Mr. Monk and the New Lieutenant Read Online Free PDF

remember. I do remember slamming down the phone. And I remember stepping outside and pacing the parking lot, trying to calm myself. If I’d had a cigarette, I would have lit up and smoked the damn thing. Well, maybe an e-cigarette.
    I was going to have to have a talk with Adrian about solving cases so quickly. I knew it was a matter of pride with him, like a magician popping up at the back of the audience seconds after he’s locked into a box onstage. But the magician isn’t being paid by how long it takes him to get out of the box.
    When my pace slowed and I could finally see straight, I noticed her. She was a woman about my age, also a blonde. But she kept her hair a little longer, a little wavy, and hadhighlights of auburn in it, while mine had highlights of mousy brown. Other than that, we were fairly similar, which was probably what made me instantly sympathetic. “Excuse me,” I said. “Can I help you?”
    The woman was standing at the curb, not far from the pawnshop entrance. But she wasn’t focused on the rings in the window. She was focused on the Monk & Teeger sign. She seemed indecisive, trying not to stare but not ready to walk away, either. I could empathize. It must not be easy to come in off the street and entrust your problems to a complete stranger. “I don’t mean to intrude,” I said, “but do you need a detective? I know that’s an odd question. But the way you’re looking, you either need a detective or a color copy or a fresh baked pie.”
    The woman chuckled. “You’re right. I do need a detective. I’ve been standing here for the longest time, trying to get up the nerve. Are you Monk or Teeger?”
    I invited her inside, made a new pot of coffee, and informed her that I was Teeger. She was Sue O’Brien.
    It took Sue a while to get to her point, but I didn’t press her. We just sat in the two client chairs, nothing too businesslike, and chatted—about life and children (she didn’t have any) and husbands (I no longer had one) and careers and friends and how her colorist knew how to get just the right auburn hints into her hair with just a touch-up every two weeks. She had a warm, infectious laugh and after a few minutes, I felt as if I’d known her forever.
    I did notice that when the subject veered toward her husband, she tensed a little. The third time this happened, Iventured a guess. It might have been rude of me, but . . . “Sue.” I bit my lower lip. “We don’t do divorce work.”
    â€œOh.” She looked disappointed. “That’s too bad. I was hoping you might be able to help me.”
    â€œI would love to. Truly. But my partner, Adrian Monk, he’s our primary investigator. He won’t do divorces. You see, he had a wonderful marriage to a woman who died. He looks at divorce as a kind of betrayal of marriage. Nothing personal,” I assured her. “Of course, murdering your wife is also a betrayal, and we’ve worked on plenty of spouse-murdering cases. Don’t ask me for the logic here.”
    â€œNo,” said Sue with a nod. “I’m a practicing Catholic. I understand his objections. There is something sordid about skulking around looking for affairs and hidden bank accounts.”
    â€œIs your husband having an affair?”
    â€œHe is,” she said. “With someone at his company. But I have no proof. And I’m pretty sure Timothy is hiding money in a secret account somewhere.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause . . .” Sue covered her mouth and cleared her throat. “Because at some point soon Timothy is going to ask for a divorce. I can feel it. And when he does, I want to have my ducks in a row. I don’t want him shafting me in the settlement. Pardon my French.”
    â€œWhat makes you think he’s planning to shaft you?”
    â€œYou tell me, Natalie. Let’s say your husband is a