It was funny how things could change in the space of just a few hours. A couple of days ago Rick was feeling lonely, wondering whether to head back to New York immediately he had the book done, rather than wait until the beginning of September as originally planned, and now ... now he had Kate one side of him, Martha the other. Not actually next to him, of course, but the rooms either side. He felt like the filling in an odd sandwich. All he needed was for Alexis to show up and he'd be complete again.
She'd threatened in the call he had just before everyone headed for their beds, wanting to know the news, what was happening, if he'd told Kate yet. He'd said he didn't know what she was talking about, and anyway she was too young to be thinking of things like that and didn't she have an essay or six to write? Alexis had grumbled, telling him in no uncertain terms that he was a coward, and why he didn't use this obvious opportunity she didn't know. At that point she'd said she thought she should take the next train, and he'd put his foot down.
She hadn't meant it, of course. She was having far too much fun pretending to be a college kid, but if he'd asked, if he'd even suggested he needed her, he knew she'd be knocking down the door.
And now here he was, the clock saying it was some time after 3.00 am, and he'd barely closed his eyes. Things kept going round and round his head, snippets of conversation from the evening before, images that seemed burned into his brain, and until he got them out he knew he wasn't going to be able to rest.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, stretching slightly. Stepping into a pair of black jogging bottoms he padded out into the hall, listening intently.
Martha, of course, was sleeping soundly, thanks to Mr Mojito, while Kate seemed to be snoring lightly.
He smiled – something to annoy her with perhaps. No, that wouldn't be fair. And more than one of his nocturnal companions had accused him of doing the same occasionally. Snoring, that is.
He walked down the wooden staircase, his bare toes curling around the treads, and into the living area. The heat of the day was still trapped inside, so without putting on the lights he opened the French windows and let the sea breeze in. Out on the water he could see the riding lights of half a dozen yachts and smaller boats, but other than that he could well believe he was the only person awake in the entire galaxy.
He chuckled. His fanciful nature sometimes got the best of him, although he wasn't going to grudge it the occasional foray into romanticism. It had given him all the money he needed, fuelling a lifestyle that was both fun and fulfilling, and if Derrick Storm and Nikki Heat had to sit cheek by jowl with a tendency to get a little starry-eyed once in a while, so be it.
Turning around he switched on the reading lamp by the table, letting its warm glow bathe the room. He glanced at the new computer, but that wasn't really what he needed. Not for the first time did he wish he had his own version of the murder board here at the beach, the interactive screen where he laid out the plots to his books. Still, if Mohammed wasn't going to come to the mountain, there was a very nice expanse of wall here, just ripe for putting notes on ...
Light filtered through the curtains and hit Kate straight in the face. She grimaced, turning away, then opened her eyes. Blinking hard a couple of times, she rolled enough so she could squint at the clock on the bedside table. The red numerals announced it was 7:57, apparently in the morning. She lay back on her pillow and closed her eyes again, but it wasn't going to work. Even when she had nothing else to do, when she was taking one of her rare days off with the only thing planned being slouching around the apartment (okay, don't go there – the new one still wasn't ready to move into) … even then she couldn't lie in bed beyond 8.00 am.
Pushing the sheet off her body she sat up, running her hands through her hair. Maybe she should cut it short again, especially now it was hot, although it was easy to stick up in a pony tail. Tom had said he liked it longer too, but then she knew he'd have said he liked it if she'd decided to shave it all off and get her scalp tattooed. She sighed. Sometimes she wondered if he'd been too nice, and maybe that was half the problem.
The other half was the other side of the wall.
Listening to see if there was any other movement in the house, she got to her feet, stretching her hands towards the ceiling. Maybe she should go for a run on the beach before breakfast, get the old heart pumping, blood flowing to the extremities, burn off some of the calories from the meal Castle had cooked the night before.
Not that it was in any way bad. In fact, he was a pretty decent cook, and the potato salad she'd insisted on making as her contribution to the feast had gone down well with the steaks.
Yes, that was a good idea. Make breakfast. Something light, maybe fruit and cornflakes, or possibly pancakes if she could find a good pan, just as a thank you.
The house was silent as she walked out of the bedroom and headed downstairs, only the sound of the sea birds outside breaking into her thoughts. A cool breeze met her halfway down, indicating a window was open, then as she stepped into the main living area she realised the doors were open onto the patio, and the reason why was right in front of her.
Rick was asleep in the barcalounger, his hands in his lap, head back. As she watched he snuffled briefly, then turned away from her. He appeared to only be wearing a pair of pants, which afforded her an uninterrupted view of his chest. Maybe not the most muscular she'd ever seen, but not too shabby, either. She'd teased him about dropping a few pounds, but in truth he didn't really need to. He might never be Mr Universe, nor have the chiselled abs of Ryan Reynolds, but there was something about him that just screamed male. Perhaps it was the five o'clock shadow darkening his chin, but he was a fair specimen of masculinity.
