Seven weeks later, autumn was in full swing and Natalie had entered her third trimester of pregnancy. This particular morning found the couple on their way to the precinct. They dropped off Sophia with Beth Evans and were driving in to finalize paperwork on a homicide case they had been working on for the past several weeks, the perpetrator finally caught.

"What time did you tell Leland we would be there?" Natalie asked Adrian.

"10:00. Why?"

Natalie looked at her watch. "Oh good, we've got time."

"Time for what?"

"Food. I'm hungry."

"Hungry? You ate a big breakfast this morning?"

"I know, but I'm hungry again."

"Well, we don't have time to go back home."

"I know. Let's just go through a drive-thru. I'll get a breakfast sandwich."

Adrian made a disagreeable face. "Don't eat that. You'll thank me later."

"Why?"

"They're so greasy and crumbly."

Natalie returned his look with a pout and placed her hand on her now clearly visible bump. "Please, Adrian. We're hungry."

"It will give you heartburn."

She laughed. "I'll probably get heartburn anyway. I think he's going to have a lot of hair."

"You know that's an old wives' tale."

"I don't know. I didn't have any heartburn with Julie, and she was bald until she was two years old."

Adrian couldn't help but smile as he looked at his wife. He was convinced she was growing more lovely by the day. "Okay sweetheart, whatever you want, but no eating in the car." He rolled his shoulder at the thought of greasy, fast-food crumbs in his immaculate car.

She grinned. "Deal."

Natalie was inspecting the contents of her fast-food bag when her cell phone rang. "Good morning, Captain," she said into the phone. "Yes, he's here, but he's driving. What? You're kidding. Okay, we'll be right over."

"What is it?" Adrian asked at the same moment his own cell phone rang.

Natalie fished it out of his pocket and looked at the caller ID. "It's your dad," she said before answering it. "Hi, Jack. Yes, yes, Captain Stottlemeyer just called. We're on our way."

Adrian looked at Natalie. What's going on?"

"You're not going to believe this."

"What?"

"Your dad's neighbor, the one who passed away…."

"Yes."

"His son was killed last night in his old house. Ambrose found him this morning."

Monk and Natalie turned the corner, but well before they reached Bob Sanders' home, they could see the flashing blue lights of the police cruisers parked in front of it. Bob had died in that home seven weeks earlier. Now, his son Derek lay dead there as well. Adrian silently mulled over the shocking news while he drove. He couldn't help but think of Jack's insistence that Bob had been murdered by real estate investor, Brian Hamilton, even though there had been no evidence to indicate any degree of foul play. All evidence pointed to heart failure, which for a sixty-eight-year-old man with a history of heart problems did not seem unreasonable, despite Jack's suspicions regarding the somewhat odd relationship between Sanders and Hamilton. Monk again wondered if he had missed something regarding the elder Sanders' death. Is it possible his death and the death of his son could be connected?

Adrian slowed his black Honda Civic as he approached the house and looked for a place to park. He pulled to the side of the road, careful not to go too far into the grass. Once safely parked, he turned to Natalie. "Wait for me to come around for you. The ground might be slippery from the rain."

Natalie bit her tongue and nodded, knowing the argument would be futile. Adrian had a protective nature, especially around those he loved, but since she became pregnant, that protective nature had gone into overdrive. It had been sweet and endearing at first, but she was beginning to find it annoying. She was by nature an independent person, so it was hard for her to have someone hovering over her all the time. She knew he did it out of love, but still….

After taking his time stepping over and around the muddy spots on the ground, Adrian helped Natalie out of the car, her fast-food sandwich forgotten in its paper bag. They made their way back around to the pavement, and Natalie looked ahead to try and find Leland in the sea of uniformed officers and crime scene investigators. After a few steps, her hand slipped away from Adrian's arm when he stopped walking alongside her. She turned back and found him looking at the ground in between one of the cruisers and the captain's unmarked car.

"What are you looking at?" she asked, going back to stand beside him.

