"Oh boy, oh my," Adrian grimaced as they pulled onto his old street. His once pristine house was now a smoldering ruin. Fire trucks were parked all over the street, with several firefighters still trying to put out scattered flames. The detective rushed from the car once it came to a complete stop. "I'm Adrian Monk," he introduced himself to the sheriff, "Is my brother OK?"

"Right here, Adrian," Ambrose Monk stumbled over. He had a slight burn on his forehead, but looked remarkably unhurt otherwise. "Hello Natalie, Sharona," he greeted the women as they joined his brother, looking a little surprised to see the latter again.

Sharona put her hand to Ambrose's head. "How did you get off so well?" she asked, also amazed he'd survived the blast in one piece.

"I was in the attic when it happened," Ambrose explained, "One minute I'm searching through some of my old newspapers, and the next thing I know, I'm flying like a kite. Fortunately I landed in the tree across the street."

"He was really lucky," added a nearby medic, "He strained some muscles, but that was about it."

"I see," Adrian strolled over to the side of the house and smashed the only window that hadn't been broken by the blast, "What happened? Did you see who did it?"

"Well, about an hour and a half ago, I was busy finished typing out the instruction manual to the Ronco mixer," Ambrose told him, "And the doorbell rings. I look out and there's this guy in a gas company suit who tells me he's here to inspect the works. I was a little suspicious at first, since the gas was just done a month ago, but I figured, sure, why not, better safe than sorry, so I let him go into the basement. As you can see, big mistake."

"We called the gas company," the sheriff said, "They never sent anyone here. This house wasn't to be checked again for another month."

"Did you get a good look at him?" Natalie asked Ambrose.

"A sixty percent look, but he was wearing dark glasses and his hat was pulled down low," Ambrose said, "Plus, I didn't recognize his voice."

"He gave us a preliminary sketch," the sheriff waved to a deputy, who held up a piece of paper with a drawing of the perpetrator. Adrian squinted at it. "He looks sort of familiar, but I can't quite place him," he said.

He planted the bomb in the basement behind the chemical toilet," the sheriff said, "Come with me and take a look."

"I'll stay here and look after him," Sharona put her arm around Ambrose, which made the shut-in man crack a smile, "You two check it out."

"OK," Adrian had never been comfortable going into the claustrophobic confines of his basement, but he had to know what had happened. He and Natalie followed the sheriff into the basement, which was in utter disarray from the blast. "He put it right over here," the sheriff pointed to the bomb's location behind several shattered pipes, "Several pounds of C4 packed into the back here, arranged…"

Adrian darted over to the blast point, a wave of familiarity coming over his face. He made several hand gestures, waving them up in the air like lines generating from the bomb. "Excuse me, could this have been detonated by a cell phone?" he asked the sheriff.

"Well, it does look like it was detonated away from this basement," the sheriff mused, "Yeah, I guess it could have been a cell phone blast. Why?"

"Oh, just curious," Adrian said. He was wincing from claustrophobia. "Come on Natalie, I think we've seen…walls, closing in…."

"Let's go," Natalie took his arm and led him outside into the sunlight. What was that about?" she asked him.

"This bomb, it's basically the same kind that was used to kill Trudy," Adrian said, a strange look on his face, "Maybe I'm getting close to something here on this case, and they're coming after Ambrose now."

"Well Mr. Monk, I'm sure there are several crooks out there who build bombs like this," Natalie wasn't quite as convinced, "This might just be something that…"

She abruptly stopped as something up the street caught her attention. She stared intently for a minute at a figure that was standing on the far corner. Then suddenly took off running toward it. Adrian jogged hard to keep up with her. "What?" he asked her when he did, "What is it?"

"I could swear I just saw Mitch right now," Natalie was looking blank.

"Mitch? Here?" it was her boss's turn to be unconvinced.

"He was standing right there staring at me," Natalie pointed at the spot, which was empty now, "It looked just like him."

"Hmm," Adrian thought over the possibility. All likelihood from what he'd been told was that there was practically no chance for Mitch to have been able to make it to San Francisco…but then again, nothing was ever impossible. Could it have been him?

"Well, maybe he'll call later,' he suggested as the two of them walked back to what was once Ambrose's house. He stopped by the tree out front and started tearing leaves off the lowermost branch. "What are you doing now, Adrian?" Sharona joined them.

"The leaves, there's more on the left side of the branch than the right, I'm evening them out," Adrian said, trying to make sure the leaves were directly lined up across from each other. Sharona snatched the branch away from him. "Please, just leave the leaves alone!" she told him.

