Rest, Relaxation, Murder

Season 9, Episode 10

Written by Trinity Everett

This is a work of fiction by writers with no professional connection to ABC network's Castle. Recognizable characters are the property of Andrew Marlowe and ABC. Names, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rosie Laka had been doing this job for a long time, almost longer than anyone else on staff. She had been at the resort through thick and thin, ownership changes and management shuffles. She knew what she was doing every step of the way.

Which was why she couldn't stand the woman whose room she had been sent to freshen up. There had been guests like her over the years, of course, but this one took the cake. Rude, demanding, flat-out mean; you name it, this woman could be described that way. It was a wonder the management hadn't asked her to go.

Although, given the the amount of money they were making from the miserable woman's long-term visit, it was fairly obvious why she was allowed to stay.

Not that that made it better for Rosie and the rest of the hotel staff who had to deal with the - and she hated using the word - bitch. They were still the ones waiting on the woman hand and foot while she looked through them as if they didn't exist.

And here Rosie was again, starting her shift - early, no less, since their esteemed guest needed these towels before her sunrise yoga - by wheeling her cart down the east wing of the hotel toward room 4717. In a couple of hours, the hotel would be a bustling center of activity, but before dawn it was every bit as calming and sleepy as one would expect.

Rosie thought about the people sleeping behind the closed doors. The people who would, at some point, awaken and make their coffee, or perhaps request it from room service, and settle out on their balconies to take in the shimmer of the sun on the aqua water and the delicate breeze they enjoyed on the windward side of the island. It was paradise to them, a getaway from the insanity of their normal lives.

She envied that.

Instead, she got to push her cart along the empty hall, listening to the quiet brush of the wheels on the carpet.

Upon reaching her destination, Rosie paused, taking a deep breath, steeling herself to deal with the worst guest she had ever encountered in the twelve years she had been working at the resort. She just had to knock, muster a smile, and deliver the still-warm towels straight to the bathroom. Then she would be free to go back to the lounge and wait for the day to actually begin.

She just had to do it.

Lifting her hand, Rosie rapped on the door as quietly as she could manage.

"Housekeeping," she added, as if there would be anyone else approaching a guest's door at this hour of the morning.

She waited, not wanting to be too overzealous in her task. Although it was typical of this guest to be waiting right by her door with her foot tapping, she could still be in bed or using the restroom.

When no answer came, she knocked again, adding, "Ms. Murphy, it's housekeeping with your towels."

Again, there was nothing to indicate that Susan Murphy was making her way through her suite to open the door. Rosie waited one more beat before fishing her master key from her pocket and using it to let herself into the room.

"Ms. Murphy," she called again, making a note of the drawn curtains, the warm glow from the lamp beside the plush chaise, the leftover food from a room-service order. "I've brought your towels."

Shifting said towels, she made her way toward the bathroom. If Ms. Murphy had stepped out, then she would just leave the requested towels and be done. All told, it would probably be the best exchange Rosie had had with the woman.

The solid wood door to the bathroom had been pulled shut, leaving Rosie to tap on it lightly. The last thing she needed was a sexual harassment complaint against her because she had walked in on the world's worst guest in the bath. When no answer came, she moved the door on its tracks, ready to make her deposit and go.

The pool of crimson stopped her in her tracks.

Rosie had seen many, many things in her time on the housekeeping staff at Hanalei Winds Resort - vomit, feces, even a few passed-out partiers - but never… never this.

Never the crumpled dead body of one of their guests. And she had to be dead; Susan Murphy's eyes were open, staring out at her, devoid of cognition.

Rosie's hold on the towels went slack, and the stark white terrycloth tumbled to the floor, narrowly avoiding the - God - the blood. She took a step back, knocking into the corner of the door.

And she screamed.

"Oops," Castle murmured around a bite of guava. Juice dripped from the piece between his fingers, blazing a trail over his wrist and down his arm, pulling a quiet laugh from his lips. "Making a mess."

Beside him, Kate's quiet snort turned into a full-blown snicker as he twisted and contorted to lick up the juice before it could land on their sheets. After a moment of watching him squirm, his wife handed him a napkin and confiscated the slice of fruit in return. The sneak.

"Hey," he mock-grumbled, nudging her under the covers with his knee. "We have an entire plate of fresh, ripe fruit, and you steal mine?"

Beckett smirked, licking the remainder of the guava nectar from her fingers - sending his heart knocking against his ribs in the process - before she plucked another piece of fruit from the plate they had settled on her belly. Relaxation looked good on her; the last twelve days had been spent enjoying sand, sun, and mild weather on what he knew she hated to call a "babymoon," despite the name being more true than not. The trip had been an anniversary gift, a way for them to both unwind after an insane holiday season as well as reconnect with one another before their daughter made her entrance into the world.

