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

“Mother Nature was obviously a very filthy person,” Monk said.

The houses in the neighborhood were spaced widely apart and loosely followed the line of the forest. There weren’t any fences, though there were a few plants and low rock walls marking property boundaries.

The road got gradually steeper. I wondered if there was a shortcut we could have taken through the woods. But if we’d taken it, I would have missed an oddity. At first I mistook it for a group mailbox atop a post, but as we got closer, I saw it was actually a cigarette vending machine. There were pictures of various brands of cigarettes and a knob under each one to pull after the proper number of coins had been inserted in the slot.

We both stood there staring at the machine as if it was a meteor. I’d never seen a vending machine on a residential street corner, much less one that sold cigarettes, and I’m pretty sure that Monk hadn’t either.

“That’s odd,” I said.

“No odder than anything else in this town,” Monk replied.

“I wonder what other vending machines they have in the neighborhood and what they sell.”

“I guarantee disinfectant isn’t one of the things,” Monk said.

“You’re probably right,” I said.

“I usually am.”

We continued walking. We crossed a bridge over a tiny creek and were on the Franziskushohe property.

“Don’t you ever doubt yourself?” I asked.

“All the time.”

“About what?”

“What shirt to wear,” Monk said.

“All your shirts are the same.”

“That’s what makes the choice so hard,” Monk said.

“I mean about big things,” I said as we crossed the bridge we’d driven over yesterday. “Decisions you’ve made about your life, about love, about the future.”

“When I make a decision about something, it’s based on the facts and how things are supposed to fit together,” Monk said. “Facts are immutable and things only fit together one way, so how can I be wrong?”

“Facts can change and things don’t always fit the way they should.”

“That’s heresy,” Monk said. “I’d keep your voice down if I were you. They burn women at the stake for that here.”

We took the steps up the hillside rather than following the winding road. It was steeper, but seemed like a more direct route to me. Monk followed my lead without comment.

“Look at you and me,” I said. “If you consider the facts about us and our lives, we shouldn’t fit together at all, and yet we’ve worked together for years.”

“That’s a poor example,” Monk said. “I made a decision about you, based on the facts and how things are supposed to fit together, and I was right.”

“I don’t see it,” I said, stopping to catch my breath. I needed to get more exercise. “What facts? What fit?”

“My longtime nurse had left, so I was looking for a capable person to protect my interests, anticipate my needs, and keep my life as even as possible.”

“Exactly,” I said and started up the steps again. “And I wasn’t a nurse, a secretary, or a psychic. I was a bartender and a single mother. Those are the facts and it made me a lousy fit for the job.”

“You’re forgetting that Sharona was a single mother, too,” Monk said.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You hold your home together, struggle with finances, and face countless small disasters, all while providing a safe, productive, predictable, and nurturing life for your child. Those are facts, and I needed someone with those same skills for me. You fit right into the space left by Sharona. Fact and fit—that’s why it’s worked.”

Before Sharona and me, there had been Trudy, who kept him more than together. From what I’ve heard, when she was around, he had all his anxieties in check. He was almost normal, and yet still possessed his amazing skills as a detective.

The difference, of course, between her and us was that Monk loved Trudy and she loved him.

We cared for him, and he probably did for us, but there was no love in his life anymore. That was a fact, and a sad one. I don’t think he was looking for anyone to fit into his life that way again and maybe he never would. At least not until he could solve her murder and relieve himself of some of the undeserved guilt he carried for her death.

“So you are always right,” I said.

“On matters of fact and fit,” Monk said, “yes.”

“And are there any matters that don’t involve fact and fit?”

“Not in an orderly world,” he said.

“But we don’t live in one,” I said.

“I’m working on it,” Monk said.

We reached the hotel parking lot and headed for the lobby. Up on the hillside, under the long, covered patio, I could see a dozen people gathered, chatting and holding tall glasses of beer. It was some sort of outdoor buffet. Dr. Kroger was among them. He intercepted a muscular man in gray sweats who jogged in off one of the hiking trails.

“Mr. Monk,” I said, “Dr. Kroger is up there.”

Monk followed my gaze and smiled. “He’s going to be so excited. We’ve waited so long for this.”

He hurried past me, quickly climbing the log steps placed in the dirt. I was right behind him.

As we went up the steps, I could see a middle-aged woman with a camera motioning Dr. Kroger and the man in sweats to pose together for a picture.

“Don’t be bashful. This is for the conference collage,” she said with a heavy Cockney accent. “Give us a big smile.”