Mr. Monk Goes to Germany by Lee Goldberg (general ebook reader .TXT) 📕

should rewrite that story so it’s socially and medically responsible before it’s told to any more impressionable children.”

The discussion we were having was ridiculous but it served a useful purpose—it distracted Monk from his anxieties for a few moments. While he was busy lecturing me about the seven—excuse me, eight—dwarfs, he’d forgotten about his lederhosen, missed the stain on his shirt, and hadn’t discovered the dirty tissue in his pocket.

We reached a narrow stone bridge over a trickle of a creek. A sign beside the bridge indicated that we’d arrived at the grounds of the Franziskushohe. We drove over the bridge and followed the road, which wound gently up the steep, manicured hillside to the hotel.

We crossed several hiking trails and passed a system of steps composed of large stones set into the dirt. There were several benches scattered about so people could rest and take in the spectacular view of the town and the meandering river below.

The road ended in a parking lot in front of the hotel, which faced the rising, thickly wooded hillside. The back of the hotel faced the wide-open view.

It was a sunny spring day, but there was something about the sturdy old building that made me think of snowy winters, cable-knit sweaters, hot cider, heavy comforters, and roaring fires. It was a place that seemed to promise warmth and security.

There were rows of wooden lounge chairs behind the hotel and more of them on the hillside above, spread over a long patio covered with a shingled roof. I saw hammocks strung between the tall trees and a stone fireplace ringed by log benches.

I could already picture myself curled up in one of those hammocks, swaying gently in the breeze and reading a good book. Or crouching beside the crackling fire, roasting marshmallows speared on the ends of branches scavenged from the forest.

As I searched the parking lot for a space, I noticed several trails branching off into the woods. Each trailhead was marked with a sign that featured a map, some writing in German, and black-and-white historical photographs.

A hike into the woods sounded good to me, too.

I parked in front of one of the trail signs and we got out of the car. Monk opened his door slowly and sighed with relief when he saw asphalt instead of cobblestones. This was ground he could stand on.

I took a deep breath. The air was like wine. I could almost taste traces of cedar and berry. I was so glad to be there.

The trail sign was in German, so I couldn’t read what it said, but it seemed to offer historical footnotes about the Franziskushohe. The grainy picture on the sign was dated 1901 and showed patients relaxing outside on lounge chairs, sheets over their laps, and being tended by nurses.

I turned so that I blocked the sign from Monk. I didn’t need him freaking out right now.

“It’s nice here, isn’t it?” I said.

Monk grimaced. “There’s too much nature.”

“What’s wrong with nature?”

“It isn’t very clean,” he said, and headed off towards the entrance to the hotel. I quickly followed after him.

There was a massive stone fireplace, just like what I had imagined, a staircase that looked like it had been carved out of one enormous piece of wood, and a set of French doors opening out onto the garden and the view.

Monk was stepping up to the registration desk when something outside caught his attention.

I followed his gaze. It was Dr. Kroger, dozing on a chaise longue, a notepad and pen on his lap.

Monk glanced at his watch and smiled. “Perfect timing.”

He opened the French doors and marched outside.

I didn’t move at first.

To be honest, I was afraid to go outside. I wanted something between me and the explosion that was about to come, even if it was only a pane of glass.

There was an empty chair to the left of Dr. Kroger. Monk turned it at a slight angle, approximating the position of the patient chair in Dr. Kroger’s office.

He sat down, laid his arms straight on the armrests, and smiled contentedly. He looked truly relaxed and at peace and, for a moment, I was genuinely happy for him.

I took a deep breath and walked outside, but I stayed close to the door in case I needed to make a quick escape.

Monk glanced at Dr. Kroger, who was still dozing. He rolled his shoulders and glanced at the doctor again and then kicked the chaise longue.

Dr. Kroger jerked awake and looked to his left to see the cause of the rude intrusion into his slumber.

I don’t think his brain registered exactly what he was seeing at first. Dr. Kroger saw a man in lederhosen, but something wasn’t computing. It took a second before he recognized that the man was Adrian Monk.

The doctor did a horrified double take. It took another second for his mind to reconcile the incongruity of Adrian Monk in Germany wearing lederhosen before he could accept what his eyes were telling him.

All of this played out quite clearly in the exaggerated expressions on Dr. Kroger’s face.

I wish I’d taken a picture.

Dr. Kroger sat up straight in slack-jawed astonishment. “Adrian?”

Monk shook his head. “You would not believe what I’ve been through over the last few days.”

“What are you doing here?”

“We have an appointment and, boy, do I need it. I think my current troubles can be traced back to the fateful day when my mother passed on to me the responsibility of keeping track of my blinks.” Monk motioned to the notepad on Dr. Kroger’s lap. “Shouldn’t you be