The Children's Corner

Chapter 42

Rick is looking forward to the Labor Day long weekend with mixed feelings. He loves the idea of having the whole family in the Hamptons, for food, fun, and just kicking back. But the celebration will also herald Kate's return to the bullpen. Rick understands how much she needs it and would never stand in her way. He might even get some new Heat material out of it. And Julia's presence will keep the twin's demands from overwhelming him. Still, when he's sweating over his laptop, he'll miss knowing Kate is nearby. He'll miss knowing she's safe even more.

Even with getting an early start, the traffic to Long Island is horrendous. What would take 90 minutes on relatively clear roads becomes almost four hours. And that's not counting potty and diaper changing stops. When Rick finally pulls into the drive, Dana and Alexis' newly acquired vehicle is already parked in front of the house. The Aston Martin Craig couldn't resist buying from the properties of his last secret agent movie, is there as well. "Looks like we're bringing up the rear," Rick observes unnecessarily. "Let's get the kids in, and I'll unpack."

"I'm hungry. So are Gamoee and Pegin," Lily declares.

"We'll eat in just a little while," Rick assures her. "I'm hoping someone got the barbecue going, but if they didn't, we can use the kitchen for now. I have hotdogs and burgers ready to go in the cooler. Those are quick."

"Purple potato salad?" Lily asks hopefully.

Rick hefts a twin and a diaper bag. "Very purple."

With the twins in a portable playpen shielded from the sun by a canopy and Lily playing with Alexis in the pool, Rick and Kate veg out on chaise lounges. "Craig and Dana did a good job grilling," Kate comments. "But I think Craig got a little impatient when Dana kept sticking in a thermometer."

Rick chuckles. "Dana is very precise. You can take the boy out of the lab, but you can't take the lab out of the boy. And the hamburgers were absolutely perfect. But at least he hasn't yet learned how to make the colorful creations Lily craves. So the family's master of cuisine still has his place. And I'll do the steaks tomorrow. Can't have him poking all those holes and losing the juices."

Kate rolls her eyes. "It wouldn't be a Castle cookout without your steaks – even if Lily would rather have a hotdog."

"Her tastes will mature," Rick asserts. "As long as she doesn't go through a fruitarian stage like Alexis did when she had a crush on that kid with the fuzzy hair."

"I don't remember him."

"Oh. I guess you wouldn't. She was fourteen then, a year before you dragged me in for questioning. Anyway, the young man called himself Pi, not like scrumptious pastry, like the irrational number. And he was irrational in more ways than one. Do you believe he insisted that steaks should be made out of papaya? I looked it up. You should only cook the unripe ones. And they can speed the train along – if you know what I mean. Besides, who eats orange steaks?"

"With the way Lily is about bright colors, she'd probably love an orange almost anything," Kate points out.

"Very true. One more reason to keep her away from fruitarians."

Kate's cellphone buzzes from a nearby table. "That's the precinct."

"I thought this was your last time to relax before getting officially back in harness."

"It is. But I wanted to be updated so I could hit the ground running." Kate accepts the call. "Uh-huh. Right. Thanks. Keep me posted."

"Dead body?" Rick inquires.

"I hope not. But a new rock star, Lazarus, went missing. He'd been getting threatening letters, so he hired a bodyguard. According to that guard, he saw Lazarus safely into bed that night. Then he made sure the security inside the house and on the grounds was armed before turning in himself. Lazarus sleeps late, and with the security system still enabled, it was a while before anyone realized he was gone."

"It could be a P.R. stunt," Rick suggests. "Who got the short straw to investigate the case this weekend?"

"Sully. He has the least seniority. That's why he's making sure to give me as many details as he can. Unless Lazarus turns up alive before then, this will be my case too."

Alexis boosts Lily out of the pool and follows her. "Did you say, Lazarus? The singer?"

"Do you enjoy his work?" Rick asks.

"I don't listen to it. He went to Marlowe Prep with me and had a band then, too. They were terrible. They did one school dance, and everyone left early. But that was before he called himself Lazarus. His name is Myron Fink."

"If that were my name, I'd change it too," Rick remarks.

"You did change your name," Alexis reminds her father. "And there was nothing wrong with Richard Rodgers."

"Except that your Gram's crowd always thought I was named after the composer. And Rodgers was music. Hart was the one who wrote the lyrics. I wanted a name more associated with my wordsmithing leanings. Thus my middle name, Edgar, after Poe."

"Then why did you keep the Richard?" Alexis inquires

"Because that's what your grandmother's always called me, and I was used to it. But we were talking about Lazarus. Is he the kind of guy who could pull off a mysterious disappearance?"

"When I knew him, he could barely open his locker," Alexis recalls. "But I haven't seen him since we graduated."

"That's been four years," Kate interjects. "And people acquire skills. Apparently, at least his music has improved."

Rick grabs a tumbler of iced tea from a side table. "I'd suggest Lazarus could rise from the dead, but no one says he's dead yet."

"If he could remotely control the security system, he might have sneaked out to see a girlfriend," Kate proposes.

Alexis shakes her head. "More likely a boyfriend."

"Either way. It doesn't make a difference if he's alive and well. I'll stay in touch with Sully. This could be a false alarm. But if it isn't, I'll pick up the trail bright and early Tuesday morning."

Rick forces a smile at his wife's evident enthusiasm. "But in the meantime, how about a swim? Race you to the deep end."

"You're on."

Myron gazes uncomfortably around his prison. The dank walls look like a basement or someplace underground. The air smells musty too. He can feel his nose clogging and a tickle in his throat. He's allergic to mold spores, and this place is probably full of them. But that's the least of his problems now. His hands and feet are duct-taped to a chair. And he has to pee – bad. He can't turn around to see, but he hears footsteps on what sounds like stairs. His mouth drops open as a figure steps in front of him. "Mikey?"

"Of course me. Who else could have pulled off getting you out of your fortress without setting off an alarm? I know your code. You've used the same one for everything for years. You had a hell of a time remembering the random locker combination good old Marlowe Prep assigned you. Mom had to sew little tags with the numbers on them inside your clothes."

"What do you want, Mikey?" Myron demands. "When you took off, you said you couldn't stand to be anywhere near me."

"Yeah, well, that was when Myron the Moron could barely book a bar-mitzvah. I had to get away from you to develop the true talent in the family. But then Mom and Dad both unaccountably kicked the bucket. And I'm sure you had nothing to do with that, you little sh*t. You invoked Jewish law to prevent an autopsy because you found sudden piety. Then you sold everything they had and used the money to make yourself over. A sharp sound engineer can make any ass sound good. And I'm sure you have a very talented one, along with everything else that should have been mine. But now I'll get it all."