Almost 10 years later
December 16, 2009
Richard Castle signs his latest bestseller with a flourish and hands it back to the last fan waiting in line at the Argosy Book Store, flashing her a megawatt smile. His publisher, Gina Griffith-Cowell, ushers any stragglers away as Rick deflates and massages his cramped hand.
"Can you explain to me again why you decided to kill off your bestselling main character?" asks Gina as he rises from his seat and starts to skim the shelves of the rare and antique book shop.
"Are you asking as my hands-on publisher or hands-on fiancé?" he asks, glancing over his shoulder at her.
"I'm asking as someone who's invested in your future. And frankly, I'm concerned. Your new book was due nine weeks ago. And I know there's been a lot going on with the wedding, but Rick...did you really have to put a bullet through his head?"
"Writing Derrick used to be fun. Now it's like work," he says, disappearing down another aisle.
She ducks after him. "You could be really big, Rick. Like Patterson and Connelly-level big, but you limit yourself when you do things like this. You could've retired Derrick or had him join the circus. I mean, his arc could've been more than a trilogy...any chance you could say he faked his death?"
He pauses, turning to face her. "We've gone over this already. He's really dead. Hence, the big, messy exit wound."
"A girl can dream," she says, sighing in disappointment.
He softens. "Look, I know I'm one of Black Pawn's newer writers and I can't be taking too many risks, but I'll have a draft of something new for you soon. Don't worry about it," he says, moving towards the back of the store.
"What about that romance book?"
"What?" he asks, stopping in his tracks.
"You know, that lovefest about two strangers being brought together by fate through a pair of gloves."
"I don't remember giving you that," he says.
"You might as well have. You left the manuscript lying around."
"I know for a fact that it was in a box in the back of my closet."
"I couldn't find my favorite stilettos," she says.
"Sure."
"Aren't you going to ask me what I think of it?"
"Okay, what'd you think of it?" he asks, taking a book off the shelf and flipping through it.
"It has potential," she says, shrugging. "But it's not necessarily your brand. And well, the ending is terrible."
"How so?"
"There isn't one."
"That's what you get for snooping in my closet," he says, returning the book to its spot.
"They never see each other again? Come on. That's ridiculous. After all that contrivance and still, nothing."
"It's not done," he says.
"Clearly."
"I don't want to finish it," he presses.
"C'mon, you need something new. We could re-launch your image. You already have the perfect fan demographic."
"Horny middle-aged women?"
"America's best customer," she says cheekily.
"If I say I'll think about it, will you leave it alone?"
She runs a hand over her mouth like a zipper and quiets. Castle turns the corner into a new aisle of books and spots the flaming red hair of his daughter.
"There you are, Pumpkin."
The nine year-old closes her book as Castle nods a thank you to the bookstore attendant keeping an eye on her.
"Is it over?" she asks.
"Yes."
"Can we get ice cream now? You promised."
"Okay, okay. You coming?" He asks Gina. She glances nervously between Alexis and him, clearing her throat.
"No, that's alright. You two go have fun. I need to wrap up a couple things here."
"You sure?"
"Yeah." She pecks him on the cheek and smooths a hand across his chest, before shooing him away. "See you at home."
"So what've you been up to?" Castle asks as they settle into a table at Serendipity with their ice cream masterpieces.
Alexis takes a bite of her sundae float, thinking.
"I started working on my family tree project and Mom says her family goes all the way back to the Mayflower. What about you?"
"Well, I'll have to check with your Gram, but I think we have some Irish immigrant roots." He nods at her hair.
She spoons another scoop of her chocolate-vanilla swirl, eyeing him thoughtfully.
"Doesn't it bother you that you don't know who your dad is?" Alexis asks.
"No. Why? Does it bother you?"
"I don't know. Does Gram really not know who my grandfather is?" she questions.
"Your Gram told me that she loved a lifetime the night she met him," he answers.
"How's that possible?"
"I can't really explain it," he starts, and then gives her a look. "You know, a long-time ago, I, uh, was buying a pair of gloves and I ran into this girl. Kate. We got coffee together, here, actually."
"Really?"
"Yeah. And in the space of six hours, we talked, went ice-skating, and fell in love. But we never learned each other's full names. We decided to leave it to fate. And there's not a week that goes by that I don't think about her."
"If you still think about her, does that mean you still love her?
He stares at her. "I'm with Gina now, sweetheart."
"Do you love her, then?" Alexis asks.
"We're engaged, aren't we?"
"That doesn't answer my question."
"You're too young to be asking me these types of questions," Castle states.
"I'm nine!"
"Proving my point exactly."
Alexis dissolves into giggles as Castle moves to tickle her.
"Dad!" she squeals.
"Mr. Castle?" a voice asks, interrupting.
"Yes?" He says, straightening in his chair to find two men standing by their table. One of them pulls out a badge.
"I'm Detective Javier Esposito with the NYPD. This is my partner Kevin Ryan. Your publisher said we might find you here. We have a few questions for you about a mur…" He glances at Alexis. "We have a few questions for you."
Kate Beckett picks up her vibrating cell and flips it open.
"Hey."
"What's wrong?" asks Lanie.
"All I said was hey."
"It's the way you said it, sweetie," the medical examiner explains.
"Are you calling for any particular reason?" Beckett asks.
"I was going to tell you about a case, but now I want to dig into whatever's going on with you. Boston not treating you well?"
Beckett sighs.
"Boston isn't the problem. It's just—Will's been working late a lot."
"You think something's going on?"
"No. I don't know," she says, "I thought moving here after he proposed would make things better. But he's up for a promotion and I feel like I see even less of him now."
"It's only been a couple months. You just need to give it some more time. The romance isn't dead yet."
"Tell that to my empty weekends," she scoffs. "Did you say something about a case?"
"Oh, yeah. It's nothing. Just some small-time mystery writer."
"Huh?"
"The crime scene this morning—Ryan recognized it as something out of one of his girlfriend's books, some mystery novel, so the boys brought the author in for questioning and now he's tagging along on the case. It's been driving Esposito absolutely crazy."
"What I wouldn't pay to see that," Beckett says, chuckling.
"I've been making Ryan text me everything since Perlmutter's overseeing and I'm stuck here digitizing records."
"Who'd you piss off?" Beckett asks.
"Perlmutter's in one of his moods again. I've been reading this new Patterson book during my break though. It's not all bad."
"I don't know how you do that. I work dead bodies all day. The last thing I want to do is read murder books," Beckett says.
"It's not all murder. Some of the sex scenes have me reaching for ice water."
"High praise," Beckett says flatly.
"When are you coming to back to the city?" Lanie asks, switching tack.
Beckett sighs again. "I don't know. I'm swamped here."
"It's been months, Kate. And I happen to know your dad has been begging you to visit for the holiday season. You should come this weekend."
"I'm supposed to meet with a potential caterer on Saturday," Beckett replies, hesitant.
"Reschedule it! C'mon, when's the last time you had a girls night out? Think of it as practice for your bachelorette party."
"I'm hanging up now."
"You know a little fun and lipstick won't hurt you," Lanie sing-songs.
"Goodbye!" Beckett huffs and shuts her phone, blowing a piece of hair off her forehead.
She can't remember the last time she and Will had some time for themselves that didn't involve wedding planning or case work. She hates it when Lanie is right.
Maybe it was time for a visit.