Mr. Monk is Cleaned Out Read Online Free PDF Page A

does.” I held out the open Baggie. Monk dropped the wipe and the crumpled ticket inside.
    “He’s a law enforcement professional. This is what happens when a leader sets a bad example,” Monk said. “I wish Captain Stottlemeyer could see what his toothpick has wrought.”
    “I’ll keep the Baggie for him,” I said.
    “The captain is going to be so ashamed.”
    That thought, and the certainty that he’d been proved right, perked Monk up. Balance had been restored. He rolled his shoulders and we started walking back toward Van Ness.
    “We were sitting on the sidewalk,” Monk said, moving briskly. “Weren’t we?”
    “Yes, we were.”
    “We’re going to have to burn the clothes that I’m wearing when I get home.”
    “You could wash them instead.”
    “Would you wash clothes that had been irradiated?”
    “Your clothes aren’t radioactive.”
    “I wish they were,” Monk said. “It might kill some of the germs. You should burn what you’re wearing, too.”
    “I can’t afford to burn my clothes,” I said. “Unless you’d like to give me a raise.”
    “Let’s compromise,” he said.
    “Okay, what do you have in mind?”
    “You burn your clothes and I don’t give you a raise.”
    “How is that a compromise?”
    “You’re meeting me halfway.”
    “And what are you doing?”
    “I’m already there,” he said.
    I had to smile. As exasperating as he was, he was himself again, at least until he got thirsty.

CHAPTER FOUR
    Mr. Monk in Therapy
    D r. Neven Bell’s office in North Beach was all dark wood and leather furniture and was more masculine than a jock strap. I felt like I was sitting in the parlor of a private, and very snooty, men’s club.
    But the decor was a sharp contrast to the man who actually occupied the office. Dr. Bell was gray-haired and balding, wore lots of sweaters and tweeds, and exuded so much confidence and warmth that you couldn’t help feeling safe and comfortable around him. Whatever your problem might be, he looked like the man who had the answer.
    I’d only been sitting in the waiting area for a few minutes, barely enough time to read half of the cartoons in the New Yorker , when Dr. Bell slipped out of his office, closed the door behind him, and came to me.
    “Adrian and I are going to need the rest of the afternoon,” he said.
    “What about your other patients?”
    “Fortunately, my day is clear.”
    That was a surprise—not that Monk needed more attention, but that Dr. Bell had the time to give it to him on such short notice. Usually the shrink was so booked up that he wouldn’t indulge Monk for even an extra minute once a session was over. Apparently, even shrinks were feeling the pinch of the bad economy.
    “That’s good, because he’s lost his grip,” I said. “His reaction to this water thing is way, way over the top, even for him.”
    “It’s not about the water, Natalie.” Dr. Bell sat down on the edge of the coffee table. “It’s about what it represents.”
    “Of course you’d say that,” I said. “You’re a shrink.”
    “It’s a bottle of water to you and me, but for Adrian it’s a profound loss that requires a fundamental adjustment for him emotionally and psychologically.”
    “All he has to do is switch brands,” I said. “I’m sure there are other waters that are just as old and pure.”
    “You don’t understand. This is an attack on his carefully ordered and maintained life. He’s losing one of his last remaining ties to his mother, to his past, to a way of life.”
    “A dysfunctional way of life,” I said. “A lot of his problems are his creepy mother’s fault.”
    “Now who is sounding like a shrink?” Dr. Bell said with a smile.
    “There’s a reason Monk is obsessive-compulsive and his brother, Ambrose, won’t leave the house.”
    “Even so, losing the water he loves means facing, at least to some degree, his inability to control his world,” Dr. Bell said. “He needs to accept the loss and then confront