Mr. Monk and the Two Assistants, Goldberg, Lee [book series for 10 year olds .TXT] 📗

“I don’t want a second job,” I said.

“Then you can use all of that free time to get your house in order,” Monk said. “God knows there’s plenty of organizing you can do.”

“I’m not going to share my job, Mr. Monk.”

“She came back, Natalie. The people who leave me almost never do. I can’t let her go now.”

Emotionally, I could sympathize with his feelings. His father had abandoned him when Monk was a child and only recently reappeared. Monk lost his wife and was never going to get her back. And then Sharona, someone he relied on every day just to survive, abruptly left him. I’m no shrink, but it was obvious to me that he needed to bury his anger and accept her back in order to ease his own insecurities.

Pretty perceptive, huh? Call me Dr. Natalie and give me my own TV show.

But on a practical level, I had to face facts and so did he.

“You’re not listening to me, Mr. Monk,” I said. “I can’t afford a fifty percent pay cut and I’m not going to juggle two jobs just to accommodate you.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

“Make a choice,” I said. “Sharona or me.”

“That’s not fair,” Monk said.

“Fair?” I said. “How can you stand there and talk to me about fair?”

“Because I’m being rational and you’re not?”

I wish I could say that I responded with a brilliant rejoinder that put him in his place and made him confront his own insensitivity. Instead, I totally reinforced his point of view by marching out of his house and slamming the door behind me.

CHAPTER FIVE

Mr. Monk’s Assistant Takes a Trip

I was fairly certain that I had a much closer relationship with Captain Stottlemeyer than Sharona had. I can’t say that was much of a consolation.

Our mutual concern for Monk was what initially drew Stottlemeyer and me closer together. But what really changed things between us was his divorce. We didn’t date or anything—he just started to open up to me about his troubles.

I guess there wasn’t anybody else he could unload on. He couldn’t turn to Lieutenant Disher, as that would have irreparably undermined Stottlemeyer’s authority in their professional relationship. And outside of Monk, he didn’t seem to have that many friends, at least not that I knew of.

I was flattered that Stottlemeyer trusted me with his problems but, until Sharona showed up in Monk’s life again, I didn’t feel equally comfortable sharing my woes with him.

But that day I went straight from Monk’s house to the captain’s office and told him everything that happened. I didn’t even mind that Disher listened in.

“I’ve got to say, I never expected her to come back,” Stottlemeyer said, leaning back in his desk chair.

“Sharona and I had this erotic tension between us,” Disher said, standing in the doorway. “A hot ‘will they/ won’t they’ thing.”

“More like a ‘will never happen’ thing,” Stottlemeyer said.

“It was palpable,” Disher said.

“It sure was,” Stottlemeyer said.

“So it was sort of like the relationship that we have,” I said to Disher.

“It is?” he said.

“A ‘will never happen’ thing,” I said.

“Right,” he said. “But it’s searing. People can feel the heat.”

“I sympathize with your situation, Natalie,” Stottlemeyer said. “But I don’t know what to tell you. It’s Monk’s decision and it’s going to be a hard one for him.”

“You can help me,” I said.

“I’m not going to choose sides,” Stottlemeyer said. “I’ve got a lot of respect for Sharona. She went through hell with Monk.”

“I know that, and I don’t want you to get in the middle of this,” I said.

“Then what do you want from me?”

“I’d like you to find out the details of the murder that Trevor is accused of committing down in Los Angeles.”

“I can do that,” Stottlemeyer said, then glanced at Disher. “Take care of it, Randy.”

“You just said that you were.”

“I am,” he said, “through you. It’s one of the privileges of being captain.”

“So you should have said, ‘I’ll ask Randy if he can do that,’ ” Disher said. “And I would have checked my calendar.”

Stottlemeyer just stared at him.

“Which happens to be wide-open at the present moment, ” Disher said and went to his desk.

Stottlemeyer turned to me. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

“That would be great,” I said.

We went to a coffeehouse across the street, chatted a bit about his kids and how things were going with his girlfriend, a successful Realtor I’d inadvertently introduced him to in my disastrous attempt to turn Monk into a private eye, but that’s a long story.

Stottlemeyer’s sons were doing well, the relationship with his girlfriend was moving comfortably along and he was happy and relaxed for the first time in ages.

“Life is good,” he said.

I was pleased for him. He’d had a rough year or two and deserved a little peace, at least as much as a guy who looks at dead bodies every day can have.

When we returned to Stottlemeyer’s office, there were some faxes from the LAPD waiting for him on his desk. Stottlemeyer flipped through the pages while Disher and I sat and waited. After a moment or two, Stottlemeyer sighed and leaned back in his chair.

“They’ve got a strong case here, Natalie.”

“What does that mean?” I said.

“They found Trevor’s fingerprints all over the house,” Stottlemeyer said.

“Of course they did,” I said. “He worked there.”

“He worked outside,” Stottlemeyer said. “Why would the mow-and-blow guy’s fingerprints be inside the house?”

Oh. Right. So much for my detective skills.

“Maybe he was one of those full-service landscapers,” Disher said, “and was also watering her houseplants.”

“That’s possible,” I said.

“No, it’s not,” Stottlemeyer said. “The police also found jewelry belonging to the victim hidden in his truck.”