another glass of wine?”
I chuckled. “Probably. Does she always travel with the captain?”
“This is the first time I’ve met her, so I guess the answer is no.”
“Well, I can see why she decided to come. The captain has a very friendly handshake.”
“Only with pretty, single women,” said Mariah. I was flattered that she seemed to include me in that group.
The white wine was nearing the end of its run. We had our glasses refilled and crossed away in the direction of the casino. Through the closed glass doors, we could see the twinkly lights and the dealers getting ready for our arrival into international waters.
“I was thinking about your friend,” said Mariah. “Tomorrow we’re docking in Catalina, you know.”
Of course I’d known. It was on the schedule. But until this moment it had never dawned on me as an escape route. We’d been so focused on getting him into a new room, we hadn’t thought of this. Monk could get off in Catalina and fly home.
“That’s a great idea,” I said. “I’ll mention it to him.” I didn’t explain that this would entail forcing Monk onto an airplane. One crisis at a time. Besides, he’d been on planes before.
As the lobby started emptying out, I thanked Mariah again for her suggestion and headed out to the lingering dusk and the open air. Dropping Monk off in Catalina? Hmm. How would that work exactly?
The evil part of me wanted to see him gone. I’d have a much better time and probably make a better impression on potential clients. But Monk deserved to be here. He was the essence of Monk and Teeger. And it wasn’t totally his fault that he hadn’t understood the concept of single supplement.
On the other hand, if Monk got off in Catalina, how would he get back to San Francisco? Would I be forced to get off with him? No, that would be unacceptable. It would mean a huge waste of money and a lost opportunity.
On the third hand, what about Ellen?
Ellen Morse was Monk’s part-time girlfriend. I don’t quite know how to define their relationship. They had met in Summit, New Jersey, back when Monk and I were doing some work for the Summit police chief, our old friend Randy Disher. Ellen owned a boutique in Summit called Poop, which sold a seemingly endless variety of items made from animal dung—everything you could imagine and some things you were better off not imagining.
For some reason, Ellen and Monk had hit it off, so well, in fact, that Ellen opened a second Poop store, this one on Union Street in the heart of San Francisco’s trendy shopping district. She had done it to be close to him, although he didn’t always return the love. In fact, he had never stepped foot inside either of her stores. He just couldn’t. And he continued to ridicule them every chance he got.
I’m making him sound like a horrible boyfriend. I’m sure he wasn’t. But I did wonder if, after the death of his beloved Trudy, there would ever be another real relationship in his life.
So, back to my third hand. What about Ellen?
I knew Ellen was in San Francisco this month. And she was sympathetic to Monk’s OCD, having long suffered from symptoms of her own, on a smaller scale. Perhaps she would be willing to fly down to Catalina tomorrow, take Monk off my hands, and let me continue on my cruise. They might even want to spend a night on the romantic little island before flying back, if they could find a hotel clean enough.
I was ambling along the Granada deck on level three, enjoying the ocean’s gentle sway. I could only imagine how Monk must be reacting to the sway, wherever he might be. I could almost hear him moaning softly with each little roll of the ship’s deck. Wait a minute! I could hear him moaning softly. For real.
I stopped in my tracks and spun around. There was nothing—just me and the deck and the hull of the ship. Plus the railing and the Pacific Ocean. And the lifeboats. A line of orange lifeboats lay evenly spaced on the deck, each attached to a
I chuckled. “Probably. Does she always travel with the captain?”
“This is the first time I’ve met her, so I guess the answer is no.”
“Well, I can see why she decided to come. The captain has a very friendly handshake.”
“Only with pretty, single women,” said Mariah. I was flattered that she seemed to include me in that group.
The white wine was nearing the end of its run. We had our glasses refilled and crossed away in the direction of the casino. Through the closed glass doors, we could see the twinkly lights and the dealers getting ready for our arrival into international waters.
“I was thinking about your friend,” said Mariah. “Tomorrow we’re docking in Catalina, you know.”
Of course I’d known. It was on the schedule. But until this moment it had never dawned on me as an escape route. We’d been so focused on getting him into a new room, we hadn’t thought of this. Monk could get off in Catalina and fly home.
“That’s a great idea,” I said. “I’ll mention it to him.” I didn’t explain that this would entail forcing Monk onto an airplane. One crisis at a time. Besides, he’d been on planes before.
As the lobby started emptying out, I thanked Mariah again for her suggestion and headed out to the lingering dusk and the open air. Dropping Monk off in Catalina? Hmm. How would that work exactly?
The evil part of me wanted to see him gone. I’d have a much better time and probably make a better impression on potential clients. But Monk deserved to be here. He was the essence of Monk and Teeger. And it wasn’t totally his fault that he hadn’t understood the concept of single supplement.
On the other hand, if Monk got off in Catalina, how would he get back to San Francisco? Would I be forced to get off with him? No, that would be unacceptable. It would mean a huge waste of money and a lost opportunity.
On the third hand, what about Ellen?
Ellen Morse was Monk’s part-time girlfriend. I don’t quite know how to define their relationship. They had met in Summit, New Jersey, back when Monk and I were doing some work for the Summit police chief, our old friend Randy Disher. Ellen owned a boutique in Summit called Poop, which sold a seemingly endless variety of items made from animal dung—everything you could imagine and some things you were better off not imagining.
For some reason, Ellen and Monk had hit it off, so well, in fact, that Ellen opened a second Poop store, this one on Union Street in the heart of San Francisco’s trendy shopping district. She had done it to be close to him, although he didn’t always return the love. In fact, he had never stepped foot inside either of her stores. He just couldn’t. And he continued to ridicule them every chance he got.
I’m making him sound like a horrible boyfriend. I’m sure he wasn’t. But I did wonder if, after the death of his beloved Trudy, there would ever be another real relationship in his life.
So, back to my third hand. What about Ellen?
I knew Ellen was in San Francisco this month. And she was sympathetic to Monk’s OCD, having long suffered from symptoms of her own, on a smaller scale. Perhaps she would be willing to fly down to Catalina tomorrow, take Monk off my hands, and let me continue on my cruise. They might even want to spend a night on the romantic little island before flying back, if they could find a hotel clean enough.
I was ambling along the Granada deck on level three, enjoying the ocean’s gentle sway. I could only imagine how Monk must be reacting to the sway, wherever he might be. I could almost hear him moaning softly with each little roll of the ship’s deck. Wait a minute! I could hear him moaning softly. For real.
I stopped in my tracks and spun around. There was nothing—just me and the deck and the hull of the ship. Plus the railing and the Pacific Ocean. And the lifeboats. A line of orange lifeboats lay evenly spaced on the deck, each attached to a
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