Flowers on Your Grave

Evening Day 1 – Beckett's Apartment

Detective Kate Beckett pushed the door closed behind her with her foot and sighed. She moved away from the door and placed the pizza carton in the oven, turning it on to low heat before heading for the bedroom.

She pulled off her shoes, happy to stand flat footed on the carpet for a while flexing her toes. She carried her shoes to the closet, and placed them on the rack. Stepping over to the dresser, she opened the walnut box atop it and lifted the chain from around her neck. For a moment she held the chain up in front of her, watching the ring spin slowly back and forth before dropping it into her other hand and placing it carefully in the box. Next she removed her watch, rubbing her thumb lightly over the glass before laying it next to the chain and ring. She unclipped her badge and cuffs from her belt, set them next to the watch before removing the holstered Glock at the small of her back and laying it next to her badge. With an almost imperceptible sigh she lowered the lid, her evening ritual completed.

Turning back to the bed she pulled off her burgundy blouse and dropped it on to the covers, loosened her belt and slipped out of her navy blue slacks. She carried these over to the closet and placed them on a hanger.

Slipping out of her pants and bra she dropped them next to the blouse and pulled on a wrap from behind the bedroom door. Picking up the discarded clothes she went to the bathroom, dropped them into the laundry basket and turned on the bath. She added a few drops of Japanese Cherry Blossom to the water, picked up the lighter from the shelf and lit the candles set around the bathroom.

She went back out to the sitting room and picked up well-worn book from the coffee table. Kate paused to look at the title; A Raging Storm by Richard Castle, and couldn't avoid a certain feeling of irritation as she thought about the author. Kate had to admit that she had always had a special something for this guy, she had read every book he had written, had subscribed to his web page almost as soon as it had launched, and had awaited each new book with barely contained impatience … but today … God, he was a goofball! How could a guy, capable of writing like that be such an idiot!

With an exasperated sigh she tucked to book under her arm, took down a wine glass and eased the cork out of the Camelot Merlot bottle. She poured a good measure into the glass, re-corked the bottle and carried glass and book into the bathroom. Slipping out of the wrap, she eased herself into the bathtub, allowing the hot, cherry scented water to work its miracles on her tensed muscles.

She used her toes to turn off the tap, took a sip of wine and picked up the book. It was one of his earlier Storm ones and she had read and re-read it numerous times. It, like his other novels, still had the power of enthralment; they still managed to take her out of herself, to get so caught up in the adventure that she could still feel the satisfaction of good winning out over evil, of justice prevailing.

She opened it at the marker, allowed her body to slide a bit further down the bath and with candlelight flickering across the pages allowed the day's grime, sweat and stress to slake away.

Half an hour later, relaxed, Kate slipped the page holder into place, closed the book and finished the last of the wine. Pulling the plug, she stood up and stepped out of the bath onto the mat, wrapped herself in her bathrobe, blew out the candles and picking up the book and now empty wine glass, headed for the kitchen.

She poured herself a second glass of wine, turned the oven off and removed the pizza from the oven. Carrying her trophies across to the settee, she switched on the TV and flicked through several channels before settling on a re-run of Philadelphia Story with Cary Grant, Katharine Hepburn and James Stewart whilst she ate her pizza.

Eventually, she stood up, cleared the table and went to change into a pair of yoga pants and sweatshirt. Back in the sitting room she looked at the shelves holding her books. Taking pride of place was her collection of Richard Castle books; from the earlier one-offs to the later Storm collection. Somewhere in there she felt, had to be the answer to this case. Somewhere in those books they would find the connection between these two murders.

Making a decision, she found a cardboard box in one of the cupboards and carefully packed her collection of Castle books into it. Tomorrow she would take it in to the precinct and they would go through them to try and find the link.

With a sigh, Kate placed to box by her front door, tidied up in kitchen and bathroom, put out the lights and headed for her bed. She lay there awake, her mind going over the day. She was used to the murder, the cruelty, the loss of life and dignity, used to it but not accepting of it. Two people had apparently pointlessly lost their lives. She would follow the clues and chase up any leads and not let the murderer or murderers get away with it. That was her silent promise.

