Mr. Monk Gets on Board Read Online Free PDF Page A

face was also displaying a bemused smirk. “I’m not going to answer this,” he said.
    “I wouldn’t,” I said, and pressed END . “I think it’s that crazy woman you met this afternoon.”
    We both laughed, and our rush of apologies tripped over each other. He was sorry for tracking me down at my address. I was sorry for forgetting our drink. He was sorry for not being more specific about this evening. I was sorry for turning off my phone.
    I invited him in, then made a quick visual sweep of the living room. Not bad. One wineglass, a raft of printouts on the coffee table, and a folded copy of the
Chronicle
on the sofa, left over from the morning. It’s usually worse.
    We made our way into the kitchen to find the rest of my bottle of Barolo. Another visual sweep. A lot worse in here, especially the counters. I’m not the neatest cook in the world, even when I’m just doing leftovers and snow peas. Malcolm behaved like a gentleman and pretended not to notice.
    “Have you given more thought to the cruise?” he asked as soon as we’d turned our back on the clutter and poured and toasted. “I’m thinking of doing it again. Number six.”
    Only once before had I been on a cruise, to Alaska to celebrate my grandparents’ fiftieth anniversary, along with the rest of our huge extended family. It had been a great experience but might have been even greater without running into a Teeger around every corner.
    I had become interested enough to check out the cruise Malcolm recommended online. It was called the B. to Sea Conference, an awkward little play on words—“taking business to sea,” as their tagline promised. It was a combination of a few seminars and more than a few chances to network with a business card in one hand and an umbrella drink in the other. Plus a bonus: Malcolm had just said he might go. I couldn’t imagine a better venue for a real first date.
    “I thought about it,” I replied. “But I need to invite my partner. It’s only right.”
    “I’m guessing he won’t come.” Malcolm stepped a foot closer, tipping down his head to look me in the eyes.
    “I’m guessing so, too,” I said. Okay, this may sound like a banal exchange, but it was actually quite sexy.
    A second later, my phone on the counter did a quick little vibrate-and-ping. Before I could even look, Malcolm’s phone did the same from his jacket pocket.
    “It’s Lieutenant Devlin,” I said, reading from my screen. “They found what they were looking for at the bottom of the pond. I have to bring Monk over tomorrow morning to wrap things up.”
    “I’m supposed to be there, too,” Malcolm said, holding up his phone and showing me an identical text from Devlin. “Why do they want me?”
    “You’re the book expert. Must have something to do with books.”
    “I told them everything I know.” All the flirtation had left his voice. “I don’t understand.”
    “You’ll get paid for your time,” I pointed out. “And you’ll get to see how Adrian solves a case. It can be a memorable moment.”
    “You mean they’re going to arrest the killer? On the spot?”
    “If we’re lucky.” I didn’t want to get his hopes up, but this had the earmarks of a classic, with Monk standing in a room of suspects and pointing to the killer. Given the prevalence of DNA and electronic evidence, we don’t get many classics anymore, not like in the old days. It would be a sight to behold.
    “Sounds exciting,” he said, but his expression conveyed something else. Was he just feeling out of his element? A little apprehensive? I can’t imagine that antiquarian book experts deal with the arrest of many murderers.
    Or could something else be going through his mind, something more sinister?
    Please,
I said to myself, my heart beginning to sink.
Don’t let it be something else.

   CHAPTER FOUR
    Mr. Monk and Pond Scum
    B y nine a.m. we were gathered in the Melrose library. There was the police contingent: captain and lieutenant,