but, if I could tag along, I might have a chance to talk to the little bugger about Veronica and Logan.
    â€œHi.” I stepped up to the pair and offered my hand to the policeman. “I’m Grace Wilde.”
    A little bewildered, he took my hand and shook it. Before he could give me more than his name, I