said.
“What’s that?”
“You will clean all of the crumbs, ketchup drops, bits of lettuce, french fries, and grains of salt off of your desk before you go.”
Stottlemeyer sighed. “I won’t leave until every grain of salt is removed.”
“Do you mean that in the same way that you said you’d tow that Mercedes at Zuzelo’s building but then you really wouldn’t?”
“No, Monk, this time I will do it,” Stottlemeyer said. “You can sleep soundly tonight.”
Monk stared at the desk, then back at the captain. “I will check the desk next time I am here.”
“You check my desk every time you are here,” Stottlemeyer said.
Monk nodded. “I’m glad we understand each other.”
And with that, Monk walked out, Julie right behind him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Mr. Monk and the Broken Heart
A t that moment, I was in New Jersey, three hours ahead of everyone in San Francisco, and back in my hotel room after ending my shift.
During my day maintaining law and order in Summit, I ticketed a dozen drivers for speeding violations, figured out who’d been stealing Mr. Abernathy’s morning paper for the last month (it was a dog across the street), and filled out a report for a woman who had an iPad stolen from the front seat of her unlocked Porsche.
It was not the most exciting day in the annals of law enforcement, and I found myself guiltily longing for a major crime wave to challenge my little gray cells, as Hercule Poirot would say.
I gave Julie a call on the pretext of giving her my travel information for the wedding, but I really wanted to find out what complex mysteries she and Monk were involved in so I could live vicariously through them.
I caught her at home, shortly after she’d dropped off Monk at his place and been dumped via text message by her boyfriend.
“You’re better off without him,” I said.
“How do you know?”
“Because he broke up with you by text,” I said. “It proves he’s a gutless, classless jerk.”
“I deserved it,” she said. “I would have dumped me, too. I was never around and totally undependable.”
“You’re dependable,” I said.
“To Mr. Monk—not to anybody else. I blew off a date tonight at the last minute because Mr. Monk had one of his sudden inspirations.”
“Did he catch the murderer?”
“No, but he’s certain that he knows who it is, even though he doesn’t have any concrete evidence. But his epiphany meant that I stood up my boyfriend for the one hundredth time. I never did that before I started working for Mr. Monk. This job makes it impossible to have a relationship.”
“Believe me, I know,” I said. “Now imagine doing the job while being a single mother and raising a child.”
“You’re fishing for appreciation,” she said.
“I’m just making a point,” I said.
“No, you’re trying to score some off of my misery. Shame on you. This call is supposed to be about me.”
“Who says?”
“I do,” she said. “I was just dumped.”
“By a jerk. He did you a favor. Suck it up.”
“Thanks for the sympathy and understanding, Mom.”
“That’s not what you need now. Don’t be hurt, be angry,” I said. “It feels better. How’s work going?”
“The usual. People have been murdered. Mr. Monk makes huge deductive leaps on the basis of tiny details nobody else notices. Amy is pissed off and defensive, though she had it a bit more under control today. And Leland just accepts it all and wants to go home.”
“Sounds wonderful to me,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound too homesick and envious.
“Oh, and Dale the Whale is having lipo and a gastric bypass.”
That made me sit up in my chair. “In prison?”
“In a hospital.”
“It’s a trick,” I said. “He’s plotting an escape.”
“That’s what Monk thinks, too, but Leland has it under control. Dale is in the ICU and under around-the-clock guard.”
Murders to solve and Dale the Whale out of prison, perhaps plotting a grand escape. It sounded so much
“What’s that?”
“You will clean all of the crumbs, ketchup drops, bits of lettuce, french fries, and grains of salt off of your desk before you go.”
Stottlemeyer sighed. “I won’t leave until every grain of salt is removed.”
“Do you mean that in the same way that you said you’d tow that Mercedes at Zuzelo’s building but then you really wouldn’t?”
“No, Monk, this time I will do it,” Stottlemeyer said. “You can sleep soundly tonight.”
Monk stared at the desk, then back at the captain. “I will check the desk next time I am here.”
“You check my desk every time you are here,” Stottlemeyer said.
Monk nodded. “I’m glad we understand each other.”
And with that, Monk walked out, Julie right behind him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Mr. Monk and the Broken Heart
A t that moment, I was in New Jersey, three hours ahead of everyone in San Francisco, and back in my hotel room after ending my shift.
During my day maintaining law and order in Summit, I ticketed a dozen drivers for speeding violations, figured out who’d been stealing Mr. Abernathy’s morning paper for the last month (it was a dog across the street), and filled out a report for a woman who had an iPad stolen from the front seat of her unlocked Porsche.
It was not the most exciting day in the annals of law enforcement, and I found myself guiltily longing for a major crime wave to challenge my little gray cells, as Hercule Poirot would say.
I gave Julie a call on the pretext of giving her my travel information for the wedding, but I really wanted to find out what complex mysteries she and Monk were involved in so I could live vicariously through them.
I caught her at home, shortly after she’d dropped off Monk at his place and been dumped via text message by her boyfriend.
“You’re better off without him,” I said.
“How do you know?”
“Because he broke up with you by text,” I said. “It proves he’s a gutless, classless jerk.”
“I deserved it,” she said. “I would have dumped me, too. I was never around and totally undependable.”
“You’re dependable,” I said.
“To Mr. Monk—not to anybody else. I blew off a date tonight at the last minute because Mr. Monk had one of his sudden inspirations.”
“Did he catch the murderer?”
“No, but he’s certain that he knows who it is, even though he doesn’t have any concrete evidence. But his epiphany meant that I stood up my boyfriend for the one hundredth time. I never did that before I started working for Mr. Monk. This job makes it impossible to have a relationship.”
“Believe me, I know,” I said. “Now imagine doing the job while being a single mother and raising a child.”
“You’re fishing for appreciation,” she said.
“I’m just making a point,” I said.
“No, you’re trying to score some off of my misery. Shame on you. This call is supposed to be about me.”
“Who says?”
“I do,” she said. “I was just dumped.”
“By a jerk. He did you a favor. Suck it up.”
“Thanks for the sympathy and understanding, Mom.”
“That’s not what you need now. Don’t be hurt, be angry,” I said. “It feels better. How’s work going?”
“The usual. People have been murdered. Mr. Monk makes huge deductive leaps on the basis of tiny details nobody else notices. Amy is pissed off and defensive, though she had it a bit more under control today. And Leland just accepts it all and wants to go home.”
“Sounds wonderful to me,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound too homesick and envious.
“Oh, and Dale the Whale is having lipo and a gastric bypass.”
That made me sit up in my chair. “In prison?”
“In a hospital.”
“It’s a trick,” I said. “He’s plotting an escape.”
“That’s what Monk thinks, too, but Leland has it under control. Dale is in the ICU and under around-the-clock guard.”
Murders to solve and Dale the Whale out of prison, perhaps plotting a grand escape. It sounded so much
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