Free Mr. Monk on the Road by Lee Goldberg

arrived at Ambrose’s house promptly at noon. I carried the chocolate cake, and Monk carried the presents. Of course, they weren’t the real presents. They were a ruse, a way to convince Ambrose we weren’t deviating from our usual birthday ritual.
    Ambrose opened the door and beckoned us in before we even reached the front porch. I wondered how long he’d been standing by the window, waiting for us and wearing the red sweater vest he saved just for his birthdays.
    “Greetings and felicitations,” he said.
    “Happy birthday, Ambrose.” I kissed him on the cheek as I came in.
    “It is now,” Ambrose said, blushing.
    I walked past him and set the cake on the dining room table.
    “Why did I even bother to come?” Monk asked.
    “I’m happy to see you, too, Adrian. But that goes without saying.”
    “Why does it?”
    “Because it would only go to your head, and it’s big enough as it is.” Ambrose closed the door and locked it.
    “What did I do to deserve that remark?” Monk set the gifts down at the far end of the dining room table.
    “It’s been three days since you solved the Brenda Monroe murder and you haven’t called to thank me.”
    “For what?”
    “For solving it,” Ambrose said, going into the kitchen. Monk trailed after him, but I stayed in the dining room, within earshot, and took the cake out of the box.
    “I don’t recall bumping into you at the crime scene,” Monk said.
    “I was there in spirit. Without me, and the knowledge I gave you of Major Munch cereal toys, you wouldn’t have even realized that she was murdered.”
    Ambrose returned to the dining room with plates and silverware, and Monk carried four bottles of Fiji water, the brand they’d turned to when Summit Creek went out of business.
    “I would have,” Monk said.
    “How?”
    “I don’t know,” Monk said. “But I would have. It’s what I am world famous for.”
    “And his modesty,” I said.
    “Why can’t you just acknowledge my contribution and thank me for it?” Ambrose said. “You can still take credit for combining the information that I gave you with your powers of observation to determine that her brother was her killer.”
    “Wait a minute,” Monk said. “My involvement in the case wasn’t reported in the newspaper or anywhere else. How did you find out I had anything to do with it?”
    Ambrose involuntarily glanced at me and tried to cover it by quickly looking the other way, but he was too late. Monk saw it and glared at me.
    I pretended to be intensely interested in the cake. “Are we going to use birthday candles or go au naturel this year?”
    “That’s an interesting question,” Ambrose said, eager to change the subject and save my hide.
    “No, it’s not,” Monk said. “The interesting question remains unanswered.”
    “And isn’t that what adds spice to life?” I said. “The unanswered questions?”
    “No, those missing pieces create an imbalance that must be fixed because, if enough of them pile up, the entire universe will collapse.”
    “Is that all?” I said.
    Ambrose sighed. “Adrian has a good point, Natalie.”
    “No, he doesn’t. The universe is not going to collapse over this.”
    “It might,” Monk said. “This could be the unanswered question that’s the cosmic breaking point.”
    “It was her,” Ambrose said, pointing at me. “She told me.”
    Before Monk could unleash his wrath, there was a knock at the door. I hurried over to answer it, thankful for the reprieve.
    I opened the door and my daughter, Julie, stepped inside, carrying a big present. She was wearing her black Uggs, skinny blue jeans, and a UC Berkeley hooded pullover.
    “Are you Ambrose’s butler now, too?” Julie asked with a sly grin.
    “Just for today,” I said, giving her a kiss.
    Ambrose joined us and I closed the door before he could get a peek outside.
    “What a lovely surprise,” Ambrose said. “I didn’t expect to see you.”
    “I haven’t missed your birthday yet,” she