"The tire tracks," he said.

"Which ones?"

"Those," he said pointing. "Do you see how they are different from the others around them?"

She bent over and looked closer. "No, not really."

"Well, for one, they are deeper and two, the pattern is different. That's not the kind of tire that is used on police cruisers. It also doesn't look like it matches the ones on Derek Sanders' car. Those look like big, knobby tires, like the ones they put on off-road vehicles."

"Is that important?" Natalie asked.

"It could be." Monk turned and looked at the street. "Do you see that? Those same tracks continue out onto the street." He walked out to one of the tracks and bent down to touch it. He stood back up and took out a wipe. "They're dry. They were left here some time ago."

Turning towards the house, they saw Lieutenant Dwayne Washington in the doorway. He waved and they made their way towards him. While climbing the steps, Monk's sharp eyes saw a crack in one of the porch floorboards just before Natalie's high-heeled pump got stuck in it.

"Watch out!" He said, grabbing her by the arm.

Dwane grabbed her other arm at the same time. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine," said Natalie, trying to control her irritation. I'm pregnant, not crippled, she thought.

Once her husband and the lieutenant let go of her arms, Natalie smoothed her dress, the loose, flowing material a departure from her former pencil skirts and fitted tops.

"Good morning," said Washington, giving Monk a fist bump.

"Is my brother still here?" Monk asked.

"Yes," said Washington. "He's in the living room with your father."

"How's he doing?" asked Natalie.

"He's pretty shaken up. We're letting him pull himself together before we question him any more."

"Natalie, why don't you go sit with him while I take a look around," Adrian said, knowing the calming effect she had on himself was equally as effective with Ambrose.

Natalie left the foyer just as Captain Stottlemeyer approached.

"Thanks for coming," said the captain, his toothpick bobbing against his lip.

"What are the odds?" asked Monk, moving to the side to allow room for the uniformed officers going by.

"Of his being murdered within a few weeks of his father's death in the same house?"

"Yes. I'm beginning to wonder if Jack was on to something when he insisted the elder Sanders had been murdered."

"Perhaps," said Stottlemeyer, "but let's see if we can figure out what happened here last night before we open that can of worms."

Monk shuddered at the thought of worms, and he couldn't imagine why anyone would want a can of them, but he kept the thought to himself and followed the other detectives through the house.

As they walked down the hall, towards the sheet-covered body, Monk had to step over multiple piles of papers, books, pictures, and other various items which had seemingly once belonged in the overturned boxes on top of the piles. "Do you know what happened here?" asked Monk, rolling his shoulder as he tried to control the urge to clean the mess.

"I was hoping you could figure that out. Ambrose said the front door was locked when he arrived here this morning, so he went around to the back. It was unlocked, and there were no signs of forced entry. At this point, we believe our victim knew the perpetrator."

"So, either this mess was the result of a fight or the perpetrator was looking for something. Do we have a time of death?"

"The coroner is calling it at approximately 8:30 pm."

They stopped in front of the victim, who lay at the bottom of the stairs. "Did he fall?" asked Monk.

"We don't think so. It's more likely he was backed into the stairwell. "Here, take a look," he said, removing the sheet.

Thirty-four-year-old Derek Sanders lay in a pool of his own blood. He was dressed in paint-stained cargo pants and a grimy grey sweatshirt. Monk squatted down to get a closer look. He noted a collection of haphazard stab wounds in the victim's abdomen, providing a rather grisly scene for Ambrose to have found. "Do we have the murder weapon?"

"We think this is it," said Washington, holding up an evidence bag. "It looks like it came from the kitchen. The knife drawer was left open."

"Any prints on it?" asked Monk.

"No, it was wiped clean," said the lieutenant.

"These stab wounds are rather shallow," he said, looking back up.

"One of the CSI techs said the same thing," said the captain. "Do you think it was a woman?"

