Read Online Mr. Monk on the Road by Lee Goldberg - Free Book Online Page A

was an even number.
    “How would you feel about me coming by tonight with a pizza and a movie?”
    “That would be wonderful,” Ambrose said.
     
    I brought over a plain cheese pizza and the latest James Bond movie. I figured Ambrose would enjoy the exotic locales and I could enjoy Daniel Craig.
    While we ate on the living room couch, I told Ambrose about the Major Munch Peanut Crunch case and how Aaron nearly got away with the perfect murder. I left out the part about me nearly getting killed and Devlin shooting Aaron. That bit would have freaked Ambrose out and it would have jacked up my anxiety all over again.
    Ambrose had an interesting take on the events.
    “Adrian couldn’t have solved it without me.”
    “I don’t know about that,” I said. “Mr. Monk has a very good eye for detail.”
    “But he knows nothing about the rich history of Major Munch toys,” Ambrose said. “It was Adrian’s knowledge of my collection that brought a felon to justice.”
    “I suppose it was.”
    “It just goes to show that you never know how things are interconnected. Maybe the reason why I’ve been collecting those toys for all these years was just so Adrian could catch a murderer today.”
    “I didn’t know you were such a strong believer in fate,” I said.
    “I’m not,” Ambrose said. “But I believe in balance and that everything fits together somehow.”
    “That’s not fate?”
    Ambrose shook his head. “It’s order.”
    “If you say so. Ready for the movie?”
    “Okay,” he said.
    I got up, put the movie into the DVD player, and then returned to my place on the couch beside him, though there was enough room between us to fit a family of four. That was his idea of intimacy.
    “This is nice,” he said.
    “Yes, it is.”
    “You’re still coming for my birthday on Saturday, aren’t you?”
    “Of course I am,” I said. “Why wouldn’t I?”
    Ambrose shrugged. “This feels like a birthday party.”
    “It’s not. At a birthday party, there are friends, and family, and cake, and gifts. That’s what you will have on Saturday.”
    “You don’t have to bring me a gift.”
    “I want to,” I said.
    “This was enough.”
    “I came here because I wanted to spend time with you,” I said. “It’s not a gift.”
    “You’re wrong,” Ambrose said.
    He was right. But he wasn’t the one getting the gift that night. It was me.
     
    Monk was waiting at the curb in front of his apartment the next morning as I drove up, which was odd, since we weren’t in a hurry to go anywhere, at least not as far as I knew.
    “What’s up?” I asked as he got into the car. “Did Stottlemeyer call you about a murder?”
    “Nope,” he said. “I figured out what I want to get Ambrose for his birthday.”
    “That’s great. But what’s the hurry?”
    “We don’t have much time.”
    “His birthday is the day after tomorrow,” I said. “That still leaves us plenty of time to get him a level, or Q-tips, or a duster, or a first aid kit and get it wrapped in time.”
    “I’m getting him something else this year and it’s not going to be wrapped.”
    “What are you getting him?”
    “Freedom,” he said.
    “I don’t understand.”
    “He hasn’t left the house in thirty years. There’s a whole world out there he has never seen because he’s afraid to step out the front door. I want to show him what he’s missing.”
    “He has a TV. He’s seen pictures. He knows what the world looks like.”
    “It’s not the same as experiencing it,” Monk said. “That’s what I want to give him. I want to take him on a trip.”
    “He’s not going to step out of the house.”
    “He doesn’t have to,” Monk said. “We’ll bring the house with us.”
    I had no idea what he meant by that, but I was stuck on something else that he said.
    “We?” I said. “What makes you think I want to take a trip with you?”
    “Yesterday you said that you needed a vacation.”
    “From you, Mr. Monk. From murder.”
    “You