Poison Pen

Chapter 13

After tearing apart a blueberry muffin, Kate isn't sure she wants to stick any of the pieces in her mouth. She can barely swallow sips of coffee, and the offer of strawberry waffles that would typically be tempting holds no appeal at all. Why did she do that?

If she'd just pecked Castle's cheek, or better still, shook his hand, she'd be fine. No, she wouldn't. She'd be obsessing about what she was thinking during almost the entire trip to Norwich — what it would be like to be with Castle. The moment her body briefly overruled her brain only made things worse. There was so much promise, so much everything in that kiss that it only left her wanting more, even as she pulled up her drawbridge.

She hears Castle's footsteps before he appears in the arch leading to the dining area. He gazes at the pile of crumbs on the small plate in front of her. "Checking for poison or planning on leaving a trail to a gingerbread house?"

"No, uh, I don't know. The muffin looked delicious. Everything here looks delicious. I'm just not hungry." Unable to meet his gaze, Kate stares at the ruined pastry, twisting her napkin. "Castle, I don't know what to say."

"Neither do I," Castle admits. "So maybe we both let what happened last night go for a while, at least until things are settled with Badcock."

"Let's do that," Kate agrees, relief streaming through her veins. "And I think I'll try to eat a few strawberries."

A corner of Castle's mouth twitches. "Me too, but I'm going to pile them on top of a waffle. From what I can see, this fine establishment offers real whipped cream, always a crowning touch. Or don't you like creamy goodness, Beckett?"

Kate moistens her too dry lips. "At the right time and place, I like it a lot, Castle."

"Are you kidding me?" Kate exclaims. "How long does it take to get a few signatures?"

"Pretty long, when the wife of the guy who does the signing went into labor last night," Sergeant Halsey, the gatekeeper at the Norwich facility, explains. "I sent someone over to the hospital, but I don't know how long it's going to take to get the new father's attention. I have your cell number. Why not visit the Classic Car Museum while you're waiting? You won't find anything like it, even in the big city." His gaze shifts to Castle. "Maybe you could put one of those cars in your books. Storm's Fords are great, but with him dead, a classic would add some pizzazz."

"It might at that," Castle concedes, "and I'm always pleased to meet a thoughtful reader. Any other suggestions?"

"Write anything except the old amnesia gag. They just pulled that on what, up to now, has been one of my favorite TV shows. I almost threw something at the screen."

Castle pulls his notepad out of the pocket of his shirt. "No amnesia. Got it!" He turns to Kate. "What do you think, Beckett? Want to go take in some heavy metal?"

Kate slowly expels a deep breath through tight lips. She'll have to tell the transport unit not to hurry. Their schedule is going to be screwed up too. At least looking around a museum will give her and Castle something to talk about besides what happened the night before. She's not close to ready to go into that yet.

"Wow! I didn't think a car museum would have airplane engines or the other non-automotive exhibits." Castle enthuses. "Too bad Mother didn't visit this place while she was doing her play. She would have loved the period clothes. She says that just the right costume supports her internal construction of a character — whatever that means. If the gift shop has photos of the collection, I'll get them for her. Maybe they have one of those glossy coffee table books." He stems his gush of words as he studies Kate's face. "What's that expression, Beckett?"

"Nothing. It's just that you're always looking for things for other people, whether it's coffee or pizza or room upgrades."

"And that bothers you?" Castle wonders.

"No, I think it's sweet, I just wonder where it comes from. From what you've told me about your childhood, you weren't exactly swimming in cash. I've met a lot of people, perps actually, who grab everything they can to make up for feeling deprived. You're not like that at all."

Castle lets out a staccato whistle. "For someone who wasn't in the mood to talk, that's a pretty deep question. So here's the thing. First of all, I didn't feel deprived, more like, for lack of a better word, unworthy."

Beckett's eyebrows close in on the middle of her forehead. "That doesn't sound like you. You hold court in the middle of a room full of people or go on Kimmel as if you have all the confidence in the world."

"Maybe mother passed on some of her acting genes," Castle speculates. "But Kate, the truth is, I always wondered if I was good enough to deserve anything. When I was little, I thought it was my fault that I didn't have a dad like the other kids, not even the every-other-weekend kind. And I believed it was my fault that my mother was always going away too. So I did everything I could to be worth something — to make people like me.

"I gave away the baseball cards that came with my gum. I didn't know anything about the game anyway. I made sure I had extra pencils to lend to kids who forgot one. I was even willing to trade the Ding Dongs in my lunch for jello."

"That was a sacrifice," Kate interjects. "I love Ding Dongs, even more than Twinkies."

Don't get me started on Twinkies," Castle warns. "They carry dangers all their own. But anyway, when I was older, and after a couple of years of therapy, I accepted, consciously at least, that I wasn't responsible for my parents' behavior. There was no way that anything I did made a father I'd never met desert mother and me. And she had to make a living, even if that meant leaving me with strangers.

"But in the meantime, I discovered that making other people happy is what turns me on. That goes for having fans like my books, but just as much for crafting the perfect latte or shelling out to make sure that Alexis has the dress she wants for the prom. And fortunately, I'm way beyond snack cakes and pencils. A visit to a museum gift shop doesn't leave much of a mark on my bank account but is the kind of little thing that brings disproportionate joy. Can you understand that, Beckett?"

"I think I can, Castle, and it makes me see you from a different angle."

"A good angle, I hope," As he watches Kate's teeth attack her lower lip, he feels a warning in his gut. "I'm sorry. We agreed that we weren't going to talk about that yet."

"But I think we just did," Kate confides. "We started anyway, and yes, a good angle, but I'm sorry. I still can't say more about it yet."

"I can accept that for now," Castle decides. "And I believe we've seen about everything this institution can offer. My feet certainly seem to think so. After I hit the gift shop, you want to find some lunch to make up for what you didn't eat at breakfast?"

"Sure, Castle, that would be great."