"I think so, or a smaller, weaker man. Look at the placement and direction of the wounds," he said, pointing at the victim. "Not only are they shallow, but they were also inflicted in an upward motion, and they are all in the abdomen. None are in the chest." He stood and pulled out a disinfectant wipe from his jacket pocket.

"Sanders was not a small man," said Stottlemeyer. "He looks to be 6'3" or 6'4", 250 pounds. Couldn't he have defended himself from a much smaller attacker?"

"He should have been able to," said Monk, cleaning his hands, "unless he was intoxicated or incapacitated in some other way."

Monk looked around, then he held his hands in front of himself, fingers spread wide. Most of the old furniture had been removed from the home, and instead, paint cans, tarps, lumber, and other indicators of remodeling work lay spread throughout. Before long, his investigation led him into the mostly-bare kitchen where he found two clear wine glasses lying in the sink. On the green Formica counter, beside the sink, sat an opened bottle of Dom Perignon. Monk raised an eyebrow before surveying the contents of the kitchen cabinets and decades-old refrigerator.

"Captain," he called out. "Was Derek Sanders expecting company last night?"

"Ambrose said he always came here alone after work. Why?"

"There are two wine glasses here in the sink and an open bottle of Dom Perignon. Don't you think this is a little odd? I don't see any food around here, so why would he be drinking alone while working? A beer maybe, but expensive champagne? And if he was expecting the kind of company he would share a glass of champagne with, he hadn't even bothered to change out of his dirty work clothes. Something just doesn't add up." He took the glasses out of the sink and held them up to the light before bringing each to his nose for a sniff.

Stottlemeyer joined Monk in the kitchen. "He had good tastes," he said, picking up the champagne bottle.

Monk's forehead wrinkled as he brought the glass in his right hand to his nose again."Take a look at this residue?" He asked the captain, holding it out for him to see.

"Do you mean those tiny white specks?"

"Yes, there aren't any in this one," Monk said, holding up the second glass.

"Well, what do you think it is?"

"I think it might be a drug of some sort. It was probably mixed with the champagne in the glass our victim used. I think the perp tried to drug our victim, but things didn't go as expected."

"Good work. I'll get this stuff bagged and order a tox report."

Monk made his way into the living room where Natalie stood beside a rather shaken Ambrose. Gone was the faded floral print furniture which had once occupied the room. In its place, folding lawn chairs had been brought in as a place to rest when needed. Ambrose occupied one, but the other two had been flipped on their sides. An old floor lamp lay beside them.

"Were these like this when you got here?" he asked Washington, who stood nearby.

"Yes," said the lieutenant. "They've been dusted, but they weren't moved."

Monk rubbed his forehead. "I think there may have been a struggle here."

Then, he turned his attention to a pile of paper on the floor. He squatted down and sifted through it with his pen. From what he could tell at first glance, it was nothing more than old correspondence and bills. He started to stand back up when something caught his eye. He reached forward and touched what appeared to be a dent in the hardwood floor. Upon closer examination, he noticed another and another. Once he knew what he was looking for, he realized there was a whole trail of the small dents marking the otherwise pristine, oak floor.

Stottlemeyer looked up from signing off on the paperwork from the coroner's office and watched Monk walk from the front door to the hallway, into the living room, then back out to the hallway, all the while looking directly at the floor with his hand out in front of him.

"What have you got, Monk?" he asked.

Monk held up his forefinger as he continued his journey through the kitchen and back out to the hallway, stopping in front of the staircase and looking up, rubbing his forehead as he did so.

"What is it?" Stottlemeyer asked again.

"These small dents," said Monk. "They start at the front door and go into the living room, where I think the perp sat with our victim before the struggle. From there, the trail leads into the hallway and around the overturned boxes. Then, they go back to the living room. From there, they lead to the open knife drawer, and finally end here, at the foot of the stairs."

"What do you think caused them?" asked Washington, joining them.

