December 19, 2009

The next morning Castle dials Ryan, but the detective doesn't pick up. He leaves a voicemail, saying, "Hey, I think I found something that will help with finding my missing person. Give me a call when you can. Thanks."

"Where are you off to?" Gina asks from the kitchen as he rushes out the front door, tugging on his navy peacoat.

"Have to run a couple errands before tonight."

"We said no pre-wedding gifts, remember?" she says.

"Yes, dear."

"You better not be buying something!"

"Goodbye," Castle sing-songs, closing the door behind him, shame coloring his cheeks. What the hell was he doing?

Castle approaches the sales counter at Bloomingdale's and sets down the receipt in front of a stuffy looking employee.

"Excuse me, sir, could you help me with something? I'm trying to find the person associated with the credit card for this purchase."

The clean-cut salesman glances at him and then the receipt. "I've been here three years...this is—"

"A ten year-old receipt. Yes. But your computer system has been here for a long time," Castle says with a hopeful smile.

"I think you're just wasting my time, sir."

"Mister…" Castle peers at his name tag. "Eugene. Can I call you Eugene? Would money help?"

"It might if I was a health inspector."

"Listen, this is really important," Castle says, pulling out his wallet. "What's it going to take?"

Eugene bristles but eyes the hundred dollar bills Castle flashes from the folds. "Well, I was a little short on my weekly sales draw."

"Were you?"

"I'm just mentioning."

"Okay. Um, I'm going to, uh—" He reaches for a horrid-looking bow tie on the display counter and slides it towards Eugene. "I'll take this."

"Lovely choice, sir."

"Thank you. Account number was—?"

Eugene crosses his arms. "I thought you said you were gonna help with my weekly draw."

"The tie's worth a hundred dollars," Castle protests.

"We're still six hundred short."

"Six hundred?! That's extortion."

"That's good salesmanship, sir."

Castle narrows his eyes as he slaps down his black AMEX. He's already gotten this far.

"Ring it up."

"Well, we have a purple tie," Eugene says, holding it up to Castle. The writer wrinkles his nose.

"What would go with a purple tie? I look like a magician."

Eugene selects more options and after what seems like an eternity of picking out items, the salesman hands Castle several garment bags filled with suits and other accessories.

"All right. I bought the entire spring line. Would you please look her up?" Castle asks.

"I already did. It was a dead account. There's no information in our computers," Eugene chirps.

"Excuse me?"

Eugene flinches at Castle's deadly stare. He tugs at his collar, nervous.

"I can suggest another option," he squeaks.

"Suggest it fast."

"The credit card she used was made with a Bloomingdale's account. When our customers make a credit card account with us, the hard copies go to our storage facility in Queens. All you need is the account number, which you already have, and you can find her application," Eugene says, "However, you need an employee to get you in."

Castle gives him a withering look.

"Good thing I know just the guy."

"Christ, there have to be a thousand copies in here," Castle says, as he takes in the rows and rows of high-towering boxes stacked around the storage facility.

"It's organized by year. Do you know when she got her card?" Eugene asks.

"Do you think if I knew the answer to that that I would be here?"

"Right."

Two hours later, Castle's eyes are getting tired and his hope is fading as he sifts through the hundredth credit card application. It's no use.

"What did the account end in again? Thirty-five, or eighty-five?" Eugene asks from a corner table.

Castle straightens.

"Thirty-five. Did you find something?"

Eugene walks over to him. "The name is smudged. But there's an address," he says, handing over a carbon copy of the account application.

The writer looks it over eagerly, his eyes quickly scanning the information. It's a start. He grabs Eugene by the shoulders and smacks a kiss to his cheek.

The standoffish salesman stiffens as the writer rushes out of the storage room with a cheerful whoop.

Castle raps his knuckles against the door of a Brooklyn loft half an hour later.

When the door swings open, he's met with a well-built man sporting sandy hair, cloudy blue eyes, and paint-smudged fingertips.

"Oh, hi," Castle says, surprised.

"Hello?" the man responds.

"Sorry. I was wondering if a woman lives here. Or used to live here. Kate?"

"Who's asking?"

"Richard Castle," he says, reaching out a hand.

The man shakes it. "Jeremy Prestwick. Come on in."

Castle steps inside. "So did you know Kate? Attractive, dark hair, kind of mysterious, you know, really amazing…"

"Yes."

"Do you remember her last name?"

"No."

"You don't remember your ex-girlfriend's last name?"

"She wasn't my ex-girlfriend. Just a roommate. She and her boyfriend crashed with me for a few months towards the end of the millennium. Called it their escape from reality."

"Did she leave anything behind, maybe with her last name on it, like a receipt or bill?"

"Definitely not. Like I said. This was more of a hideaway than a place they really lived."

"Then why would she use this address to sign up for a credit card account?"

"Maybe she didn't want the bills being sent to her parent's place," Jeremy suggests, shrugging.

"You really don't have anything?"

"I painted her," the artist says, lighting up.

"Yeah?"

"Nude."

"Oh."

"She had a beautiful figure."

Castle coughs, shifting his feet nervously.

"I have the canvas somewhere," Jeremy continues, heading towards a row of paintings leaning against the far wall.

"No, that's okay."

"Oh, wait," Jeremy says, snapping his fingers together. "The guy she was seeing...he was some prince, I think."

"Prince? Which country?"

"Kind of place you've never heard of…Andorra or Montenegro."

"Which was it?"

Jeremy shrugs again.

Castle's cell rings and he slips it from his pocket, pressing the answer button as he lifts it to his ear.