Her eyes were drawn to the scattering of chest hairs, thickening slightly as it meandered down his belly into the somewhat disreputable jogging pants, and for one brief and shining moment she considered loosening the drawstring …
"Like what you see?"
She looked into his face guiltily, and realised his eyes were open. Embarrassment burned like the fires of hell in her cheeks, and she quickly turned away, her mortified gaze falling gratefully by the pieces of paper stuck all over the wall. "Redecorating?" she asked, her voice more a squeak than her normal tempered tone.
She heard the lounger creak, presumably as Castle got to his feet, then a peculiar warmth permeated through the extra large t-shirt she'd worn to bed. He was standing close. Very close.
"My murder wall," he said, his breath tickling her ear. "I was trying to work things out."
"So I see." She concentrated on the notes, willing the blush to recede (either that or the floor to open up and swallow her). She recognised one as the photo Castle had filched from Buckman's desk, others as the print outs of the articles Esposito had done for her. Lines were drawn in red pen connecting them, solid in some cases, dotted in others. Dress? was written in big letters on a post-it, and another saying Left handed? Yet more were scrawls but she didn't move forward to try and decipher them. Instead she said, "It's going to be a mess when you take them down."
"The room needs painting anyway," he murmured, sending shivers down her spine.
"Did you get very far?" Mundane question.
"Not particularly." Mundane answer.
Anything not to say what they both wanted to admit. Still, it was there, like a huge bubble all around them, cutting them off from the outside world.
Biting her lip Kate turned, finding him as expected barely a breath away. So close, in fact, all she had to do was lean forward and she'd be pressed against his naked chest.
"Castle …" she began, then stopped.
"Yes, Kate?" He seemed to be studying her, his eyes roaming across her face as if he'd never seen her before. Any second his hand was going to raise and trace those very same contours, before settling in the nape of her neck and pulling her up to his lips …
"Good morning, you two." Martha clattered down the stairs in a black and white print wrap. "And isn't it a beautiful …" Her voice faded away before she asked, in hopeful tone, "Am I interrupting?"
"Yes," Rick said.
"No," Kate countered, cutting him off.
They gazed at each other for another five seconds, then Rick broke the silence. "Apparently not," he said, an odd expression of sadness that was gone a moment later.
Kate frowned. It was automatic, saying 'no' like that, born of months trying to deflect Ryan and Esposito, even Lanie, but this time it hurt. She felt like she'd missed something, an opportunity that might never come again, and it pained her. "I was going to make breakfast," she said, stepping back and bursting the bubble. "But since you're up, I'll go and get dressed." Two paces away then she turned, escaping up the stairs.
Rick didn't move, just said, "Your timing, Mother, is as always impeccable."
"I'm sorry, darling." Martha was truly contrite. "I didn't know."
He took a deep breath, slowly releasing it through his nostrils. Then he smiled. "No. I guess you didn't." He turned, busied himself with tidying up, picking up a beer bottle he'd indulged in the night before. "Besides, nothing would have happened."
"Why you don't kiss her and be done with it, I don't know," Martha said, her hands moving expressively.
"Maybe she doesn't want me to. Have you considered that?"
For a long moment Martha's inner demons fought amongst themselves, arguing whether to tell him of the conversation she and Kate had had, but the angel won. Not that he'd ever listened to her in the past over his love life, otherwise he'd never have married Meredith. Although for all the world she wouldn't do without her grand-daughter, so what did she know? "Maybe you're right," she admitted. "Kiddo, you do what you want. You always do." She couldn't resist adding, though, "Just don't come crying to me when you realise you've let the love of your life escape your clutches."
"You make me sound like a monster," he joked.
"Well, you're sending me grey." She saw his eyes move up to her vibrant red hair, just knowing what was going through his mind. "And don't you say a word."
"Me?" He couldn't help his lips twitching though.
"You." She looked down her nose at him. "Just wait until you get to my age. You're going to need all the help you can get."
He ran a hand through his own, somewhat untidy locks, and nodded ruefully. "Maybe I'll dye mine that colour too. What number did you say it was?" He ducked as she threw a cushion at his head.
The Maidstone Club looked like a relic from the last century, pretty much untouched since then. It wouldn't have looked out of place in New England, or old England, for that matter, since the club had been named after the town in Kent. It gave the appearance of being filled with leather armchairs and old retainers carrying silver salvers containing visiting cards to even older members pickled in whisky and cigar smoke.
This was only on the surface, though, as even from this distance Kate could see the grounds were well-maintained, and the slightest glimpse of a satellite dish on the roof attested to all the mod cons.
Lyle Buckman was waiting for her, his crisp white shirt already showing signs of stress. "You found it then," he said as she climbed from the car.
"Castle gave me directions," she admitted. She locked the car door, then wondered why. Amongst the Ferraris, BMWs and high end Daimlers and Rolls Royces, her standard issue vehicle was the least likely to get broken into.
"Well, it's coming up 10.45," Buckman went on, ignoring the writer even in absentia. "Time to go talk to Eric Mackintosh."
