Mr. Monk and the Two Assistants by Goldberg, Lee (books for students to read .TXT) 📕

“Nope,” Stottlemeyer said. “I’m just leaving.”

And that was that. The captain walked out.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Mr. Monk and the Big Arrest

Monk stared at the door for a long moment after Stottlemeyer left, then turned to the two of us.

“What is his problem?” he said.

“You, Adrian,” Sharona said.

“I just solved two murders,” Monk said. “He should be thanking me and arresting that phony.”

“You’re selfish, self-centered, and completely self-involved, ” Sharona said. “The whole world has to revolve around you, and when it doesn’t, you freak out.”

He looked at me. “What’s her problem?”

“Mr. Monk, you know that I have enormous faith in your abilities as a detective,” I said.

“As you should,” Monk said. “I’m always right.”

Sharona groaned. I tried not to do the same myself.

“But it looks to me like your thinking on this case is heavily influenced by your animosity toward Ian Ludlow,” I said. “Listening to you today, it seems that you’re determined to put yourself front and center, even if it means twisting things to make Ludlow the villain.”

“Do you really think that about me?”

I double-checked with myself. Monk was never wrong about murder, but there was always a first time, and this seemed like it could be it. His conclusions required a bigger jump than any conclusions he’d ever jumped to before.

“Yes, Mr. Monk, I do,” I said. “I don’t think you’re doing it intentionally. It’s just how you’re choosing to interpret the facts.”

“The facts are what they are,” Monk said. “There is only one way to interpret them.”

“That’s your problem, Adrian. It’s always got to be your way,” Sharona said. “Everybody has to see things the way you do, arrange things the way you do, act the way you do, or they’re committing a crime against nature. God forbid that you should ever change for anyone.”

“Ian Ludlow is a fraud. Can’t you see that? A know-nothing blowhard,” Monk said. “He’s the murderer who framed your husband.”

“What hurts the most isn’t that you’re wrong and that the real murderer is still out there. It’s that you can’t see past your own selfishness to help me,” Sharona said. “I needed you, Adrian, more than I’ve ever needed anyone. You let me down.” She walked out, slamming the door behind her, and leaving me alone with Monk.

“I’m right,” Monk said. “You know that I am. In your heart of hearts, you know.”

“If you’re right, Mr. Monk, why does Ludlow care so much about you?”

“Because I’m brilliant,” Monk said. “And he’s not.”

I was glad that Sharona wasn’t there to hear him say that. “I rest my case,” I said.

“You haven’t made a case to rest,” Monk said.

“You’re letting your ego and insecurity blind you to other possible explanations.”

“I don’t think so,” Monk said.

“Of course you don’t,” I said.

Arguing with him was pointless. Sharona was right. He would never change. I turned to leave.

“You can’t go,” Monk said.

“It’s my day off,” I said.

“But I need you,” he said quietly.

“Now you know how Sharona feels,” I said. I was almost at the door when Captain Stottlemeyer walked in, a grim look on his face.

Monk burst into a big smile. “I knew you’d see reason. You’ve come to get me for the big arrest.”

“I’m afraid not, Monk,” Stottlemeyer said. “Natalie, you need to come with me.”

I felt a pang of terror. “Is Julie okay? Has something happened to Julie?”

“No, she’s fine,” Stottlemeyer said. “You’d better come, too, Monk.”

“What’s going on, Captain?” I asked as we followed him outside. “Where are we going?”

“Back to your house,” Stottlemeyer said.

“Why?”

But just as I asked that question, I noticed to my great surprise that my Jeep Cherokee wasn’t parked in front of Monk’s place anymore. It was gone. Stottlemeyer’s car was parked right where my car used to be.

“Somebody stole my car,” I said.

“It wasn’t stolen,” Stottlemeyer said. “It was towed away.”

“Who towed it?” I said. “I wasn’t parked illegally and I don’t have any unpaid parking tickets.”

“That’s not why we towed it,” Stottlemeyer said.

“We?” I said.

But Stottlemeyer didn’t say another word. I didn’t like the sound of that.

The street in front of my house was clogged with official police vehicles—black-and-white cruisers, unmarked detective sedans and a couple vans from the crime-scene investigation unit.

The last time I had a party like that at my house was when I killed an intruder who tried to kill me. That was how I met Monk.

Now my house was a crime scene again. That meant that a crime had been committed in the house or items related to a crime could be found there. I didn’t like the implications of either scenario. Regardless of the explanation, I was sure my neighbors were already circulating a petition demanding that I move.

Captain Stottlemeyer had remained silent during the short drive but when we pulled up to the curb in front of my house, he looked over his shoulder at me in the backseat and finally spoke.

“I didn’t know anything about this,” Stottlemeyer said. “Neither did Randy. I heard about it after I left Monk’s place. Ludlow went over our heads.”

“Ludlow?” Monk said. “What’s he got to do with this?”

“It’s his show,” Stottlemeyer said as we all got out of the car.

Ian Ludlow, Disher and Sharona were waiting for us in my living room. There were other uniformed cops, plainclothes detectives and forensics guys scurrying around. I didn’t know what they were doing that was keeping them so busy or why they were doing it.

I’d left the house locked. Now all these people were in my house, going through my stuff, without asking me first. It pissed me off. I was sure they had a warrant, but that still didn’t make it right.

Disher