Flu

Chapter 49

As a recording of "Night on Bald Mountain" pours from speakers over the pumpkin patch in front of Rick's pop-up, Kate reaches for his hand. "Hey, it's your second-favorite night of the year, and the restaurant is doing great. If your father shows up, he does, but you should be celebrating."

Twining his fingers with Kate's, Rick takes the few steps leading to the door of the Pumpkin Castle. Every table is full except one in the corner with a prominent "Reserved for owner" sign. Masqueraders are also milling around with Halloween themed hors d'oeuvre's and drinks. Rick waves to some of the writer-regulars before he and Kate make the rounds to greet the other guests. "I wish we had a license to serve booze," he mutters to Kate as they pick up mulled cider to drink. "I could do with the hard stuff tonight."

She threads her way to their allotted table. "Everyone – except for you – is having a good time without it."

Following, Mark slides into a seat with the couple and passes an iPad to Rick. I have the tabulation of our surveys. Most of the customers say they would come back, and some of them claim they'll bring their friends, but they still want a fuller menu. We drew in enough business to justify staying open through Thanksgiving and can add selections on that theme. I already have the chef working on them."

"We should sell whole pumpkin pies," Castle suggests. "Everyone wants them for turkey day."

"I agree and I'm already making arrangements for that. But you'll like this," Mark adds, "one of our writers-in-residence says he gets his inspiration from baking. He wants to sign on for pie duty."

"Great. He can probably use the money," Castle figures. "Unless you hit the bestseller list, 'starving writer' isn't hyperbolic. But, writers aren't the only ones who need money. If we can find people who are talented but down and out for whatever reason, I'm all for hiring them."

"Noted," Mark agrees, glancing over his shoulder. "Oh, Holly and Alexis are setting up. I should join them. I'm more crew than I am a performer."

"But Alexis said you were playing."

Mark chuckles. "Third chair of three. I don't put in enough practice to rank higher than that, but I still love to play. It's Intermezzo for 24 Strings by Penderecki, so I've got to make sure the mere three of us can synch with our virtual back up. The piece is eerie, to begin with, but the layers make it unearthly."

Jack slips in while all eyes are on the violinists creating the bone-chilling sounds sending shivers through the room. He spots Richard and Kate, sitting at their table and as riveted as the rest of the crowd. While the last creepy notes spellbind the audience, the agent takes the opportunity to approach his son.

Rick half-jumps from his seat at the voice behind him, almost expecting a deep intonement of "Richard, I'm your father."

"Jack, is that you under there?" Rick squeaks.

"Uh-huh." Jack acknowledges. "I got your message. This getup seemed the safest way to talk to you."

"I don't know if Darth Vader and the word 'safe' go together," Rick remarks.

"Why don't you sit down, Jack?" Kate invites. "I'll go congratulate the musicians."

"Stay, Kate," Rick implores. "What I'm going to ask him has as much to do with you as it does with me."

"Richard, what are you talking about?" Jack queries, grateful that his mask obscures his expression as he fits himself into a chair.

"I'm talking about Terry Hanson. A traffic cam caught a sliver of an image of his murderer. It wasn't enough for a positive I.D., but what I could make out, and the efficiency of the kill, shouted you to me. Was that your assignment, Dad?"

"I think it's the first time you've called me that, Richard. But according to the news outlets, that murder is a closed case, and the killer is dead."

"That's what the official file from the N.Y.P.D. will say, but I don't buy it," Rick argues. "I write novels about the crap that spy agencies pull. Hell, I had Storm fake his death and yet still fall for Clara Strike doing the same. We both know that there's an official story and a real story. Kate and I are more than aware of the official one. What's your version?"

"My version, Richard, is that I do my job, work that has saved a lot of lives. I hope that you can accept that. But whether you can or not, it's the way things are. I'm sorry I couldn't give you what you wanted, but I'm glad I got a chance to hear Alexis play. She didn't inherit her talent from me. I can't sing or play a note."

"Maybe some things shouldn't get passed on," Rick reflects. "But I imagine that in your way, you do the right thing."

"I do what the analysts tell me is the right thing. That's the best I can say about it. I should probably be going now."

"Stay," Rick urges. "Alexis is going to be playing again later. And I'm supposed to say something. At least you'll enjoy her part."

"You never know, Son. I might enjoy both."

Rick tucks Kate into his side as he stares at the play of the city lights on the bedroom ceiling. "Luke Skywalker talked Darth Vader into abandoning the dark side of the force."

"But your father isn't working for the evil Emperor Palpatine," Kate reminds her husband. "He's working for Uncle Sam."

"Which, hinging on what part of history you read, may or may not be better. Depending on who writes it, killing for your country is either heroic or malevolent."

"Babe, you're always telling me that I shouldn't see things as totally black or white. Take your own advice and forget the Darth Vader analogy. Humans aren't on the light or dark side. Most of us fall somewhere in the overlap."

Drawing her closer, Rick kisses the top of Kate's head. "You're right. And you know what? At this moment, we've got a clean slate, so to speak, at least as far as outstanding murders go. No telling what tomorrow may bring."

Kate shifts beneath his arm, enough to catch his earlobe between her teeth. "How about what tonight may bring?"

"An intriguing question. The party-goers departed pumpkin stuffed and replete, and the trick or treaters have long since filled their bags. But you never did show me how you ride."

"You're right, I didn't," Kate agrees. "But, my father has my bike in storage."

"I'm sure we can work something out. Your leathers must be missing you, just lying on the chair like that."

She strokes the rising heat beneath the covers. "If I put the pants back on, then this guy will be missing me."

"How about the jacket?" Rick proposes. "Ooh, and we wouldn't want you to hurt yourself. Do you have your helmet?"

Kate slides her hand down his thigh. "It's in the closet. Would you like me to get it?"

"Yes, please."

Padding over to the chair, Kate slips time-softened leather over her bare skin and retrieves her helmet. She holds it in her arms as she kneels next to Rick on the bed. "I'll wear this on one condition."

"Anything," Rick promises.

"When you get the leftover candy back from Eduardo tomorrow, I get first dibs on the dark chocolate."

"Done," Rick promises, his palms tracing her bare hips.

She throws a leg over his body. "Prepare to be ridden hard and put away wet."

Rick grins. "I wouldn't have it any other way."