With a sob Kate turned over onto her side, curling up into a foetal position as the overwhelming memories flooded over her. In silence, her body occasionally convulsing, she cried tears which soaked her pillow. Sometime later, anguish abated but hardly appeased, she drew the pillow from under her and swapped it for the other one on the bed.

She lay flat on her back, staring up at the vague patterns on the ceiling caused by street lights outside her window. Unwilling almost, her thought turned to the evening, to her meeting with the famous Richard Castle … the asshole.

Her mouth turned down at the corners as she ran through the evening's events. Heading for the book launch, she had reluctantly admitted a certain excitement to herself. She had not been surprised by Castle's response to her arrival, he was after all a well-known playboy, but she had to admit she had been disappointed in him.

As to his behaviour in the interrogation room, ughh!, although she had to admit, unconsciously biting her lower lip, that at times she had been hard put to keep a straight face. But he was a goofball, for god sakes … copies of the murder pics! Who on earth in their right minds would even think of making a request like that!

Kate turned over on to her side, her mind now running through the interview. He had a lovely smile, but if he thought he could charm her with that he was sadly mistaken. Huh! … and who on earth steals a police horse and rides naked through Central Park! ... as to her being a deranged fan … well ok, he had said she didn't appear deranged .. but of all the gall!

She turned back onto her other side, pulling the sheets up to her chin. He was just like a kid, for crying out loud ….. ok, those eyes of his … but no way was he going to …. Kate Beckett fell into a fretful sleep where deep blue eyes turned into sunflowers and rose petals became boyishly charming smiles.

Evening Day 1 – Castle Loft

Richard Castle pulled the two books from the shelves ….

"Yeah. It's just so senseless."

"Murder usually is." said Alexis

"No. Murder usually makes a great deal of sense. Passion, greed, politics. What's senseless here is the books that the killer chose. Hell Hath No Fury? Flower For your Grave? My truly lesser works. Why would a psychotic fan pick those?"

"Maybe because he's psychotic. Come on, it's bed time. You can figure it out in the morning."

With that, Alexis pulled him to his feet and led the way out of the room. Castle turned the lights off as he followed his daughter. Back in the living room Martha and Burt were still belting out Oklahoma! numbers. With a grimace, Castle hugged Alexis and gave her a good night kiss. He watched her blow a goodnight kiss to Martha on her way to the stairs up to her bedroom.

Gratefully he headed for his bedroom, closing the door behind him and shutting out the Broadway musical taking place in his living room.

With a sigh, he began stripping off his clothes and mulled over the night's events. He smiled at Detective Beckett's far from complimentary look to his 'Where would you like it?' comment.

Talking of which … wow! … what a hot cop! What was it about redheads and him? He headed smiling towards the bathroom and turned on the shower. As the hot water sluiced over his body, his mind went over the information Detective Beckett had wittingly and unwittingly given him. There was nothing with which to build a story on so far, but there had to be a story there … something that would make sense.

He stepped out the shower, grabbed a towel and began drying off. Suddenly he stopped, a smile slowly grew across his face and wrapping the towel round his waist he headed back to the bedroom. Picking up his phone he went to contacts and pulled up the Mayor's number.

"Hi Big Cheese! How's it going? ….. oh! You heard about that? …. yea, they did release me in the end … no, I was just thinking … I was wondering if you could get me in on the case? If the murderer is using my books I may be able to pick up on things which could help the boys in blue? …. Oh I can understand them not liking it, but … appreciated Bob, thanks … yeah I'll see you on Saturday …. Be good! "

With a smile of satisfaction he dropped the phone on the bed and headed back to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Switching off the lights he went back to the bedroom, picked up the phone and placed it on the bedside table and climbed in under the sheets.

He turned the lights off, stretched out, and proceeded to spend the next half an hour thinking about the redhead police detective, he had to admit he had enjoyed their interview … he chuckled to himself, that comment of his about her not looking deranged had hit home. How much of a fan was she? After all, who the hell had read Hell Hath No Fury!

Eventually tiredness won the battle and he sank into a deep sleep …..