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

in front of him, as if clearing cobwebs or smoke. “She died here. I sense a chill, a tight space.”

“She’s in a drawer at the morgue,” I said. “It doesn’t get much colder or tighter than that.”

“I see a flower, a rose, the thorns dripping blood, but I don’t know what these images mean.”

“If you’re waiting for me or Natalie to offer suggestions, think again,” Monk said. “We aren’t rubes. We know how this is done.”

“You suspect her husband of the murder, don’t you?” Swift said.

“The husband is always the number one suspect when his spouse is killed,” Monk said. “That’s hardly a revelation.”

“Helen suspects him, too. I’m sensing her distrust, feeling her anger. There were arguments, violent ones, about his fidelity. But she found peace here these last few days. She loved Hawaii. She loved the people and she loved the food. Helen was a sensualist, particularly when it came to food. Every day she brought home fresh pineapple and pie.”

“You could have seen that from your front door,” Monk said. “You don’t need a view into the other side.”

Swift sighed wearily. “Mr. Monk, I accept that you don’t believe me, but it’s not necessary to counter everything I say. Take what I give you or not; it’s your choice.”

“I’m choosing not to. I think you’re a fraud who exploits a person’s vulnerability for personal gain. It’s criminal.”

“Whose vulnerability am I exploiting now?”

“Hers,” Monk said, looking at me. I was surprised.

Swift turned to me. “Are you vulnerable, Natalie?”

I was about to say no, but then I realized that wasn’t true. “I am when it comes to my husband.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Swift said.

I wanted to slap him. “You have no right to tell me how I should feel. You don’t know anything about me or him.”

“I know that Mitch ran, but not because he was afraid. It was to draw the Serb patrol away from his injured crew. He made himself a target to save them. I can feel his sense of duty, the responsibility he felt to his men.”

I started to tremble, goose bumps rising on my skin. Swift’s words rang true. Mitch always put duty before me, Julie, or himself. His first instinct wouldn’t have been to save himself; it would have been to save his men.

But how could Swift have known that? How could he have known any of it? Nothing I’d ever said to Swift could have given him all that information. It was as if he’d been there on the ground in Kosovo himself. Or maybe—

No, I couldn’t believe it. Rationally, I knew it couldn’t be true. But emotionally and physically, I felt as if Mitch were with us, reaching out to me. I could sense his presence.

My expression must have betrayed everything I was feeling, because Monk looked at me, and then his face flushed with anger. I’d never seen Monk angry like that before. But he didn’t express it by yelling. Instead he turned to Swift and spoke in a very low, measured voice.

“Get out,” Monk said. “Now.”

“No, wait,” I said, and looked Swift in the eye. “Why did the crew say he was a coward? He gave his life for them. Why didn’t the crew tell the navy he was a hero?”

“They didn’t understand. They just saw him run. That’s how he’s showing it to me. He didn’t stop to explain himself before he acted; he just did it. I don’t sense that he blames them for misinterpreting his actions. Neither should you. He wants you to let it go.”

I sat down on the edge of the couch. My heart was racing. My eyes filled with tears.

Monk took Swift firmly by the arm, led him to the door, and opened it. “Don’t come back.”

“I haven’t hurt her, Mr. Monk. I’ve given her peace. I can give you the same thing.”

Monk pushed him out the door and slammed it shut. He walked into the kitchen, staring at his hands.

“Wipe,” he said.

I sniffled, got up, and went to get my purse in my room. I took out two wipes and handed them to Monk, who scrubbed his hands as if they were covered in muck. He looked like he was trying to wash off more than germs. He was trying to wipe away the whole experience.

“What if you’re wrong?” I said. “What if he really can talk to the dead?”

“He can’t,” Monk said. “He told you what you wanted to hear. That’s what he does.”

“But what happened to Mitch in Kosovo was a secret; it was never made public. The file is sealed and classified. Swift couldn’t have found out the details so quickly. It’s just not possible.”

“And talking to dead people is?”

“Fine. It’s not possible. So tell me, Mr. Monk, how could Swift have known what happened to Mitch?”

“I don’t know how yet,” Monk said. “But I will.”

16

Mr. Monk and the Peanuts

After the experience with Swift, I had to get away from Monk, the bungalow, everything. I needed to clear my head, so I went to the beach. I dove into the water, swam past the waves, and floated on my back on the surface, arms and legs outstretched.

I looked up into that endless blue sky and just drifted, away from the land, away from my troubles, away from myself.

Soon I wasn’t thinking at all. I was part of the sea and the sky and nothing else. I don’t know how long I stayed that way, but I became aware of another presence near me. I turned my head and saw a monk seal floating on his back beside me, regarding me curiously with his puppylike eyes.

I wasn’t startled or scared. I felt completely relaxed and, apparently, so did he. We floated together for a few moments, looking at each other, and then he rolled over and slipped under the water, passing beneath me and out to sea.

I floated for a few more minutes, then swam back to the beach, bodysurfing on a wave and letting it carry me to the shore.