The Wrong Note

Mr. Monk Meets the Medium (and Allison Dubois Has a Dream)

As promised, here is chapter 1 early :)

xXx

"Sharona, are you sure you've got your brights on? You're driving in the dark in a strange city, you need to make sure your brights are on."

"Adrian, for the fifth time, my brights are on. I am not checking them again. You can see the dash yourself!"

"But—"

"No! No 'buts,' Adrian!" Frustration thickened the woman's already strong Jersey accent, and she shook her head. Most of her dirty blonde curls were pinned up into a bun, but the ones that hung free bounced with the motion. "I knew we should've stopped at a hotel. I can't believe I let you talk me into driving at night."

"I can't believe I let me talk you into it, either," the man whispered, earning himself a sharp glare from the woman behind the wheel. "Slow down more."

"I am already going five miles under the speed limit. There's nobody else around—I should be going five over!"

"No! No." The man shook his head, back stiff against his seat. His dark brown curls were far tighter than the woman's, remaining still despite his rapid motion. "No, don't do that. Ever. Just slow down... a little."

The woman shot him an irritated look. "Adrian, if I slow down anymore, we won't be back in San Francisco by tomorrow. In fact, we might not be back by next year."

"That's—That's not funny, Sharona. Don't say that."

"You're damn right it's not funny!" She eased up on the accelerator all the same, though not without shooting the man beside her another withering glare. "If I didn't know you'd crash my car, I'd make you drive. In fact, when we get back home—"

The man shushed her, ignoring her aggravated huff as he leaned forward and squinted at the dark road before them. "Speaking of car crashes... Pull over."

"What?"

"There." The man pointed to their left, and the woman gasped, one hand flying up to cover her mouth.

"Oh my God!"

"Pull over," the man repeated, and she did so without complaint.

The two had indeed stumbled upon a car crash, and a nasty one at that. A silver Toyota was flipped upside down on the side of the road, half buried in a ditch. Shattered glass and broken metal was scattered all around the wreckage. Once the woman had parked her golden station wagon, both she and the man climbed out and approached the destruction.

"What happened here?" the woman whispered in horror. One hand clutched the straps of a black purse hanging on her right shoulder. "You think they were speeding?"

The man glanced at the road behind them, shifting his shoulders before moving closer to the wreckage. "No skid marks. If nothing else, they weren't braking." He crouched near the back of the car, tilting his head. "There's still wet oil here." He pulled a silver pen out of his brown jacket, brushing aside a few dead leaves. "And the grass is still green... ish. The soil is healthy. For now."

"Okay," the woman said after a pause. "What does that mean?"

The man stood, tucking his pen back into the inner pocket of his jacket. "It means this happened recently. Probably less than an hour ago." He snapped his fingers. "Wipe."

The woman rolled her eyes but removed a plastic blue pack from her purse, pulling out a towelette.

The man accepted it, cleaning his hands before pointing at the front of the car. "Sharona, check the driver's seat. It doesn't look like they were ejected during the crash."