"Mother?"

"Richard, thank goodness. This dress rehearsal is running longer than I thought and I'm not able to pick up Alexis from her party. Are you able to grab her?"

He glances at his watch. Shit, is it that late already?

"Of course, I'm on my way. Where is it, again?"

"Chelsea Piers."

"We tried Serendipity, the Waldorf-Astoria, and the park. He's a writer, right? Maybe he's at the library," Lanie suggests as she and Beckett cross the street towards Columbus Circle. "Hold on, what about the author who helped the boys with their case?"

"Didn't Ryan say he was practically senile?"

"I think it was juvenile actually," Lanie says.

"Well, it doesn't matter anyway because this whole thing is silly. We should stop looking...I mean, what am I doing?" Beckett says.

"It's romantic. I wish I had that," Lanie says on a wistful sigh.

"You and Javi have that."

"Oh," the M.E. says, "We broke up."

Shock shoots across Beckett's face. "Lane, why didn't you tell me?"

She shrugs. "You've kind of been in this wedding bubble and I didn't want to burst it with my own drama."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. We didn't have that spark. That thing inevitably pulling us together. What's so great about this glove guy, anyway?"

Kate slows her step. "He was the first person who was able to make me laugh after my mom died. He gave me hope for a moment. He was fun and light and—"

A gust of wind sweeps a flyer into her face, interrupting her. She swipes at it but it comes back, slapping at her cheeks. She manages to wrangle it away and glance at the ad headline. It stops her in the middle of the sidewalk.

"This is it!" she exclaims, shaking the paper.

"What's it?"

"One of his favorite places is the arcade. He said he had the high score for Pac Man," Beckett explains as she hands Lanie the flyer for the Chelsea Piers Arcade.

"Are you sure this is the man of your dreams?" Lanie asks, skeptically.

"Are you coming or not?"

The detective and the M.E. enter the bowling alley-arcade joint at the Piers fifteen minutes later, pausing by the entrance.

"You think he could be here?"

"I don't know. I just have a feeling."

"You've been having a lot of feelings lately," Lanie mutters.

Kate ignores her and takes a step toward the arcade. Without warning, a small figure collides with her. When she glances down, she finds a little girl with bright red hair staring up at her. Other children zip around the detective, presumably in a game of tag.

"Are you okay?" Kate asks as she helps the redhead stand upright. The girl nods, and Kate stills, her eyes zeroing in on the pen marks dotting the girl's skin...it looks like, "Cassiopeia," she murmurs, sweeping her thumb over the constellation drawn on the young girl's forearm.

"How'd you know?" the girl asks, her blue eyes sparking with curiosity. Blue eyes that strike like lightning. The kind of blue that Beckett had dreamt about for years. It couldn't be...

"Who the hell are you?" asks a woman walking by with a baby on her hip and a party hat dangling from her head.

Kate quickly lets go of the girl's arm. "No one. Sorry."

"Alexis, sweetie, your dad called and he's on his way to come get you. Why don't you say goodbye to Paige?" the woman instructs, nudging the redhead towards the arcade games and swarm of screaming kids.

Lanie tugs at the detective's elbow, saying, "We should go, Kate."

Alexis's eyes widen when she hears the name and Beckett notices.

"Do you know who I am?" the detective asks, stupidly hopeful.

"Ma'am," the woman with the baby warns.

"Right, leaving," Beckett says, backing away as Lanie ushers her out. Alexis eyes the brunette, wondering, as Paige's mom urges her back to the throng of the party.

Outside, Beckett shakes Lanie off of her.

"Relax!"

"What the hell happened in there?"

"That girl. Alexis? She had Cassiopeia on her arm. That's the constellation he pointed out to me the night we met."

"That could be a total coincidence."

"And her eyes. They were just like his. What if it's his kid?"

"If he has a kid, then he's probably married," Lanie says.

"She reacted when you said my name."

"So?"

Beckett lets out a breath of frustration. "I don't know." She scrapes a hand through her hair and Lanie watches her pace back and forth. Wrinkles of worry start to form between the M.E.'s brows.

"Look, Kate, this has been fun, but I think I've indulged this long enough," she says, "It's time to leave it alone."

"That mom said he was on his way to pick her up. Can't we stay and wait?"

"And what are you going to say to him? You have a fiancé. Even if Will is seeing someone else, you should talk to him first before you chase some fantasy."

Kate sobers.

"Okay, okay. You're right," she says, sighing, turning away from the arcade and giving her friend a resigned look. "Let's go."

A few minutes later, Castle rushes into the arcade, out of breath. Alexis spots him immediately and runs toward him.

"Sorry, I'm late, Lex. Your Gram had something come up."

"Dad, I think—" she tries, cutting her gaze to the front door, hoping Kate is still nearby.

"We have a rehearsal dinner to get ready for," he says, interrupting, as he checks his watch and grimaces.

"But—"

"C'mon. Gina's going to be mad if we're late," he says, waving at Paige's mom as he guides Alexis towards the door and slides her winter coat over her shoulders. The redhead arches her neck when they're outside. As they walk towards the town car, she searches for any sight of the tall woman with pretty brown hair.

"What about Kate?" she asks.

Castle pauses, guilt flicking across his face. "I shouldn't have told you about her."

"Why not? I thought she was your true love," the nine year-old rebuts, halting in front of the open car door.

"Alexis, please, I don't want to talk about it anymore. This is grown-up stuff." He needs to put the past in the past. He's getting married.

"But Dad!" she protests as he gently urges her into the car.

"Not another word," he says, slamming the door behind her.