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

this afternoon. Meantime, we let Roxanne walk. We’ve got a solid circumstantial case against Lance but nothing to hold her on. If she had something to do with the murder, Lance is keeping quiet about it.”

“Where’s Swift now?” Monk asked.

“Back in his bungalow, I suppose. They didn’t keep him at Wilcox Memorial; there wasn’t anything wrong with him that an exorcism couldn’t cure.”

“Or a jail sentence,” Monk said.

Kealoha dropped us off in front of the Grand Kiahuna Poipu lobby. He lowered his window as we got out of his car.

“When are you heading back to Frisco?” he asked.

“Tuesday,” I said. “Why?”

“I’m trying to decide whether to bring in some off-duty officers and rejigger the work schedule. Since you two arrived on Kauai, the crime rate has skyrocketed.”

“Maybe you should lock us up.”

“The thought has occurred to me.” He grinned and drove off.

I turned and saw that Monk was already inside the lobby, reading a copy of the Honolulu Advertiser. There was a picture of Dylan Swift on the front page.

I joined Monk and read the article over his shoulder.

LIHUE—Did a murdered woman solve her own killing from beyond the grave? According to famed psychic Dylan Swift, that’s exactly what happened.

     Swift is an internationally known medium and best-selling author who claims to talk to the dead. He tapes many episodes of his nationally televised daily TV series at the Grand Kiahuna Poipu, where vacationing Cleveland resident Helen Gruber was found dead Wednesday in the hot tub of her bungalow, apparently the victim of an accident.

     Shortly thereafter, Swift began receiving “messages” from Helen indicating that she’d been murdered. He immediately relayed the information to San Francisco detective Adrian Monk, another guest at the hotel, who was aiding local police in their investigation.

     Sources at the Kauai Police Department confirm that, based on Swift’s information, Monk and the homicide investigators were able to build a case against Helen Gruber’s husband, Lance Vaughan, for murder.

     But sources say it was Swift’s channeling Helen herself, in a dramatic confrontation with her husband at the scene of the crime Saturday, that provided the final clues. Vaughan was promptly arrested and charged with first-degree murder.

     Vaughan was allegedly involved in an affair with Roxanne Shaw, also of Cleveland, who was visiting the island as well. No charges were filed against Shaw, who was questioned and released. She declined comment.

     Swift was taken to Wilcox Memorial Hospital’s emergency room, where he was being treated for undisclosed trauma relating to his “channeling.”

     “Without Helen’s voice to guide us,” Swift told reporters, “her murder might never have been solved. I’m glad I was able to serve a small role in seeing that justice was served.”

Monk didn’t bother reading the rest of the story. He carefully folded the paper and set it down on a table. “What was Swift’s message for me?”

“He saw a hand with six fingers.”

Monk rolled his shoulders and narrowed his eyes. I knew that meant he was mulling the facts, trying to put things together, seeing how they fit…or how they didn’t.

“Who else knows about that man?” I asked.

“Me, Captain Stottlemeyer, Lieutenant Disher, and you,” Monk said. “And the man who killed my wife.”

Monk marched through the lobby, through the pool area, and straight to the bungalow across from ours. He pounded on the door. Swift opened the door, holding an ice pack in one hand.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” he said, and stepped back, ushering us in.

The floor plan of the bungalow was identical to ours, but the furniture was considerably more upscale and masculine, all dark koa wood and leather. The decor was less tropically floral, leaning more heavily on maritime paintings of sailing ships braving rough seas.

“We came to see how you were feeling,” Monk said.

“I burned myself making breakfast,” he said, showing us the nasty blister on his hand under his ice pack, “but otherwise I’m fine. Spiritual possession causes some disorientation and headaches immediately afterward but usually doesn’t have any lasting physical effects.”

“I was thinking more about all the talking you’ve been doing to the press,” Monk said. “I’m surprised you still have a voice.”

“The more I can foster greater understanding among the general public about the afterlife, the better they will be able to cope with death and grieving.”

It was such a line of crap, and it made me so angry that I couldn’t contain myself. “You’re trying to capitalize on Helen Gruber’s murder to promote yourself, your books, your seminars, and your TV show. It’s disgusting.”

“I thought you knew me better than that, Natalie.”

“So did I, until I read what you were saying in the newspaper.”

“Someone at the hospital or one of those officers alerted the media, not me. I simply answered their questions as honestly as I could.”

“Maybe you can answer a few of mine,” Monk said.

“Of course.”

“Natalie said you had a message for me.”

Swift seemed to relax. He nodded and took a seat, beckoning us to sit on the couch opposite him, which we did.

“I was hoping that you would ask. After I first met you, I had a startling vision of a hand with six fingers. I thought it might symbolize something about Helen’s murder. But I saw it again last night, after the case was solved, so I knew that it was about you. I’m feeling the letter T very strongly. Is there someone close to you whose name begins with T?”

“My wife, Trudy.”

“Has she passed on?”

Monk nodded. “She was murdered. A car bomb.”

I wondered why Monk was playing along, giving Swift information to work with. Was it to draw Swift out or was Monk unable to resist his own curiosity, his need to hear from Trudy one more time, even if the message was false?

“I sense tremendous frustration, so much uncertainty. There are questions Trudy needs answered. Until then, she can’t truly be at peace.”

“I can’t either. It’s always been like that with us,” Monk said. “We’ve always felt the same way. It was as if we were one person instead of two.”

“That is love, Mr. Monk, the greatest force