"So he's OK then?" Adrian glanced at Ambrose seated in the front doorway.

"Miraculously," Sharona told him, "You got anything?"

Adrian explained his observations to her. "I'd better go check on him," he said, walking over toward his brother. "So, where are you going to stay now?" he asked him, not willing to actually sit with him on the dirty steps.

"Here, where else?" Ambrose gestured around at his house.

"Ambrose, this place is trashed," Adrian pointed out, "Surely you could find a motel somewhere."

"Uh, no, I'm fine here," Ambrose was unswayed, "Besides, Dad's bound to hear about this, and when he does, he'll come by to check on…"

Adrian rolled his eyes. "I highly doubt that," he told his brother.

"Oh really Mr. Smarty?" Ambrose was defiant, "Well, he DID stop by on Halloween; that wasn't a dire emergency, so since this is, he'll show, you'll see!"

"I've got an idea," Adrian proposed. It was one he had a feeling he'd hate himself for in the morning, but it was worth it. "Why don't you come stay with us?"

"Well, your place isn't this house and…" Ambrose protested.

"Come on, it's Christmas, and, well, we've been apart for a long time," Adrian pressed. Ambrose shrugged and said, "OK, but I've got to come back here and check on this house at regular intervals."

Whatever," Adrian shrugged, "Why don't we get your things that haven't been destroyed and take them home—well, first let's go out somewhere, I think you need some more clothes."

"Adrian, does the word credit limit mean anything to you?" Sharona was griping as they entered the detective's apartment a couple of hours later.

"He's my brother, and it's Christmas," Adrian said in self-defense. He took the bags she and Natalie had been carrying and started laying out each of the forty identical shirts, pants, and vests he'd brought for Ambrose on the couch in perfect order.

"My credit card can't suppose this many goods!" the nurse kept protesting, "Do you have any idea how far in debt this leaves me?"

"I'll pay you back, Sharona."

"Oh, that'll happen. Since when have you ever given me ANY money, Adrian?"

Adrian paid no attention. "Come on in, Ambrose," he waved to his brother, who hesitantly walked in carrying the few possessions he'd managed to bring from his house: his typewriter, several files, a 3-D chess game, several encyclopedias, and a few pictures of their father. "Nice, very nice," the instruction manual writer said, glancing around his brother's apartment, "This must cost a lot."

"Oh it a liv—don't touch the table!" Adrian flew across the room and stopped Ambrose before he could straighten out the crooked coffee table. "Do NOT, under any circumstances, move this table!" he told him.

"Why? Everything else…oh yeah, Trudy," Ambrose flushed with realization as to his brother's habits with his wife.

"Why don't we get you set up in here?" Natalie led Ambrose into the den. As she passed it, she hit the play button on the answering machine. The first message brought everyone to a halt: "Adrian, it's me, Ambrose," said a rather weak imitation of Ambrose's voice, "Something's come up; can you come here to Tewksbury right away?"

Everyone stared at the machine. "I sure didn't leave that message," Ambrose said, looked shocked.

"The bomb," Adrian was shocked himself, "It was meant for me. They were trying to lure me in."

"They must be really desperate to keep you off the case," Sharona figured, "But who at the plant would have the time to set up the blast that soon after we found the missing waste?"

"Maybe the suspect isn't at the plant," Natalie theorized, "Maybe it's someone else who doesn't like us."

"What are you suggesting? Eric and Rochelle did it?" Adrian asked her. Although neither of Clarissa's parents had liked him, he never thought of them as willing to stoop to kill him.

"Well Mr. Monk, you said no possibility's impossible," Natalie pointed out, "And they had the opportunity."

"I suppose we could ask; they won't be too happy though, I can guarantee you that," Adrian said.

"I'll just make myself comfortable then, I guess?" Ambrose inquired.

"Before you do, Ambrose, just a few simple rules," Adrian told him, "First, make sure you keep everything in this apartment in straight lines and right angles at all times. Second, clean every dish you eat off of immediately. Third, try not to use the bathroom unless it's an absolute emergency. Keep those in mind and you'll be fine."

"Sure, if you say so," Ambrose plopped down on the couch and turned on CNN. Adrian waved at him to sit in the exact center of the sofa, and then fluffed up the pillow Ambrose had sat on and laid it exactly opposite from the pillow on the right side of the couch. "Enjoy," he told his brother before he left with the women.