Mr. Monk and the New Lieutenant Read Free

up on me or Daniela Grace walking through the door. Let’s say they happened at about the same time. “Daniela,” I said, putting down my phone and breaking into a big smile. “Good to see you.”
    â€œDon’t get too excited, dear. I don’t come bearing a new case.”
    Daniela is a senior partner in a white-shoe law firm, although with her, the preppy white oxfords had been replaced by black Manolo Blahnik heels. She was skirting the upper reaches of middle age, thin and stylish and reminiscent of my mother. It takes a village to keep these women looking so spectacular.
    I tried to hide my disappointment. “You don’t have to have a case to come and visit. It’s always a pleasure. Do you want some tea?”
    â€œNo, thanks. Just a quick question.” She stood in the doorway as if expecting me to get up and go over to greet her—which I did, of course. “The last time I was here, I noticed that printing company next door. Have you ever availed yourself of their services?”
    â€œYes, as a matter of fact.” I don’t know why I say half the things I do. “Just availed ourselves this morning. They did a project for Adrian.” I was telling the truth. And I suppose I was feeling a little guilty and sorry.
    â€œWas Adrian happy with their work?”
    â€œHappy?” I replied. “He was practically giddy.”
    Despite the years of expertly injected Botox, Daniela managed to raise her eyebrows. “High praise indeed. My firm is putting together a series of IPO documents for one of our clients. All very hush-hush. We would do it in-house, but frankly our people get paid too much by the hour and don’t have the time. You say these printers do high-quality work? Are they reliable?”
    â€œVery reliable and great quality. They did a color match on a sign that was incredible.”
    â€œGood,” said Daniela. “Personal recommendations are always the best.” She took a step out the door and examined the hanging sign. “Paisley Printing.”
    â€œThey’re good people,” I insisted. “They won’t overcharge and they seem very careful and honest.”
    â€œDone,” said Daniela, and made a right turn out the door without ever coming fully inside. “I’ll say you recommended them.”
    â€œPlease do,” I called out after her, then turned back to face my empty office.
    At least someone was getting a job today.

CHAPTER TWO
    Mr. Monk Celebrates a Birthday
    I t turns out we got a job, too. Peter and Wendy might have considered this the result of my good karma, but only if they ignored Monk and Luther’s bad karma.
    Less than five minutes after Daniela went over to introduce herself, my phone rang. It was Captain Stottlemeyer with a consulting gig. We hadn’t had a police case in months, not since that infamous triple homicide in that warehouse on Stockton Street. I guess that’s the curse of specializing in weird, unsolved murders and living in a relatively safe city.
    Once or twice during this dry spell we’d run into the captain. But neither of us had seen Lieutenant Amy Devlin in ages. She was the captain’s number two and I was eager to see how she was doing. Even though it had all worked out, I knew the triple homicide had been hard on Amy, both professionally and personally.
    As soon as I hung up, I called Monk’s apartment. When he didn’t answer, I swallowed my pride and called Luther. “Yep, he’s with me,” Luther reported. “We’re shopping for apples.”
    â€œHow’s it going?”
    â€œWe found eight, so I’m thinking another fifteen minutes.”
    I told Luther about the job and gave him the address, a stately single-family home on El Camino del Mar, just a five-iron shot from the Lincoln Park Golf Club.
    When I pulled up, they were already on the scene. Luther was leaning against his Town Car, munching around