although she kept her husband’s last name. Women. Who can understand them? Not me.”
“Adrian. Since when do you go trolling the hospital wards for dates?”
“Sarabeth is not a troll.”
“No, troll has a different meaning. She’s very attractive, I guess.
“Attractive? The woman is a babe.”
“Since when do you use the word
babe
?” I didn’t know what to think. On the one hand, I was surprised and reassured that Monk was keeping his heart open to another relationship. On the other hand . . . “Adrian, Ellen dumped you just a week ago. I think you’re on the rebound.”
“Yes. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“No, the rebound isn’t wonderful. The rebound’s a bad thing.”
“Natalie, you’re mistaken.”
“No, I’m not. The rebound means you’re not thinking clearly. It means you’re liking someone just because you feel abandoned.”
“Natalie, Natalie.” He clucked his tongue. “I wish you could hear yourself.”
“I can hear myself fine.”
“Well, this is just one of those times when we’re going to have to agree to agree that you don’t know what the heck you’re talking about.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mr. Monk Goes to Work
“A drian is almost sure it was Fat Tony who killed Rivera, not our client.” I was practically shouting into the phone. “After our visit with the Lucarellis, he’s ninety-one percent sure.” I was making that number up, but I assumed I was close to the actual one. Even though Monk was less than ten yards away, I knew he couldn’t hear me above the noise. “We’re working under that assumption.”
On the other end of the line, Daniela Grace was also shouting. “Did you say Brad Doney?”
“No. Fat Tony—like obese. Our next step is to check into the Menendez cartel, to see if there’s a connection between them and Henry Pickler. There has to be some reason why our client was burying the body.”
“Natalie, what’s that racket?”
I’d been expecting her to ask. “It’s the cleaning staff. They’re vacuuming.”
“Can’t you have them vacuum after hours, like a normal office?”
“You know how it is. Cleanliness is next to godliness. It’s also next to impossible with Adrian.”
“You’re next to where?” she asked.
“Impossible.”
“You’re right. This is impossible. We’ll talk later, after your cleaners leave.”
“Yes,” I said. “Don’t worry. We’re working on your case. It’s all we think about.”
We shouted our good-byes. Then I hung up and took a deep breath. “Adrian! Stop it!” I shouted it loud enough this time to get his attention.
Monk reached around to his side and switched off the HEPA filter backpack vacuum cleaner. He took off his noise-canceling earmuffs. “Why are you shouting? I assume you were shouting. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to hear you.”
It was shaping up to be a long day.
I had arrived at his apartment around nine thirty, expecting a fight or a barrage of excuses, perhaps a bout of Japanese encephalitis left over from yesterday in the warehouse. Instead, he was uncomplaining and ready to go. He even had Spam sandwiches packed for both of us in matching white paper bags. (Monk actually buys brown paper bags, then bleaches them himself. And irons them.)
By ten we were at the strip mall, opening our storefront right on time, the words MONK & TEEGER gleaming on the glass. Once again I postponed even thinking about a grand opening. At some point we would have to host an event, with dozens of potential clients and TV cameras and maybe a politician or two. But not now. There was too much going on.
Monk stood in the shop doorway, inspecting the interior with an eagle eye. I wasn’t worried. I had spent most of the previous evening there, making sure everything about Monkand Teeger was perfect. Then I’d set the alarm, just in case some sloppy vandal decided to break in during the night and rearrange the paper clip trays.
For the first half hour, I escorted him around,
“Adrian. Since when do you go trolling the hospital wards for dates?”
“Sarabeth is not a troll.”
“No, troll has a different meaning. She’s very attractive, I guess.
“Attractive? The woman is a babe.”
“Since when do you use the word
babe
?” I didn’t know what to think. On the one hand, I was surprised and reassured that Monk was keeping his heart open to another relationship. On the other hand . . . “Adrian, Ellen dumped you just a week ago. I think you’re on the rebound.”
“Yes. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“No, the rebound isn’t wonderful. The rebound’s a bad thing.”
“Natalie, you’re mistaken.”
“No, I’m not. The rebound means you’re not thinking clearly. It means you’re liking someone just because you feel abandoned.”
“Natalie, Natalie.” He clucked his tongue. “I wish you could hear yourself.”
“I can hear myself fine.”
“Well, this is just one of those times when we’re going to have to agree to agree that you don’t know what the heck you’re talking about.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mr. Monk Goes to Work
“A drian is almost sure it was Fat Tony who killed Rivera, not our client.” I was practically shouting into the phone. “After our visit with the Lucarellis, he’s ninety-one percent sure.” I was making that number up, but I assumed I was close to the actual one. Even though Monk was less than ten yards away, I knew he couldn’t hear me above the noise. “We’re working under that assumption.”
On the other end of the line, Daniela Grace was also shouting. “Did you say Brad Doney?”
“No. Fat Tony—like obese. Our next step is to check into the Menendez cartel, to see if there’s a connection between them and Henry Pickler. There has to be some reason why our client was burying the body.”
“Natalie, what’s that racket?”
I’d been expecting her to ask. “It’s the cleaning staff. They’re vacuuming.”
“Can’t you have them vacuum after hours, like a normal office?”
“You know how it is. Cleanliness is next to godliness. It’s also next to impossible with Adrian.”
“You’re next to where?” she asked.
“Impossible.”
“You’re right. This is impossible. We’ll talk later, after your cleaners leave.”
“Yes,” I said. “Don’t worry. We’re working on your case. It’s all we think about.”
We shouted our good-byes. Then I hung up and took a deep breath. “Adrian! Stop it!” I shouted it loud enough this time to get his attention.
Monk reached around to his side and switched off the HEPA filter backpack vacuum cleaner. He took off his noise-canceling earmuffs. “Why are you shouting? I assume you were shouting. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to hear you.”
It was shaping up to be a long day.
I had arrived at his apartment around nine thirty, expecting a fight or a barrage of excuses, perhaps a bout of Japanese encephalitis left over from yesterday in the warehouse. Instead, he was uncomplaining and ready to go. He even had Spam sandwiches packed for both of us in matching white paper bags. (Monk actually buys brown paper bags, then bleaches them himself. And irons them.)
By ten we were at the strip mall, opening our storefront right on time, the words MONK & TEEGER gleaming on the glass. Once again I postponed even thinking about a grand opening. At some point we would have to host an event, with dozens of potential clients and TV cameras and maybe a politician or two. But not now. There was too much going on.
Monk stood in the shop doorway, inspecting the interior with an eagle eye. I wasn’t worried. I had spent most of the previous evening there, making sure everything about Monkand Teeger was perfect. Then I’d set the alarm, just in case some sloppy vandal decided to break in during the night and rearrange the paper clip trays.
For the first half hour, I escorted him around,
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