"I'm not sure, but it must have happened recently. Do you see the difference between the lighter kitchen floor and the darker wood in the living room and hallway? There are stacks of the same darker flooring in what used to be the dining room. I think Derek was in the process of replacing the floor. The kitchen hasn't been done yet, but he had to have replaced the hallway and living room floor within the last few weeks after he inherited the house."

"So, do you think it happened last night?" asked Stottlemeyer.

"I think it's quite possible," said Monk. "The trail is a little harder to follow on the old, kitchen floor, but it is consistent with what we think may have happened. Now, if we can just figure out what made the marks." He bent and touched one of the dents again.

"I would say it was caused by shoes," said Washington, "but there's only one. I suppose she could have had a peg leg, but that would have been a really skinny peg leg."

"What did you say?" asked Monk, looking up.

"I was joking, Monk," smiled Washington, "but I said maybe she made those marks with a really skinny peg leg."

Before the other detectives knew what was happening, Monk bolted to the living room in search of his wife. "Natalie, I need one of your shoes."

"What? Why?" she asked.

"Natalie. Please."

"Fine," she said, handing him one of her black pumps.

"Thank you," he said, taking it from her. He flipped it over and broke the protective rubber tip off the end of the heel.

"Hey!" Natalie said. "That's my favorite pair."

"He carried the shoe back to the kitchen where Stottlemeyer and Washington stood, waiting for an explanation.

"Look," he said, holding her shoe up to the men.

"Okay," said Stottlemeyer. "What does it mean?"

Monk pointed to the exposed metal at the bottom of the heel, then he placed the shoe on the floor, so the tip fit perfectly in one of the dents. "Did you know a 115-pound woman can exert as much as 1600 psi when wearing stiletto heels? That is more than enough to dent this floor, especially if the protective rubber tip was broken off."

Just as he finished his explanation, his eyes went wide and he ran back onto the porch. Squatting down beside the cracked floorboard, he pulled out his tweezers and poked around in the crack. A minute later, he pulled out a small, black object and held it up with a smile. "I believe this came off our perp's shoe."

"I see where you're going with this, but, unfortunately, it doesn't prove anything," said Stottlemeyer.

"That is true," said Monk. "It doesn't, but it is further evidence we are looking for a woman."

Once the rubber heel tip was bagged, Monk led Stottlemeyer and Washington to the street where he showed them the tire tracks in the mud and the dry ones on the street. "I think we should get pictures and castings of those tracks. They are tracks from the kind of tires usually found on four-wheel-drive vehicles. None of the vehicles parked here this morning, nor the victim's vehicle have those tires."

"Great work as always, Monk." Stottlemeyer looked towards the house. "Go take care of your family. Washington and I will talk to the neighbors and we'll compare notes later."

Monk nodded to his friend. "We'll see you at the station tomorrow morning."

Adrian handed Natalie's shoe back to her with a guilt-laden grimace. "I'll get it repaired, but you probably shouldn't be wearing those for now, anyway. Too much of a tripping hazard."

Natalie sighed as she rubbed one bare foot, then the other. "I love them, but you're right. I'm going to have to give them up until after the baby is born. They are making my feet hurt."

Ambrose gave her a weak smile. "How is my little niece or nephew doing?"

"Growing quickly," she said, placing her hand on her belly, "but how are you? This must have been quite a shock for you this morning."

He nodded and swallowed hard. "I…I'd like to go home now."

Jack stood and looked at Adrian, who nodded. "That's a good idea, son. Let's go home."

Once again, Adrian found himself sitting at his father and brother's kitchen table discussing the death of their neighbor. Jack placed coffee cups in front of Ambrose, Adrian, and Natalie, then joined them.

"Ambrose," Adrian began slowly, his brother's ashen complexion revealing his fragile condition. "I know Captain Stottlemeyer already asked you some questions concerning what happened this morning, but could you also tell me as much as you remember. It will help me figure out who did this."

Natalie, who was sitting next to her brother-in-law, rubbed his back while he took a few sips of his coffee. He closed his eyes for a moment, then reopened them.

