Read Mr. Monk Helps Himself for Free Online

brogue. I could hear a few keystrokes on a computer. “Room 714. Can I help you?”
    “I hope so,” I said, trying for the spoiled, privileged persona that could get me the answers I wanted. “This room you gave us just won’t do. Won’t do at all.”
    “Sorry to hear that,” he said smoothly. “You are in one of our finer junior suites.”
    “But it’s not the room I reserved. I demand you switch us to another.”
    “I’m afraid that’s impossible, ma’am. We’re fully booked. Fully booked for the next three nights, in fact.”
    “Well, I reserved this well in advance. And I did not reserve a junior suite.” I winked in Ellen’s direction. If it hadn’t been so serious, we would have laughed.
    “Give me a minute. I’ll pull up your reservation.” After another thirty seconds of keystrokes . . . “Here it is. Yes. Yes, it appears you did reserve a junior suite. I can e-mail you a copy of the reservation if you want.”
    “Are you sure?” My words were full of accusation. “I made this reservation back in April and I’m sure I stipulated a full suite with a view of Union Square.”
    “No, ma’am. You made this reservation in May. May thirteenth. There’s a note here saying it was our last available suite, so perhaps you did ask for a full suite but we were unable to accommodate you. I apologize if there was some misunderstanding.”
    I spent the next few minutes apologizing myself, the only genuine part of my entire call, and got off the phone before he could insist on getting my e-mail address.
    I turned to Ellen. “They reserved it three weeks ago. Three full weeks.”
    “So what? They planned a little getaway,” she said. “Not all trysts are spontaneous.”
    “But how did they know they would be free? I don’t mean ‘free’ as in being a widower. I’m talking about their schedule.”
    I went to my bag and pulled out the printed schedule. It was on page two. “Tonight Damien and Miranda were to hold a round-robin meditation workshop. It’s the centerpiece of the retreat. Teresa had a nutrition lecture lined up after dessert, which sounds like an odd time to lecture about nutrition, but it’s on the schedule.”
    I turned to page three. “Tomorrow morning, Damien has a nine a.m. lecture and Teresa starts her massage schedule at eight. I know because I’m her eight o’clock.”
    “Hmph. I don’t get it. They were planning to skip out?”
    “Not in the middle of a retreat. These things are twice a month, on the weekends. If they wanted to run off, they could do it any other time, without screwing up the schedule.”
    “I still don’t get it.”
    If Monk had been here, I wouldn’t have had to explain. Then again, if Monk had been here, he would have beaten me to it. “Ellen, they knew three weeks ago that the rest of the weekend would be canceled.”
    “How could they know?” She held out her hand flat, like a stop sign. “Wait. You’re saying they knew this would happen?”
    “And they knew they would want to get away afterward. Be together and avoid the press.”
    “You’re serious? Three weeks ago they knew Miranda would commit suicide today? How?”
    “Because they drove her to it. They made her.”
    “I hate to keep saying this, but how?”
    I didn’t know. But it made a lot more sense than the nonsense I’d been living with for the last six hours. Miranda Bigley didn’t kill herself. She couldn’t have. Someone forced her to do it.

CHAPTER FIVE
    Mr. Monk and Number 99
    I woke up the next morning surprised I had slept so well. I’m sure the wine had had something to do with it. And that fact that I had a theory now. True, it wasn’t the most plausible theory. How exactly do you drive a person to kill herself, and on an exact, prearranged date? Nevertheless, I had a theory.
    I started the day with a mug of Peet’s French Roast, extra-strong, my usual remedy for the grape-induced cobwebs, but skipped the English muffin and granola. I figured I would save