Mr. Monk Goes to Hawaii by Goldberg, Lee (best large ebook reader .txt) 📗

desk. The young man in the hotel’s uniform floral shirt and khaki pants looked exasperated, but as if he were trying his best to be polite. His name tag identified him as Tetsuo Kapaka.

“I don’t see the problem, sir,” Tetsuo said, acknowledging me with a polite nod.

“There are two Toblerones in the refrigerator but one of everything else,” Monk said.

“Yes,” Tetsuo said.

“That’s the problem,” Monk said. “I’m sure other guests have complained about it.”

“You’re the first, sir,” Tetsuo said.

“I ate the last one, just to get some peace, but while I was out the maid replaced it,” Monk said. “Can you believe that?”

“She was replenishing the minibar,” Tetsuo said.

“Is that what you call it?”

“It’s how the minibar system works.”

“It’s a corrupt system,” Monk said. “Because now there are two Toblerones again.”

“You could eat one.”

“Aha!” Monk exclaimed. “That’s exactly what you’d like me to do, keep eating those extra bars at six dollars apiece.”

“You don’t have to eat it, sir. You could ignore it.”

“Yeah, right. That’s like expecting me to sleep when there are towels in the bathroom that are rolled instead of folded.”

Tetsuo’s brow wrinkled with confusion. “Do the towels make noise?”

“Not that you or I would hear,” I said. “Not even dogs can pick it up.”

“I’ll instruct the maids not to replenish your minibar for the duration of your stay,” Tetsuo said to Monk.

“Admit it, this is just a clever scam by the management to force people into eating Toblerones at outrageously inflated prices.”

“No, sir.”

Monk lowered his voice. “Are you afraid of reprisals if you talk? Is that it? I’m a detective consulting with the Kauai PD. I can get you witness protection. We can rip this thing wide-open.”

“If there’s nothing else, Mr. Monk, I’ll be going.”

“How many Toblerones did Mrs. Gruber have in her SubZero refrigerator?”

“I don’t know sir,” Tetsuo said. “That wasn’t among her complaints.”

“What was she complaining about?” Monk said.

“Noise,” Tetsuo said. “She said she couldn’t get any peace with all the people screaming and yelling day and night all around her.”

“There must have been a lot of parties going on if she could hear them,” I said. “She wore hearing aids.”

“That’s the thing,” Tetsuo said. “Those bungalows are very quiet and secluded. She could barely hear me while I was talking to her. If she was hearing voices, they were in her head.”

“So what did you do?”

“I referred her to our manager, Martin Kamakele,” Tetsuo said.

Monk narrowed his eyes. “Is he the mastermind behind the Toblerone plot?”

“I don’t know, sir.” Tetsuo turned to the door. “Have a nice stay, and don’t hesitate to contact me if I can be of service.”

Monk stared after Tetsuo as he left. “That’s a man who lives in fear. There weren’t any Toblerones in Helen Gruber’s refrigerator. There wasn’t any candy at all.”

“Maybe she stumbled on the insidious Toblerone conspiracy and was killed to keep her quiet.”

“You’re joking, but those six-dollar bars add up,” Monk said.

“You work on that,” I said. “I’m going down to the beach.”

“You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“We’re in middle of a murder investigation.”

“I’m going to the beach.”

“I don’t think you’re going to have the time.”

I opened my bathrobe and let it drop to my feet. Monk threw his arm up in front of his eyes and turned away like a vampire facing a crucifix. At least he didn’t hiss.

“Mitch used to love this bikini. I haven’t worn it in years. What do you think of it?”

“There’s not enough of it,” he said from behind his arm.

“Good,” I said, and I left. As long as I was in a bikini, Monk wouldn’t get near me.

Mr. Monk Gets a Message

I dove into the waves and tried not to think about Monk’s description of the ocean, but I couldn’t get it out of my head, no matter how warm and wonderful the water felt. All I could see in my mind was raw sewage and fish excrement.

That’s what Monk does to a person. It’s insidious.

I let myself drift in the waves back toward the shore. Weaving my way through all the people on towels and beach chairs, I strode up the hot sand and, to my delight, found an empty hammock between two palms.

Lying there, gently swaying in the humid breeze, letting the sun dry the water from my skin, was like being cuddled by Mother Nature herself. I felt warm, safe, and incredibly relaxed. I drifted into a sweet, languorous nap.

I was awakened by a slight chill. I opened my eyes to see a dark cloud blocking the sun. Within an instant I was soaked by a tremendous downpour of hard-driving rain. My instinct was to run for shelter, but it was a warm rain, and I was in my bikini, so I stayed right where I was, giggling like a child.

I wasn’t the only one. The tourists in the ocean and the pool continued splashing around as if nothing had changed. Most of the people on the beach and on the chaise longues simply covered their heads with their towels, mostly to protect their magazines and books, Game Boys and laptops.

Even in the rain, Hawaii was paradise.

Almost as quickly as it began, the rain stopped and the cloud moved on. The sun shone even brighter, and so did everything else, the plants and flowers glistening with raindrops. The smell of the rain and all the fresh flowers filled the air and mingled with the salty spray of the sea.

Within a few minutes I was dry again, and thirsty. I needed something sweet and cold. I rolled out of my hammock, feeling all loose and lazy, and strolled slowly over to the poolside bar—a thatched-roof hut with several rattan bar stools in front.

I gave the bartender my room number and ordered a Lava Flow, a delicious concoction of frozen strawberries, coconut rum, piña colada mix, and bananas all whipped together and topped with a slice of pineapple and the requisite umbrella. I took my first sip and closed my eyes. I was so relaxed, I felt like I might