"Good," Kate said firmly. After her conversations with Castle the day before, she'd come more and more to agree with him that Mackintosh had something to do with it, whatever it was.
They started up the path towards the main entrance on the far side of the building from the ocean, the fine, pink gravel crunching underfoot, but as they walked Buckman looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "Remember, I'm doing all the talking. You're just in the background. Nothing else."
"I do understand."
"Just so long as you do."
"Detective, this is your jurisdiction. I'm observing, that's all."
He made a sound that could have been a chuckle under his breath. "You don't mind if I reserve judgement on that, do you?"
She smiled. "Not at all."
The large, dark green double doors were open, but as they walked inside they were hit by a wall of cold air. As much as the members of the Maidstone Club might love the Hamptons, they loved their creature comforts even more, and the summer heat was kept at bay with a vengeance.
"Sir? Madam?" A man in black pants and a dark green polo-shirt, the same colour as the doors, stepped forward out of the gloom. "Can I help you?"
"I've come to see Eric Mackintosh," Buckman said.
"Is he expecting you, sir?"
"He is."
"Please wait here a moment." The man melted into the shadows, leaving the pair of them standing in the atrium, the sound of a fountain coming from somewhere, the scent of orange blossom drifting by.
"You didn't identify yourself," Kate said quietly, feeling like she was in a library, or possibly a tomb.
"No point. Not yet. They don't need to know why we're here. No reason to get the rumour mill going earlier than it needs."
Kate nodded. Not her way of working, but valid nonetheless. Something to tell Montgomery when she got back, just to prove she'd been observing and learning like she was supposed to be.
Her eyes, now used to the relative gloom inside, took in their surroundings. The hall was wide, and two stories high, with a black and white marble floor in a chequerboard pattern. A mezzanine crammed with pot plants ran around the walls, while a staircase with carved wooden balusters meandered upwards, clothed in green and gold carpet.
"How the other half live," she murmured.
"You don't come from money?" Buckman asked, obviously having heard.
"Me?" She turned in surprise. "No."
"I thought, with you being friends with Castle …"
Kate allowed herself to smile. "Castle is an enigma. He made his millions writing books, otherwise I have it on good authority he'd have ended up teaching second grade somewhere."
Buckman's nose curled. "But writing books?"
She shrugged. "He's successful."
"And you two are …" He didn't finish the sentence.
"No, we're not."
He raised one eyebrow. "Really? Only coming to his rescue like you did –"
"I didn't. My Captain arranged this."
"Oh. Right."
She could tell from the look on his face that he didn't believe her, but she was too hot to try and explain. Besides, it was personal.
Her cellphone trilled just as another uniformed flunkey walked past them, newspapers draped over his arm. He gave her a stern look before nodding towards a sign on the reception desk that said, in big black letters FOR THE COMFORT OF MEMBERS, PLEASE TURN OFF ALL CELLPHONES IN THE CLUBHOUSE. She lifted her top enough so that he could see the badge in her waistband as she thumbed answer, and he walked on stiffly.
Trying not to smile she said, "Beckett."
"Hot enough for you?" Ryan asked, his voice tinny and far away.
"The next person who asks me that is going to get shot."
"Good job I'm out of range."
"What do you have for me?"
"We've just been to see Althea Banks' BFF, Jo Wyler. Seems like Althea was what she appeared to be, a nearly thirty woman looking to turn her life around. Both her parents died ten months ago in a car crash, but Ms Wyler thought Althea was finally getting over it. Then she started to clear out their house."
Kate could see Ryan in her mind's eye, his normally jovial expression serious as he reported. "What happened?" she asked.
"Jo isn't sure. Althea didn't talk much about her family, but Jo got the impression she'd found something amongst her mother's effects."
"Any idea what?"
"Nope. Esposito and I took a look around her room, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. Jo said Althea had been looking forward to the vacation, even though it was going to tap her out."
Buckman was watching her, hearing her side of the conversation and probably trying to fill in the rest.
"Anything else?"
"Not really. Except she confirmed that the photo you asked about was definitely her family, and was usually by Althea's bed. Oh, and she was right handed."
"Great, thanks."
"We're heading to Fabrigazi's right now," Ryan went on. "If we get there with Esposito's driving."
There was muttering in the background of the call which Kate took to be Ryan's partner telling him exactly what he thought of that kind of comment. "Fine. Let me know as soon as you have anything."
"You got it, boss."
Kate hung up and slipped her phone back into her pocket just as the man who'd originally greeted them rematerialised.
"Anything I should know?" Buckman murmured.
"Probably not." She tossed him a bone. "But I'll tell you later."
The man in the green polo shirt smiled at them. "Mr Mackintosh is still playing tennis at the moment, but he has asked that you wait for him on the terrace. He won't be long." He held out a hand to indicate the way. "Can I get you anything while you wait?"
A.N.: The Maidstone Club is real, but nothing else other than the name is. Total disclaimer!