Mr. Monk Has a Suspect (and Allison Dubois Worries About Joe)

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Apologies in advance to anyone with in-depth knowledge of symphonies (specifically the Phoenix Symphony); I tried to keep all music/organizational references specific enough to make sense in the story but vague enough where I didn't need to be Highly Accurate (bc that is not the point of this crossover lolol). Let's call it creative license, lmao. I hope y'all enjoy the chapter!!

xXx

Joe checked his watch as he jogged down the stairs, the clang of his shoes against the metal steps echoing through the quiet, isolated parking garage. Around his body was a satchel, his left hand clutching the bottom of the leather bag. His grip tightened when he reached the foot of the stairs, and he spared only a second to glance around him before continuing forward in search of his car.

He hadn't travelled more than a yard before a low click rolled through the garage.

"Is that you?" Joe called, slowing to a stop. "Hello?"

A second search of his surroundings revealed nothing out of the ordinary. Upon receiving no answer, either, Joe continued walking, though there was greater urgency to his step than before.

He began digging through his satchel, pulling out his keys before glancing behind himself yet again. Despite being the only person in the garage, Joe broke into a sprint, frantically looking all around until he arrived at his car.

"Come on, come on," he muttered, hands shaking and sweat beading his forehead as he fumbled shoving the key into the lock.

Once he managed to get his car open, Joe wasted no time climbing inside. He threw his satchel onto the passenger seat, and his still-shaking hands now struggled to slide the key into the ignition. A relieved exhale escaped his lips when he finally succeeded. Joe turned the key forward—

A massive explosion rocked the parking garage, a ball of fire surrounding his car and expanding yards and yards outward. Chunks of boiling metal and liquified plastic were sent flying into empty space, and all that remained in the driver's seat was—

"Joe!" Allison screamed, sitting bolt upright. Her body was drenched in cold sweat, and she immediately jerked to her left where her husband normally laid beside her.

Joe was nowhere to be found. Somehow, Allison managed to swallow a sob and take a deep breath as she checked the clock on her nightstand.

10:17 AM.

He hadn't been lying about letting her sleep in. God, that meant he'd already left for work. Did he use a parking garage? For the life of her, Allison couldn't remember, his workplace had changed so many times over the past few months.

She grabbed her cell phone off her dresser as she hastily made her way to the front of the house, tears trickling down her cheeks despite herself as she typed his number into the small keypad.

Cell. No answer.

Office. No answer.

"Dammit, Joe," Allison muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Pick up the phone!"

It was just a dream, she reminded herself, though that didn't stop her hands from shaking as she continued to dial. Just a dream.

On the fifth attempt, Allison turned on the TV, flipping through the channels in search of news, any news, about an explosion in a parking garage—maybe a car bomb, or some extreme vehicle malfunction. Going through every local station three times revealed nothing, and Allison exhaled a shaky breath. Waves of nausea still rolled about her stomach, but the worst of the storm was subsiding, even if sailing was nowhere near smooth. Whatever she'd seen... was preventable.

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