Mr. Monk in Trouble by Lee Goldberg

Author:Lee Goldberg
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Detective, Mystery, Private investigators, Mystery fiction, Crime & mystery, Mystery & Detective, Psychics, American Mystery & Suspense Fiction, Fiction - Mystery, Monk, General, Adrian (Fictitious character), Suspense, Mystery & Detective - General, Media Tie-In - General, Eccentrics and eccentricities, Crime & Thriller, Fiction, Radio and television novels, Media Tie-In
ISBN: 9780451229052
Publisher: New Amer Library
Published: 2009-11-30T12:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

Mr. Monk and the Permanent Record

The instant we hit the two-lane highway my cell phone rang, and when I saw that the caller ID read "Stottlemeyer," I pulled over to the shoulder to answer it.

"Hello, Captain."

"How's the investigation going?" he asked.

"It's progressing," I said.

"What's that mean?"

I glanced at Monk, who was looking at me. I was pretty sure that the volume on my phone was high enough that he could hear what Stottlemeyer was saying to me.

"It means Mr. Monk hasn't caught the murderer yet," I said. "But he will."

Monk nodded approvingly.

"Before or after he solves a forty-seven-year-old train robbery?" Stottlemeyer asked.

"You've been talking to Chief Kelton," I replied.

"I didn't have to. I tracked down Jake Slocum for you and discovered that he spent thirty years in San Quentin and I found out why," Stottlemeyer said. "And I know Monk."

"Then you know there's nothing you can do about it," I said.

"You could encourage him to prioritize."

"I don't have that kind of influence," I said. "I'm a tornado of filth."

"That again?" Monk said. "It's a common expression. You're obsessing over nothing."

I nearly dropped the phone in disbelief. "You're telling me not to obsess about something?"

"You'll feel much better if you don't fixate on things."

"You fixate all the time," I said.

"Only on important things," he said. "I don't sweat the small stuff."

"You don't sweat at all," I said.

"Exactly," he said. "Maybe if you could learn not to obsess over every little thing, you wouldn't sweat, either. Which, I might add, many of us would appreciate."

"Many of us?" I said. "You mean you."

"Many times over," he said.

"Is this your subtle way of telling me that I stink?"

Monk rolled his shoulders. "I'm sure in this instance it's the car and not you."

"This instance?"

"Though being in a car for long periods of time means that we are in pretty close quarters and you do get moist."

"Moist?"

"Are you going deaf?" Monk asked. "You keep repeating everything I'm saying."

I could hear Stottlemeyer laughing. I brought the phone back to my ear.

"What are you laughing about?"

"Nothing, I was just clearing my throat," Stottlemeyer said. "Slocum is living in the Cypress Active Senior Suites in Angel's Camp, which is one of those Gold Rush towns north of Trouble. Maybe you should roll down the window on the way."

I hung up on him.

"That was rude," Monk said.

"Says the man who called me a stinking tornado of filth."

"With affection and deep respect," Monk said.

"It's taken me a few years, but I am beginning to understand why Sharona was so surly," I said, referring to his former nurse and assistant.

"Sharona obsessed over nothing, too," Monk said.

I looked over my shoulder to make sure there were no cars coming and I floored it, peeling rubber as I sped onto the highway.

I knew that leaving a stain on the road would haunt Monk forever.

He looked back. "Wait, we left a mark."

"So?"

"We have to go back and clean it off," Monk said.

"Don't sweat the small stuff," I said, smiling to myself.

It was a pyrrhic victory.

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