Free Mr. Monk on the Road by Lee Goldberg Page A

said.
    He gave her his version of a hug, bending forward at the waist and managing to keep most of his body from making any contact with hers.
    “I always assumed your mother dragged you along against your will.”
    “Not true,” she said, setting her present down with the others on the dining room table. “I’ve always loved coming here. You’re like an eccentric, colorful uncle.”
    “What does that make me?” Monk asked.
    “My mom’s weird boss,” she said.
    Monk frowned and Julie gave him a kiss on the cheek.
    “Can’t you take a joke?” she said.
    “No,” Monk said, motioning to me for a wipe. “You should know that by now.”
    “I am not giving you a wipe for my daughter,” I said.
    “Didn’t you see what she just did to me?”
    “Consider yourself lucky.”
    “There are thousands of students at UC Berkeley,” Monk said. “Who knows how many diseases they are carrying?”
    “I don’t know,” I said. “You can keep count if you’re stricken by them.”
    Someone knocked at the door.
    “Who could that be?” Ambrose asked.
    “I hope you don’t mind,” Julie said, opening the front door, “but I invited one of my friends.”
    And in stepped Molly, absolutely adorable in her pumps, gray pencil skirt, white blouse, and blue cardigan sweater. The sight of her brought tears to Ambrose’s eyes.
    “Hello, Molly,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
    “How did you know it was me?” she asked. “Did Adrian show you some pictures?”
    “No, he wasn’t that considerate,” Ambrose said. “But you look just the way I imagined you would.”
    Of course she did. Monk had described her to Ambrose in intimate and minute detail.
    “She has 128 freckles on her face, Adrian, not 122, and you were an eighth of an inch off on her height. I thought you were supposed to be remarkably observant.”
    Julie was stunned. “You saw all that in just a glance?”
    “I’m a year older,” Ambrose said. “I’m not dead.”
    He was also a Monk. I had no doubt that he was accurate in his appraisal.
    “You didn’t factor in her heels,” Monk said.
    “Of course I did,” Ambrose said.
    “And those are new freckles,” Monk said.
    “Yeah, right,” Ambrose said in a patronizing tone of voice.
    “Adrian has told me so much about you,” Molly said. “But even before I met him, I already felt like I knew you.”
    “How is that possible?” Ambrose asked.
    “You wrote the manuals for my TV, my DVD player, my refrigerator, and my microwave.”
    “How did you know that?”
    “Your style, your unique voice, are unmistakable, at least to anyone who appreciates writing,” Molly said. “You make it seem as if a knowledgeable friend is explaining how even the most needlessly complicated devices are really very simple. I had to find out who the writer was. Most of the time, your name was hidden in the acknowledgments or on the copyright page. Other times, I had to call the manufacturer to confirm my suspicions.”
    Oh, she was good. I had no idea whether what she was saying was true or a calculated attempt to win Ambrose over, but it didn’t matter. It was his birthday and the whole idea was to make him feel special.
    Ambrose was clearly overwhelmed. He shook his head and turned to his brother. “She’s amazing.”
    “I told you so,” Monk said proudly.
    “At least you got that part right,” Ambrose said, then faced Molly again. “May I give you a hug?”
    “Of course you can.” She opened her arms. “We’re family.”
    He gave her the same awkward hug that he’d given Julie.
    Molly’s arrival was an important part of Monk’s carefully orchestrated plan. He figured that after she showed up, Ambrose would assume that there were no more surprises in store for him and let his guard down—not that there was any reason he should be wary of his family and friends. She also had a role to play in what was to come.
    “This is going to be the best birthday ever,” Ambrose said.
    Or it would