Read Mr. Monk is Cleaned Out for Free Online Page B

your parents for the money.”
    “They are not an ATM and you have to stop treating them that way.”
    “You could get a loan against the equity in our house.”
    “You’re just full of ideas of things that I can do to generate cash,” I said. “What about things that you can do?”
    “You’re the parent. I’m the child. It’s your job to support me and give me the resources I need to thrive in the world.”
    “Suddenly when money is involved, you’re a child. But when it comes to staying out on Friday night, you want to be treated as an adult. Do you see the contradiction there? The hypocrisy?”
    “Not really,” she said.
    “Now you’re just playing dumb,” I said, getting up. “I’ll get your bike fixed. That way we don’t have to have this car conversation again.”
    “I’m going to need a car someday,” she called after me as I walked away.
    “I’m sure you will. And when that day comes, I hope you have some money set aside to buy one.”
    I didn’t tell her that my parents bought me a car when I was her age and I wasn’t going to volunteer the information anytime soon, either. There was no benefit right now in her knowing that hypocrisy was a family trait.
     
    In the morning, I folded the backseat down and we wrestled the bike into my car through the trunk. One of the tires brushed against my pants in the struggle, leaving a tiny smudge that I couldn’t wipe off. If I wasn’t seeing Monk, I would have ignored the mark and gone about my business. But it was a workday, and Monk expected me at his door promptly at ten a.m.
    I was tempted to yank the bike out of the car and make Julie take it to the shop herself, but I’m not that vindictive. At least not when I’m in a hurry.
    So I ran back into the house and changed my pants, which only left me enough time to drop off Monk’s dirty clothes at Goodwill before going to his house. The bike repair would have to wait until the end of the day.
    Monk was lying on his couch, licking his lips and gasping for each breath, when I came in.
    “Captain Stottlemeyer called,” Monk wheezed. “He wants us to come down to the station.”
    “Has there been a break in the case?”
    “I don’t know. But I can’t go.”
    “Why not?”
    “Can’t you see?” Monk said. “I’m a desiccated corpse.”
    “You’re not a corpse yet.”
    “I feel dead. Are you sure I’m not dead?”
    “Corpses don’t whine.”
    “But I’m desiccated,” he said. “I’ll be nothing but bleached bones soon.”
    “How are your bones going to get bleached in a dark apartment?”
    “I’m going to leave a can of bleach here beside the couch and detailed instructions for you when you find my bones.”
    “I’m not bleaching your bones, Mr. Monk.”
    “Some assistant you are,” he said. “What do I pay you for?”
    “Come to think of it, you haven’t paid me this month,” I said. “Thanks for reminding me.”
    He groaned. And wheezed. And gasped.
    I ignored his death throes and went to his desk, took out his checkbook, and brought it over to him.
    “Can’t you see I’m withering away? How can you take money from me while I’m withering?”
    I handed him a pen. “Because I’ve earned it.”
    “Maybe tomorrow,” he said. “If I feel more moist.”
    “If you don’t write that check, get off that couch, and go down to see the captain, I am going to take a sip from one of your last bottles of Summit Creek.”
    “You wouldn’t dare,” he said.
    “I happen to have a bottle right here,” I said, reaching into my purse for it.
    “Okay, okay, relax. Don’t do anything that I’ll regret.” Monk sat right up and filled out the check. “You realize that putting a gun to a person’s head and forcing him to sign a document against his will nullifies it.”
    “I’m not putting a gun to your head,” I said. “It’s a bottle of water.”
    “It’s the same thing.” He tore off the check and handed it to me.
    “Have a teaspoon of water and let’s