Ambrose opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He took another sip of coffee and cleared his throat. "I…I was fixing some breakfast when Dad came back from his walk with Hero." His voice was weak, but he continued. "Dad said he was surprised to see Derek's car next door so early because he usually comes by after work in the evening. I…I said maybe he worked late, then decided to just sleep there."

"Or he got in a fight with his wife," interjected Jack.

"Was that happening a lot?" asked Natalie.

"Yeah," said Jack. "I guess inheriting the house put a lot of strain on their marriage. Derek wanted to keep the house and move into it. He was working really hard to get it up to his wife's standards, but I guess nothing seemed to satisfy her. I don't think she really wanted it in the first place. I think she wanted to sell it and stay where she is. I suppose that's what will happen now that Derek's gone."

Adrian and Natalie exchanged a glance before Adrian continued. "So, back to this morning. Why did you go over there, Ambrose?"

"Well, I… as I said, I was fixing breakfast and I ended up making more than I knew Dad and I could eat, so I thought I would invite Derek to join us. I don't think he's much of a cook, and he doesn't even have much food over there."

"That was very nice of you," said Natalie, rubbing his arm.

"Thank you, Natalie," he said.

"Okay," said Adrian. "You went next door. Then what?"

Ambrose furrowed his brow as he looked in the distance. He took a deep breath and let it out. "I walked up to the porch and knocked, but he didn't answer. I tried to open the door, but it was locked, so I went around to the back. I started to knock there, but I noticed the door was cracked open, so…so I stepped in and called his name…." He stopped and looked in the distance again. Then, he shook his head and took a long drink of coffee. He held the cup out towards Jack. "Dad, could you…."

Jack took the cup from him. "Yeah, no problem."

Once Ambrose had his coffee cup refilled, Adrian said, "Ambrose, I know this isn't easy, but please tell me exactly what you saw when you opened the door."

Ambrose lifted his head and looked directly into his brother's eyes. "How do you do this, Adrian? How do you see people mur…murd…murdered in cold blood and just go on." He shook his head.

"Seeing something like that is hard for anyone the first time," said Natalie. "It's still hard for me, and I'm sure it is for Adrian, but we keep doing it because we don't want the people who do these horrible things to keep walking the streets."

Ambrose nodded. "You're both very brave. Once…once was enough for me."

"What did you see Ambrose?" asked Adrian. "Help me put who did this behind bars."

Ambrose took another deep breath. "When Derek didn't answer, I…I called his name again, and l looked around. Then…then…I saw him." He stopped to wipe the tears that were now rolling down his cheeks, but he continued. "It was aw…awful…blood every…everywhere."

"Did you find the murder weapon?" asked Adrian.

"Yes," said Ambrose. "It was on the floor next to…next to Derek."

"Thank you, Ambrose," said Adrian.

Ambrose gave his brother a weak smile and nodded.

Adrian looked between his father and Ambrose. "Now, did either of you see or hear anything last night or early this morning that seemed out of the ordinary?"

"I was in bed by 8:00," said Ambrose, "and you know how loud Dad keeps the TV when he's watching it. I don't think he could have heard anything else."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Who goes to bed at 8:00? But to answer your question, no I didn't see or hear anything, except for those muddy tire tracks out in front of Bob's house this morning."

"Yes, I noticed those too," said Adrian. "Dad, do you know how long it's been since Derek installed those new oak floors?"

"He just replaced that flooring this past weekend."

"Do you know if anyone has been in there other than Derek since the floor was laid?"

"Not that I know of. He finished the floors late Sunday night, then the place was locked up yesterday until he came home from work." He leaned back and crossed his arms. "So, do you believe me now?"

Adrian took a sip of his coffee and set it down. "Believe what, Dad?"

"That Brian Hamilton killed Bob Sanders, that's what."

"I know how you feel, but there is still no evidence against him. Just because he wanted to buy the house doesn't make him guilty."

