“That’s one word for it,” I said.
“I’m disappointed that he couldn’t conquer his anxieties about being alone. On the other hand, this represents remarkable progress. Acting impulsively like this, going on a trip without forethought and obsessive planning, is a gigantic step for Adrian.”
“He’s not himself,” I said.
“Everybody changes, Mrs. Teeger. Every day we’re evolving into a new version of our previous selves. Don’t shackle him to your preconceptions about who he should be.”
I’d never heard such crap in my life.
“You don’t understand, Dr. Kroger,” I said. “Monk isn’t evolved. He’s on drugs.”
“What drugs?”
“Whatever you gave him for his OCD.”
“Dioxynl,” Dr. Kroger said. “I prescribed that for him some time ago when his condition became totally debilitating for him. I’m surprised he took the medication again. He said he never would.”
“Why did he say that?” I said. “Are there side effects?”
“Mild ones, but his were unique. The drug diminishes some aspects of his personality that mean more to him than relief from the limitations of his phobias and obsessions.”
“You mean like losing all self-control and common sense?”
“The drug takes away his gift, the extraordinary deductive skills from which he derives his identity,” Dr. Kroger said. “In other words, Mrs. Teeger, when he takes the drug, he’s a lousy detective.”
No wonder I’d never seen him take it before, no matter how bad his OCD was.
“How long do the effects of this pill last?”
“About twelve hours,” Dr. Kroger said. “Depending on the dosage.”
I glanced at my watch. Assuming he took the pills shortly before the flight, there were about six more hours of hell for me to endure, give or take an hour, until the pill wore off and I’d begin experiencing the hell I was more familiar with.
“What do I do when the drugs wear off and he’s back to being Monk?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean this was supposed to be my vacation.”
“That’s between you and Adrian to work out,” he said. I could envision the amused smile on his face. “Who knows? Maybe the two of you will have some fun together.”
I hung up. I couldn’t help wondering if Dr. Kroger put Monk up to this trip as a way of getting even with me.
When I got to our gate, I couldn’t find Monk, though I have to admit I didn’t look very hard. It’s not like I wanted Monk to intrude on my vacation—not that I could even call it that anymore.
A heavyset Polynesian gate agent in a Hawaiian Airlines aloha shirt and blue slacks announced that our flight was ready for boarding.
Monk came rushing over just as passengers began filing into the plane. He was wearing a bright yellow aloha shirt decorated with hula dancers and was eating chocolate-covered macadamia nuts right out of the box. The shirt and jacket he had worn on the plane were stuffed into his large shopping bag.
It may have been the first time I’d ever seen his naked arms. Usually he wore long-sleeved dress shirts buttoned at the cuffs.
I don’t know what was more shocking to me: that he’d put his clothes into a bag without folding them or that he’d bought a brightly colored shirt with a pattern that didn’t match at the seams.
I settled on the shirt and said so. “I can’t believe you bought that shirt.”
“Isn’t it nice?”
“Yes, it’s very nice,” I said. “But it’s not really you.”
“We’re in Hawaii. I’m feeling the aloha spirit. Aren’t you?”
“Not yet.”
“You need to loosen up,” Monk said. “Stop being so uptight.”
“You’re calling me too uptight?”
“That’s what the Monk is saying.”
I narrowed my eyes at him accusingly. “Did Dr. Kroger put you up to this? Did he suggest that you follow me to Hawaii?”
“No,” Monk said. “I wanted to get away from the rat race.”
“You don’t commute, you don’t work in an office, you don’t punch a time clock, and you hardly deal with people at all,” I said. “What would you know about the rat race?”
“I live on the track. I saw two rats run across my fence last night,” Monk said. “Or at least I think I did.”
“It was probably a squirrel.”
“Commonly known as an enormous rat.” Monk smiled at the gate agent and tipped the open end of the candy box in his direction. “Would you like some?”
“Sure.” The agent smiled, reached his hand inside the box, and took one of the nuts. “Mahalo, bro.”
“Aloha.” Monk popped another nut into his mouth and headed jauntily down the gangway into the plane.
I had an awful feeling that it was going to be a very, very long week. And I didn’t even know about the murders then.
Mr. Monk Arrives
As we flew over Kauai on our approach to Lihue Airport, I was surprised by how rural the island seemed compared to Oahu. I’d expected it to be much more developed, with a Waikiki-like shoreline crammed with hotel towers. But it wasn’t. The beaches looked virtually pristine, and the hotels were low-lying and spaced well apart, all against a backdrop of lush green mountains covered with rain forests and streaked with waterfalls.
The first thing that struck me as Monk and I walked through the tiny airport were all the smiling faces. Outside of Disneyland, I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people smiling.
But nobody was paying them to pretend it was the happiest place on earth. These were definitely real smiles—the smiles of people who’d experienced, or were about to experience, paradise. I know, because I had one of those smiles, and so did Monk. In fact, he had the biggest smile I’d ever seen before on his face. For a moment I was almost glad he’d come along. That moment passed quickly when I remembered that eventually his medication would wear off.
The air was warm and moist, and a nice breeze blew through the wide-open baggage-claim area. I was stunned to see Monk pulling only two suitcases, the same number that I’d brought, off the baggage carousel.
Once, when his apartment building was
