a moment to talk to me.
“How extreme is his obsessive-compulsive disorder?” she asked.
“Off the charts,” I said.
She smiled. “At least he hides it well.”
My little Victorian row house was less than ten minutes by car from the thrift store. So I told Monk to call me when he was done, and I went home.
By sticking around to clean things up with Jerry, Monk had basically given me the rest of the day off. I intended to make the most of it.
I brought a burrito home for lunch, washed it down with green tea, and sat down in front of my laptop computer and telephone to tackle the questions that I’d compiled after sorting through Jack Griffin’s belongings.
I began by checking my e-mail. Yuki had sent me the jpeg of Griffin’s snapshot, so I downloaded it and brought it up on-screen. I don’t know if Yuki did some enhancements to the photo, but the image seemed crisper and bolder, and I was able to zoom in and examine more details.
One thing I hadn’t picked up before was the name of the girl’s bicycle. But now, magnifying the image on my laptop screen, I could make out the words Dandelion Racer along the crossbar and even see the white dandelion decals on the fenders.
I searched the Internet for related information, found a Web site and blog devoted to vintage children’s bikes, including the Dandelion Racer, and learned it was one of many styles made by Wheeler Wheels in the 1980s.
I cropped the Griffin snapshot in Photoshop so it included just the bike and sent the jpeg to the blogger, along with a plea for any information she might have on the Dandelion Racer.
I also found the Wheeler Wheels Web site, filled out their contact form, and asked for any information they might have on the pink Dandelion Racer with a white basket and white dandelion stickers on the fender.
With that done, I moved on to researching the Jackson/ Elite Clipper Model 188 binoculars. I soon discovered that Jackson/Elite was bought out twenty years ago by a larger company, which was bought out by another company, which was bought out by yet another company, which then discontinued the Jackson/Elite brands. I e-mailed the company for information and also left messages on a half dozen binocular-aficionado discussion groups.
It was tedious, time-consuming work—the investigative drudgery that every detective has to slog through, except for Adrian Monk, who somehow managed to solve every case by relying on just his instinct, his powers of observation, and deductive reasoning. I was beginning to appreciate why Lieutenant Devlin resented that so much—and I’d been detecting in earnest for only a couple of hours.
I was about to call it a day and rejuvenate myself with some Oreo cookie ice cream, when an e-mail arrived from the vintage-bike blogger. She told me that the Dandelion Racer was an extremely popular brand and that the color schemes of the bikes were often adapted for the various department store chains that sold them.
So a Dandelion Racer offered by Montgomery Ward, Ardan, or Walmart might have had different colors, decals, tassels, and baskets than the model sold by Woolco, Target, or Sears, Roebuck. Unfortunately, she didn’t know anything about the specific Dandelion Racer in my photo or what, if any, department store chain it might have been designed for, but she agreed to ask around the vintage-bike community for me.
I thanked her for her help.
That’s when Monk called and asked me to pick him up. I was surprised that he’d called so soon, but then I glanced at the time on my computer and was stunned to discover that I’d been sitting there for six hours.
I knew that I’d been working for a while, but I wasn’t aware that I’d actually spent the whole day with my butt in a chair and my eyes on a computer screen.
But I felt all of those hours, and every decade of my life, when I finally got up, and I resented Monk some more for never feeling the lower back and shoulder pain of detecting,
“How extreme is his obsessive-compulsive disorder?” she asked.
“Off the charts,” I said.
She smiled. “At least he hides it well.”
My little Victorian row house was less than ten minutes by car from the thrift store. So I told Monk to call me when he was done, and I went home.
By sticking around to clean things up with Jerry, Monk had basically given me the rest of the day off. I intended to make the most of it.
I brought a burrito home for lunch, washed it down with green tea, and sat down in front of my laptop computer and telephone to tackle the questions that I’d compiled after sorting through Jack Griffin’s belongings.
I began by checking my e-mail. Yuki had sent me the jpeg of Griffin’s snapshot, so I downloaded it and brought it up on-screen. I don’t know if Yuki did some enhancements to the photo, but the image seemed crisper and bolder, and I was able to zoom in and examine more details.
One thing I hadn’t picked up before was the name of the girl’s bicycle. But now, magnifying the image on my laptop screen, I could make out the words Dandelion Racer along the crossbar and even see the white dandelion decals on the fenders.
I searched the Internet for related information, found a Web site and blog devoted to vintage children’s bikes, including the Dandelion Racer, and learned it was one of many styles made by Wheeler Wheels in the 1980s.
I cropped the Griffin snapshot in Photoshop so it included just the bike and sent the jpeg to the blogger, along with a plea for any information she might have on the Dandelion Racer.
I also found the Wheeler Wheels Web site, filled out their contact form, and asked for any information they might have on the pink Dandelion Racer with a white basket and white dandelion stickers on the fender.
With that done, I moved on to researching the Jackson/ Elite Clipper Model 188 binoculars. I soon discovered that Jackson/Elite was bought out twenty years ago by a larger company, which was bought out by another company, which was bought out by yet another company, which then discontinued the Jackson/Elite brands. I e-mailed the company for information and also left messages on a half dozen binocular-aficionado discussion groups.
It was tedious, time-consuming work—the investigative drudgery that every detective has to slog through, except for Adrian Monk, who somehow managed to solve every case by relying on just his instinct, his powers of observation, and deductive reasoning. I was beginning to appreciate why Lieutenant Devlin resented that so much—and I’d been detecting in earnest for only a couple of hours.
I was about to call it a day and rejuvenate myself with some Oreo cookie ice cream, when an e-mail arrived from the vintage-bike blogger. She told me that the Dandelion Racer was an extremely popular brand and that the color schemes of the bikes were often adapted for the various department store chains that sold them.
So a Dandelion Racer offered by Montgomery Ward, Ardan, or Walmart might have had different colors, decals, tassels, and baskets than the model sold by Woolco, Target, or Sears, Roebuck. Unfortunately, she didn’t know anything about the specific Dandelion Racer in my photo or what, if any, department store chain it might have been designed for, but she agreed to ask around the vintage-bike community for me.
I thanked her for her help.
That’s when Monk called and asked me to pick him up. I was surprised that he’d called so soon, but then I glanced at the time on my computer and was stunned to discover that I’d been sitting there for six hours.
I knew that I’d been working for a while, but I wasn’t aware that I’d actually spent the whole day with my butt in a chair and my eyes on a computer screen.
But I felt all of those hours, and every decade of my life, when I finally got up, and I resented Monk some more for never feeling the lower back and shoulder pain of detecting,
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