Mr. Monk Goes to Hawaii by Goldberg, Lee (librera reader .TXT) 📕

“Are you in the air-freshener business?” Brian asked.

“I’m a detective,” Monk said.

“You mean like a private eye?”

“Monk, PI, that’s me. I even have a theme song. Want to hear it?”

Hell, no, I thought, and quickly spoke up. “You ought to tell Mr. Monk what you do for a living, Brian. I think it’s a fascinating occupation.”

“I’m a sales rep for a company that makes special-order furniture for hotel rooms, corporate offices, hospitals, restaurant chains, even jails.”

“You think that’s fascinating?” Monk asked me.

“Haven’t you always wondered who makes that stuff?” I said. “Besides, he gets to travel all over the world.”

“Thank God for cell phones or I’d never be able to find him,” Candace said. “He spent the entire summer furnishing a resort in Australia.”

“She was complaining about how hot it was in L.A.,” Brian said, glancing at us in the rearview mirror. “You should try spending July down under. It’s blistering.”

“It’s amazing to me to hear all the places that Brian has been and all the things he’s done,” Candace said. “He’s experienced more in twenty-eight years than most people do in a lifetime—certainly more than I have ever done.”

“Like what?” Monk asked.

“I’ve worked on a cattle ranch in Texas, volunteered with the Peace Corps in Somalia, interned with archeologists in Egypt, and spent a summer on a fishing trawler off the coast of Maine,” he said. “That’s how I got this scar on my leg. It was nearly chewed off by a marlin.”

Candace looked admiringly at her fiancé and then shifted her gaze to me. “Isn’t he wonderful?”

I nodded and smiled, though I had to wonder why a guy who’d led such an exciting life had settled for a career in the furniture business.

The Grand Kiahuna Poipu was a sprawling oceanfront resort that took its design cues from the sugarcane plantation that had once occupied the property. The resort amenities included the hotel, six luxurious beachside villas that rented for $5,000 to $10,000 a day, hundreds of time-share condominiums, a championship golf course, a world-class spa, and a convention center.

The resort also offered state-of-the-art film and video production facilities, which made the Grand Kiahuna Poipu, with its palm-lined lagoon and its golden beach, the perfect setting for countless get-rich-quick infomercials, and psychic Dylan Swift’s daily TV show, Whispers from the Other Side.

And yet, the resort was spread out over so much land, and the property so densely landscaped with monkeypod trees, palms, and thousands of different kinds of flowers, that it still managed to seem relaxed, intimate, and naturally tropical. I didn’t get a sense as we drove in that I was entering a Vegas-style “vacation destination,” though that was certainly what it was.

The massive main lobby was open on three sides and overlooked the ocean; ceiling fans with blades shaped like palm fronds pushed around the humid air. The reception area was furnished with rattan chairs, decorated with maritime art, and trimmed everywhere with lustrous koa, a hardwood native to the islands.

I headed for the registration desk before Candace stopped me.

“No, no, let Brian take care of it for you,” she said. “It’s on us, remember?”

“Thank you,” I said. “You have no idea how much I need this.”

“There are some advantages to coming from an enormously wealthy family,” she said. “You ought to know.”

We both came from rich families, but I refused to take any money from my parents—not that they’ve offered. Candace took as much as her parents were willing to give, and then some.

“I try not to think about it,” I said. “Especially when I’m paying my bills with my meager salary.”

“Speaking of your job.” Candace tipped her head toward Monk, who was checking in. “That’s really Adrian Monk?”

“Yes and no,” I said.

“He’s nothing at all like you described. No human being could be like that. I always knew you had to be exaggerating those stories.”

“I wasn’t; you’ll see,” I said. “And I want to apologize in advance.”

“I know what’s really going on here. It’s like when we were teenagers. When you had a crush on a boy, you’d tell everybody how gross he was and how you couldn’t stand him, and two weeks later you’d be parked on Skyline Drive, necking with him in the backseat of your parents’ station wagon.”

“That’s not what’s happening, trust me,” I said. “The only relationship between us is that of crazy employer and sane employee.”

“Then why did you invite him to come with you?”

“I didn’t. He followed me. He didn’t want to be alone.”

“You mean he couldn’t survive without you.”

“Yes,” I said. “Exactly.”

“How romantic,” she said.

“No, I didn’t mean it that way,” I said, struggling to make myself clear. “He’s obsessive-compulsive. He can’t handle the challenges of everyday life without me.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” she said with a grin.

I groaned with frustration, which seemed only to amuse her even more. I could see I wasn’t going to win this. No matter what I said it would come out wrong, and she was having way too much fun at my expense.

“Just because it’s the night before your wedding,” I said, “don’t think that will stop me from strangling you.”

She laughed and gave me a hug. She’s always been big on hugs. “It’s so great that you’re here, that we’re here together, and that I’m finally getting married.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” I said.

That was when Monk came over, followed by a valet who had our suitcases on one trolley.

“Good news,” Monk said. “We’re in adjoining rooms.”

Candace winked at me.

I double-checked with the front desk and made sure our rooms were even-numbered and on an even-numbered floor easily accessible by stairs so Monk wouldn’t have to use the elevator. Monk didn’t care about those details in his drugged-up state, but I knew he would a few hours later.

We were on the fourth floor, rooms 462 and 464. The rooms were tastefully decorated with rattan furniture, floral bedspreads, and fans much like the ones in the lobby. Each room had its own lanai, which is a fancy Hawaiian