With just a few more days to their stay, Castle had to pat himself on the back; it had been the perfect gift for them both. Instead of early morning body drops, they took early morning beach walks - when they weren't sleeping in and greeting the day in other ways, of course. Instead of sitting at a desk doing paperwork, they sat by the pool reading long-neglected novels. He felt rested and content, and the glow of his wife's skin, the easy way she smiled, told him that Kate felt the same.

"Maybe I just like it better when it's yours," Beckett teased, pulling him from his congratulatory thoughts to wiggle another piece of fruit under his nose. Mango this time.

Curling his fingers around her wrist, he took the offering from her, savoring the splash of sweetness against his palate. His tongue flitted out, tasting the remnants of flavor on the tips of her fingers. She was right; it did taste better that way.

Her mouth landed on his, stealing his agreement from his lips. "When we're done eating, let's get out and stretch our legs. She's doing somersaults again; maybe the walk will calm her down."

Castle nodded, moving the plate aside to curve his hand over the swell of Kate's stomach. Their daughter nudged at his hand, pushing a foot or a tiny fist against the confines of her mother's belly.

"Yes, we know you're there. Don't use your mommy as a punching bag, though."

Kate chuckled, leaning her cheek on his shoulder. "She's fine. She'll settle eventually, and it is good to feel her wiggling around in there. Uncomfortable at times, but good."

Her hand covered his, her fingers dipping into the spaces between his own, keeping him anchored to her as she reached for their food again. Rick hummed in contentment, alternating between offering his wife fruit and taking pieces for himself until the plate was empty.

Almost an hour later, they had finally made it out of their suite, eager to stroll the grounds of the resort. Their steps were anything but hurried, and out of the corner of his eye, as they neared a crowd on the far side of the compound, he saw Beckett adjusting her sunglasses before her hand slipped into the crook of his elbow.

He toyed with the idea of stopping, too, becoming one of the onlookers, but Kate gave his arm a delicate tug and motioned toward a different path.

"Waterfall," she murmured, looking out toward the horizon.

Castle nodded, but gave the crowd another look over his shoulder.

It was probably nothing, a guest who had enjoyed a little bit too much relaxation if nothing else, but maybe they would check it out on the way back.

Curiosity or not, he had no trouble turning his attention to the gorgeous woman at his side as she toed off her sandals and stepped gingerly into the shallow plunge pool surrounding one of the resort's waterfalls. She had chosen the more secluded of the two, and he couldn't fault her for that; the other one doubled as a wishing well half the time, but this one felt like it was theirs and theirs alone. After sneaking a picture of her with her head tilted toward the sky, her palm on her belly, Rick joined her, wiggling his toes in the loose sediment under his feet.

"I almost feel bad for the boys back in New York," she hummed, offering him a half-smile. "Alexis said it was snowing again when she called last night."

He chuckled. "Don't feel too bad, I would say we've more than earned this."

Her fingers slid over her belly once before she took a step toward the waterfall. "Yeah, I think we have, too."

Oddly enough, the crowd was still lingering when they returned from their walk, making it difficult to pass. Gesturing for Beckett to lead the way, he trailed behind his wife, keeping an ear out for chatter as to what was going on.

"I heard she was drunk and hit her head," one voice said, grabbing his attention as they shuffled through the throng.

Rick's lips curled; he'd been there. Five stitches and a lot of embarrassment later, he had apologized to the general manager of the Beverly Hills hotel and taken great care never to book a stay there again.

"Well, I heard she killed herself," a second voice chimed in, sounding far too smug for her own good.

Wait, a woman was dead?

That had Beckett's steps slowing, too.

Castle's head tilted, trying to catch a glimpse of the speaker without making his intentions too obvious. He couldn't tell which of the women had been speaking, but his gut told him something was definitely up.

"Beckett," he started, waiting until she glanced back in acknowledgement to continue, "I think-"

"Mr. Castle? Ms. Beckett?"

After almost two weeks of being 'The Castles' or 'Mr. and Mrs. Castle' at every turn, it was strange to hear Beckett's surname from someone other than him. They turned to find a slim man in a resort uniform striding toward them. Even from a distance, Castle could see that he looked harried; his hair was ruffled and his jaw was tight with tension.

The man came to a stop in front of them, dropping his voice in spite of his proximity. "Mr. Castle, Ms. Beckett, we have a bit of a situation."

Castle shared a look with his wife, lifting an eyebrow. "That had come to our attention, yes."

A breath puffed from the other man's lips. "Yes, that much is rather obvious, I guess."

Beckett gave the crowd a pointed look. "You could say that. May I ask what's going on?"

"Ah, it's a bit complicated. And I'm sorry to ask this of you, but we could use your help."