Chapter 3

A front of warm air had swept into New York making the first day of winter the warmest in weeks. The collision of fronts had triggered a storm, causing rain to sheet down the windows. Outside, the noise of traffic rose to a fever pitch. The power to the subway had been shut down to prevent electrical damage from flooding and every car in the city seemed to be stuck in front of the loft. It seemed to Kate that sometimes Rick could sleep through anything; he certainly seemed to be immune to the din. She put a pillow over her head in a futile effort to shut out the blaring horns and gave a howl of frustration as the cacophony penetrated the useless barrier.

Rick sat up with a start. "Kate, what's wrong?"

"Sorry, I woke you up too. I couldn't sleep through the noise out there."

"We could make some noise of our own," Rick suggested. "and I know just what to do." Rick placed his phone in its dock and strains of Bolero began to fill the room."

Kate laughed at the hint that Rick had taken from a crew of pick up artists. "Seriously, Rick?"

"Hey, raises the chance of closing the deal by twelve percent."

"Since when couldn't you close the deal with me?" Kate asked.

"Well there were four years," Rick teased.

"I mean recently."

Rick began to trail kisses down her neck. "I can't remember," he murmured. "That doesn't mean I shouldn't keep working to improve my game."

"Just as long as you're only playing with me," Kate told him, bringing his lips to hers.

They moved to the unceasing staccato beat, gaining excitement as the oboe was joined by strings and the music swelled. The final crescendo was theirs. As the final chord brought rest, the sounds of the city were no longer intrusive.

Beckett and Castle made their preparations for the day quickly, anticipating an almost impossible commute to the 12th. Coffee in traveling mugs, they braved the streets, finally dragging into the precinct almost an hour later.

Esposito had not yet appeared but Ryan was there, an early riser in preparation for his imminent fatherhood. "I've got something on Michelle Monet," he announced.

"What?" Beckett asked.

"See for yourself," Ryan told Beckett, handing her the file. Castle read over her shoulder.

"La Femme Francaise is Margaret Mullins from Secaucus New Jersey!" Castle exclaimed. "This is worse than when I found out that fortune cookies aren't Chinese!"

"We should talk to her again," Beckett said. "Who knows what else she's lying about."

"Do you want me to get her in here?" Ryan asked.

"No, it'll take forever in this mess. Castle and I'll go to Foodie Central. We can talk to her and whatever other chefs make it in. You can keep digging and ask Esposito to do the same when he gets here."

"On it," Ryan agreed.

If anything, conditions on the streets had gotten worse. Beckett and Castle arrived at Foodie Central frustrated and out of sorts. "Monsieur Castle!" Michelle Monet greeted as they found her in her office. "I was looking at your recipe. Tres bien! I look forward to seeing you in our Kitchen Colosseum tomorrow."

"Mademoiselle Monet," Beckett said with a slight sarcastic twinge to her voice, "we have a few more questions for you. You were seen here around the time of death. If Ivy was doing set-ups for you, why weren't you with her?"

Michelle looked taken aback. "I'm not a sous chef! I had other things to take care of. I was going over the script and the plans for the Flip Off. And I had a call with my family."

"An odd time to call France," Castle said. "It would have been two or three in the morning there, but it probably worked fine for New Jersey. That is where you're from isn't it, Mademoiselle?"

"All right," Michelle said, all traces of a French accent gone. "Who wants a French chef from New Jersey? Michelle Monet can sell cookbooks and cookware. Margaret Mullins, not so much."

"Did Ivy know?" Beckett asked.

"Sure, she heard me on phone to my mother a few times, so I told her the truth, but she wouldn't have told anyone. It wouldn't have just been bad for me, it would have hurt everyone at Foodie Central. We have a brand to maintain."

"Right,"Castle agreed scornfully.

"Mr. Castle, you will still be here tomorrow?" Michelle asked with concern.

"I'll be here," Castle affirmed. "It's for people who need help, not for you or the Foodie Central brand."

Beckett and Castle followed the aroma of spicy barbecue to find Billy Bay. He was in the area of the specially built grills in the Colosseum, but he wasn't doing the cooking. His assistants, Susan and Merry, were working with the signature red and green Bay sauces to perfect the demonstration for the week's show. Billy Bay was on the phone with the manager of his downtown restaurant complaining about how much business they would lose because of the traffic problems. He held up his hand as Beckett and Castle approached. "OK Sid, I'll call you back," he said before ending his call.

"Mr. Bay," Beckett said, holding up her badge, "I'm Detective Beckett and this is Richard Castle, we need to ask you some questions regarding the death of Ivy Purchase."

"I'm sorry, Detective," Bay apologized. "I really don't know anything about it it."

"We have a witness that puts you here during the time of death." Castle told him.

"When was that?" Bay asked. "I'm here a lot. I have three different shows plus judging the competitions, like The Great Flipoff, Mr. Castle."

"Between nine and eleven Thursday night, Mr. Bay," Beckett told him.

"I was shooting promos for 'Southwest Savor.' You can check with the crew."

"We will, Mr. Bay." Beckett assured him. "One more thing, can you think of anyone who would want to harm Ivy Purchase?"

"No," Bay answered. "I didn't know her well, but she seemed like a nice kid."

"If we have any more questions, we'll be in touch," Beckett told him. Castle seemed on the edge of saying something, but Beckett deftly steered him away.

"Beckett," Castle asked, "when Bay said he was judging the Flipoff, did that sound like a threat to you?"

Beckett smiled and ran her fingers over her gun. "It better not have been."

Beckett called Ryan to ask him to check out Bay's alibi. There were two more chefs to interview, but they weren't at Foodie Central, so Beckett decided to knock off for the day.

Power had been restored to the subway, so traffic had started to lighten a little, but it was still a very tedious drive back to the loft. "Beckett, I hate to ask," Castle said when they got there, "but how about some pancakes? I need one more practice run before I cook in the Colosseum tomorrow."

"Sure Castle. After today I really want to see you make them cry, especially Billy Bay."

Dinner pancakes were more elaborate than those Rick had served Kate for breakfast. Rick made a special sauce from a cherry juice reduction and flamed it with obscenely expensive Cognac, filling the loft with heady vapors. Rick and Kate sipped more Cognac in front of the fire after the meal.

"Rick," Kate sighed. "I feel fuzzy warm all over."

Tucking silken strands of her hair behind her ear, Rick covered her mouth with his. "Kate," he whispered. "We're just getting started."