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Authors: Lee Goldberg
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at,” I said.
Devlin stepped out of the bedroom, holding a wallet. “The victim is Michelle Keeling, age twenty-six, from Las Vegas, Nevada. Does that ring any bells?”
“Never heard of her,” I said. “And I certainly didn’t invite her to house-sit and kill herself in my bathroom.”
Stottlemeyer gestured to the purse. “Find anything else in her purse?”
“Come see for yourself,” Devlin said and led us back into my bedroom. She had the contents of the purse spread out on the bed, already placed in transparent evidence bags.
The first thing I noticed was that my spare house keys weren’t among the stuff in her purse. The second thing I noticed was a baggie full of jewelry.
“That’s my wedding ring,” I said, picking up the bag. “And the rest of my jewelry. She even took Mitch’s old watch and cuff links.”
“So she was a squatter and a thief,” Monk said.
“But not a very picky one,” I said. “This stuff is hardly worth stealing. Even if you melted my wedding ring down, it wouldn’t be worth more than a few hundred dollars. The only real value any of this has is sentimental.”
“How sentimental are you about this?” Devlin picked up a baggie containing a stack of crisp hundred-dollar bills that had to add up to a few thousand dollars.
“I work for Adrian Monk,” I said. “I don’t have that kind of money around the house. Or anywhere else.”
Monk gestured to the pillows. “Two people slept in this bed. You can see that from the pillows and the way the bottom sheet is wrinkled. Whoever the other person was suffers from acid reflux disease.”
“How can you tell?” Devlin asked.
“The pillows are stacked so that he could sleep with his upper body raised,” Monk said. “And there’s a Pepcid tablet on the floor between the bed and the nightstand. Natalie doesn’t take Pepcids.”
“This is true,” I said.
Devlin took a baggie and picked up the pill with it. “So we’re looking for a killer with heartburn.”
Stottlemeyer examined an evidence bag containing a few matchbooks from Keeling’s purse. “It appears that Michelle liked to visit the Belmont Hotel bar. She’d need all that cash just to buy a Diet Coke there.”
I knew the Belmont. Everyone did. It was built after the great San Francisco earthquake in the heart of Union Square and had become a local landmark. I glanced down at her clothes and, based on what they cost, and the money in her purse, she’d fit right in there.
“If she could afford these fancy clothes and had all that cash, why didn’t she just get a hotel room?” I asked. “What was she doing in my house?”
It was a rhetorical question. I wasn’t really expecting an answer and I didn’t get one.
Devlin held up a baggie that contained an unmarked bottle of little red pills. “I wonder what these are for.”
“The lab will figure it out,” Stottlemeyer said and glanced over at Monk, who was also examining some pills in a baggie, but those were sealed in a foil card with a calendar printed on it. “But I know what those pills are.”
“So do I,” Monk said, setting the birth control pills down and looking at me. “I was having a moment of déjà vu.”
Monk and I shared a look. We’d come full circle. I glanced at Stottlemeyer and he knew it, too.
Devlin shifted her gaze between the three of us.
“What am I missing?” she asked.
“Natalie killed an intruder in this house a few years back,” Stottlemeyer said. “It’s how we met her.”
The intruder attacked me, we struggled, and I killed him on the living room couch with a pair of scissors. The captain brought Monk in to help investigate why the guy broke into my house.
The next day Monk came back to the house, went through my stuff, stumbled upon my birth control pills, and managed to embarrass me in front of my daughter.
Monk eventually figured out what the intruder was after and solved a thorny mystery, too. When it was all over, he hired me as his
Devlin stepped out of the bedroom, holding a wallet. “The victim is Michelle Keeling, age twenty-six, from Las Vegas, Nevada. Does that ring any bells?”
“Never heard of her,” I said. “And I certainly didn’t invite her to house-sit and kill herself in my bathroom.”
Stottlemeyer gestured to the purse. “Find anything else in her purse?”
“Come see for yourself,” Devlin said and led us back into my bedroom. She had the contents of the purse spread out on the bed, already placed in transparent evidence bags.
The first thing I noticed was that my spare house keys weren’t among the stuff in her purse. The second thing I noticed was a baggie full of jewelry.
“That’s my wedding ring,” I said, picking up the bag. “And the rest of my jewelry. She even took Mitch’s old watch and cuff links.”
“So she was a squatter and a thief,” Monk said.
“But not a very picky one,” I said. “This stuff is hardly worth stealing. Even if you melted my wedding ring down, it wouldn’t be worth more than a few hundred dollars. The only real value any of this has is sentimental.”
“How sentimental are you about this?” Devlin picked up a baggie containing a stack of crisp hundred-dollar bills that had to add up to a few thousand dollars.
“I work for Adrian Monk,” I said. “I don’t have that kind of money around the house. Or anywhere else.”
Monk gestured to the pillows. “Two people slept in this bed. You can see that from the pillows and the way the bottom sheet is wrinkled. Whoever the other person was suffers from acid reflux disease.”
“How can you tell?” Devlin asked.
“The pillows are stacked so that he could sleep with his upper body raised,” Monk said. “And there’s a Pepcid tablet on the floor between the bed and the nightstand. Natalie doesn’t take Pepcids.”
“This is true,” I said.
Devlin took a baggie and picked up the pill with it. “So we’re looking for a killer with heartburn.”
Stottlemeyer examined an evidence bag containing a few matchbooks from Keeling’s purse. “It appears that Michelle liked to visit the Belmont Hotel bar. She’d need all that cash just to buy a Diet Coke there.”
I knew the Belmont. Everyone did. It was built after the great San Francisco earthquake in the heart of Union Square and had become a local landmark. I glanced down at her clothes and, based on what they cost, and the money in her purse, she’d fit right in there.
“If she could afford these fancy clothes and had all that cash, why didn’t she just get a hotel room?” I asked. “What was she doing in my house?”
It was a rhetorical question. I wasn’t really expecting an answer and I didn’t get one.
Devlin held up a baggie that contained an unmarked bottle of little red pills. “I wonder what these are for.”
“The lab will figure it out,” Stottlemeyer said and glanced over at Monk, who was also examining some pills in a baggie, but those were sealed in a foil card with a calendar printed on it. “But I know what those pills are.”
“So do I,” Monk said, setting the birth control pills down and looking at me. “I was having a moment of déjà vu.”
Monk and I shared a look. We’d come full circle. I glanced at Stottlemeyer and he knew it, too.
Devlin shifted her gaze between the three of us.
“What am I missing?” she asked.
“Natalie killed an intruder in this house a few years back,” Stottlemeyer said. “It’s how we met her.”
The intruder attacked me, we struggled, and I killed him on the living room couch with a pair of scissors. The captain brought Monk in to help investigate why the guy broke into my house.
The next day Monk came back to the house, went through my stuff, stumbled upon my birth control pills, and managed to embarrass me in front of my daughter.
Monk eventually figured out what the intruder was after and solved a thorny mystery, too. When it was all over, he hired me as his
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