"Okay, okay," said Jack, throwing his hands in the air. "But doesn't it seem like a bit of a coincidence to you? You can't tell me, with your inquisitive mind, you're not at least a little intrigued."

"Yes, I'm intrigued, and we will talk to him, but we can't just go accusing someone based on a feeling. There has to be evidence."

"All right, you're the detective," said Jack, sounding defeated.

Adrian and Natalie spent a few more hours with Jack and Ambrose to make sure Ambrose would be all right. Jack showed them his latest remodeling projects, then they joined Ambrose in the living room where he remained uncharacteristically quiet. After a short while, he rose from his chair and began to walk away.

"Where are you going, Ambrose?" asked Natalie.

Ambrose turned towards his guests. "I don't mean to be rude, Natalie, Adrian, but I think I will go to bed now."

Jack looked at his watch. "It's only 4:00. We haven't even had dinner yet."

"I know," said Ambrose, nodding, "but I am very tired. Now, if you'll excuse me."

Natalie stood and gave him a hug, then he left the room, his family watching him go.

Adrian rolled his shoulder and adjusted his neck as he worried about his brother. Ambrose had always been gentle and sensitive. Finding a murder scene such as the one next door would certainly not be easy for him. That, along with his agoraphobia, which made him fear the world outside his home, would understandably affect him deeply.

Jack looked across the room to his younger son. "Will he be okay?"

"Most witnesses of murder scenes recover within a reasonable amount of time, depending on how close they were to the victim, but of course, Ambrose isn't most people. Let's give him some time, but I may need to talk to Dr. Bell."

"Would you like some tea," Adrian asked Natalie later that evening at home.

"Yes, please. A nice Earl Grey sounds good."

"That has caffeine, and you know what the doctor said. You should be limiting your caffeine intake."

Natalie sighed. "All right, fine. I'll take a cup of chamomile then."

Adrian went to the kitchen, found her favorite teacup, and made her the tea. Bringing it back, he noticed she had taken off her slippers and was rubbing her feet. "Do your feet still hurt?" he asked with concern.

"Yes," she said, wincing. "I should have given up those heels weeks ago." She looked at her husband with the pout she knew he couldn't resist. "Will you rub them, please?"

Adrian set the tea on the end table beside her. "Feet, Natalie? You want me to touch your feet?"

She flashed him a flirty smile. "I washed them when I took my bath. They are nice and clean."

"Natalie, you know I don't mind most of your germs…or at least I've gotten used to them, but feet?"

He sat in his recliner and picked up his book, hoping she would forget about it, but when he looked at her a few minutes later, she was still staring at him.

She caught his eyes and crossed her arms. "So, let me get this straight. You'll change dirty diapers, but you won't rub your pregnant wife's hurting feet?"

"Nataliieee" he whined. Then he stopped, looked at her, and set his book down.

She watched as he went to the pantry. A minute later, he returned. Her gaze followed him as he sat on the couch beside her and donned a pair of latex gloves, the kind he used for changing Sophia's diapers. He laid a towel across his lap and patted his leg. "Give me your feet."

Natalie grinned and placed her feet on the towel. Twenty minutes later, she felt like a new woman. "Where did you learn to massage like that?"

"Oh, I'm a man of many talents," he said with a wink. Then, he removed the gloves and towel and invited Natalie to lean back against him.

A moment later, Natalie breathed a contented sigh as he began to knead the muscles of her neck, shoulders, and back. By the time he finished, she could have melted into him. "Thank you, babe. I feel so much better."

"Anything for you, sweetheart." He kissed her neck, then her cheek before turning her in his arms and finding her lips with his own. He pulled away and gazed into her face.

"You know, you're awfully hard to stay annoyed at," she said with a smile.

"Annoyed? What did I do?"

"You're just a little overprotective right now, that's all."

"It's just because I love you." He kissed her again. "And you," he said, placing his hand on her belly.