Poison Pen

Chapter 4

Closing her eyes, Kate inhales the aroma of Castle's rich brew before taking a sip. "Mmm, I needed that. Thanks, Castle. Buying the machine was very thoughtful."

"More like self-defense," Castle argues. "How do cops ever manage to function drinking coffee that tastes like a monkey peed in battery acid? New York's finest should have the best."

"You won't get an argument from me on that," Kate agrees. "But the budget around here is always tight, and the captain has been complaining about recent cuts. I think he's glad to have someone lending a hand whom he doesn't have to pay."

Castle raises his cup. "Here's hoping my help is worth more than my nonexistent wages. Did you find anything promising in the Sharper Point chatroom?"

Kate taps her fingers on the legal pad she's been using to take notes. "Maybe. You were right on about the tone, and one of the posters mentioned literary arts. That's only part of the phrase we were looking for, but he was comparing present-day to the Dark Ages."

Castle nods. "Sounds like he could be our guy. I don't suppose he signed his name."

Kate rolls her eyes. "We couldn't get that lucky. He goes by 'Scriptorium's Flaming Sword.'"

"Interesting imagery," Castle observes. "A flaming sword guarded Eden, and a scriptorium is a room reserved for writing. I wonder if he views himself as imbued with God's power to guard the written word against blasphemers such as myself? So how do we uncover his true appellation?"

"Contacting the registered owner of the domain to see if just asking might do the trick, but I'll more likely need a warrant to get the administrator of the chatroom to disclose it. I'll get on that if you want to explore the web for his other posts."

"I can handle that task," Castle agrees. "I have a pretty good idea about which the word strings to use for my search. Putting them in quotes should winnow the hits from millions to something manageable. At least I hope so. I need to be home by five. Mother is bringing Alexis back from their retreat, and if I'm not there to cook supper, Mother might try to craft a meal. The results of her culinary endeavors can be disastrous."

"Really? That bad?" Kate wonders.

"Worse," Castle insists. "The last time around, none of us dared leave the house for three days. I had to call a visiting doctor service."

"Ew! I get the picture." Kate checks the oversized watch on her wrist. "That still gives us most of the day, especially if we order a pizza," she suggests, banishing the unsettling image from her mind, "so we can work through lunch."

"What are your favorite toppings?" Castle asks, the thought of pizza dispelling his recalled queasiness. "I'm a fan of mushroom and sausage."

The tip of Kate's tongue rounds her lips."That's my favorite too!"

"A partnership made in heaven!" Castle declares.

"So Richard, I haven't seen you look this pleased with yourself since Oprah picked Raging Storm for her book club," Martha recalls. "What have you been up to while Alexis and I were centering ourselves?"

"You do look happy, Dad," Alexis chimes in, "but what is the police car doing downstairs?"

The last thing Castle wants is to scare his family, but his daughter always knows when he's less than forthcoming. His mother is pretty perceptive as well. He takes a deep breath. "There's a nutcase out there who murdered two past winners of the Poe Award. As far as the N.Y.P.D. can tell, there's no danger to either of you, but they are guarding me on the chance I might be his next target. I am, however, working with the detective in charge to solve the case. The experience is both stimulating and enlightening."

Martha's eyes flit over her son. "From that silly grin on your face, I assume the detective is a woman."

"Detective Beckett is of the female persuasion," Castle admits. "She's really quite remarkable."

"And beautiful, I'd imagine," Martha adds.

"Uniquely so," Castle declares. "I've never met anyone like her. She's inspired the main character in my next book. I've already put my outline together and started on the first chapter."

"If she's got you writing again more power to her." Martha raises a glass of red wine. "To Detective Beckett." Castle lifts his goblet, and Alexis uses her tumbler of root beer to join the toast.

Upon arriving at the 12th at 9 a.m., Castle goes straight to the break room to prepare what he's discovered is Beckett's favorite latte. Her blue mug is still on the rack, making him pretty sure she hasn't made one for herself. Bringing it to her desk, he lets the scent of vanilla waft her way, pulling her eyes from her computer screen. He hands her the fragrant brew. "Got something?"

"I haven't got a name on the Flaming Sword yet; there's a stack of paperwork involved. But I was able to track down some of the posters you found in your search yesterday. Three of them are in the city. Want to go with me to talk to them? Just their reactions to seeing you could tell us something."

Castle rubs his hands together. "Catching a possible culprit unawares. I love it! When are we going?"

"I have to finish updating my case notes and," she smiles up at him, "I'm not leaving without finishing this latte. You know, Castle, if you ever give up writing, you'd make a hell of a barista."

"I've thought about it," Castle confides, "but not as an alternative vocation. A coffee shop like Java Hut is a microcosm of life. People come to celebrate and to console themselves. They use their laptops to work or apply for jobs. Friends meet, and businesspeople conduct meetings. I bet crooks even plan crimes there. It's a treasure trove for finding characters and picking up dialogue."

"Hmm, maybe I should enlist a barista as a confidential informant," Kate muses.

"Not exactly the noir vibe of the see-all know-all bartender," Castle considers, "but a possible fount of information, nonetheless. I wonder if any of our suspects avail themselves of free and anonymous coffee shop Wi-Fi."

"We may find out, Castle."

After throwing Rick a contemptuous stare, Bob Long waves Beckett and Castle into his apartment. The furniture has seen better days, but floor to ceiling bookcases are crammed with lovingly cared for volumes. Long regards the image on Kate's phone. "Yes, I made the post. I'm a retired English teacher. For 40 years, I attempted to school my students in the appreciation of a well-turned phrase communicating multiple levels of meaning. Now, if you can pry the populace away from their phones, they read crap like — I'm sorry, Mr. Castle — 'Storm Rising.' The only people displaying any knowledge of fine literature these days are Jeopardy contestants, and even they don't recognize many phrases that should be etched in their memories. A tweetstorm will birth the whirlwind our falling civilization will reap."

"You have quite a talent for a well-turned phrase yourself, Mr. Long," Castle remarks. "Ever written a book?"

Long shuffles his feet against a scarred hardwood floor. "I tried, Mr. Castle, but I discovered that my talent lies in developing the gifts of others. I've taught several published authors. None of them has made the bestsellers list, but after all, it is quality, not quantity that counts."

"My agent, my publisher, and my business manager might express an opposing view, Mr. Long," Castle returns. "Perhaps both are possible. Believe it or not, I don't remember missing a literature question on Jeopardy. I wish your former students and all budding writers the best of luck."

"Castle, with your memory, have you ever missed a Jeopardy question on anything?" Kate asks as they take the elevator from Long's apartment.

"Of course, Beckett. Song lyrics, among other things. In my head, I keep hearing the Weird Al Yankovic versions."

Kate hides a giggle behind her hand. "Weird Al's are probably better anyway."