Shattered Lies
Chapter 48
"Castle, why are we going by private plane and why do we have to leave at 6 a.m.?" Kate asks as Castle parks near the tarmac at Teterboro.
"Because if we didn't go by private plane, we'd be making at least two changes with layovers in between and probably not reach Oxford until tonight. This way, we have one short refueling, lunch pick-up, and bathroom breaks stop, and get there in time to try to meet up with Persky this evening."
"This flight must be costing a fortune."
Castle shrugs. "Consider it my contribution to maintaining Winston Bergeron's goodwill and open checkbook for Out of the Cold. Anyway, the seats are more comfortable; we'll have full-sized tables and decent wi-fi. The pilots also said they'd have Havah's bagels. We won't see those down south."
"I hope they remembered the cream cheese."
"I'm sure they did. I've flown with these guys before. They not only remember the cheese; they remember the lox."
Kate gazes at the marble wall of what the tiny private airport outside Nashville designated as a ladies room. The facilities look like they should be in a palace. In addition to the stack of paper towels so soft, she would have thought they were cloth. There is a wide assortment of toiletries and supplies of feminine needs. "The rich really are different," she mutters to herself but takes advantage of the upscale hand cream and moisturizer to counteract the effects of the drying air on the plane.
"Castle this place is amazing!" she exclaims as she meets him outside the door of the men's room. "Who are they expecting, Queen Elizabeth?"
"More likely Queen Latifah, if she comes through on tour. But the supplies are for the pilots, whatever gender, as well as the passengers. If anything, they need to rest and refresh more. The concession has some freshly delivered packaged salads, sandwiches and yogurt parfaits. It has an espresso machine and one of those fizzy water makers too. Want to have a look?"
"Sure, but after the bagels and if we're going to have steak tonight, I'd better stick with a salad." She yawns. "I can use the espresso."
"That makes two of us. I want to get some writing done on the second leg of our trip. The Bergeron case is giving me some new ideas for Rook."
"For Rook?"
"You know, a back story. The intrepid reporter, always trying to address the traumas of the world to make up for his own. I was thinking I might have him spending part of his childhood somewhere he was regarded as a minority - a not too bright minority. Perhaps an Asian country. When he hits a snag writing about the abuses to the downtrodden, he retreats into his more comfortable world as a romance writer. It would explain a lot and also give Nikki greater sympathy - and other emotions - toward him."
"So Rook would be like Bergeron, writing to overcome the pain of his history. What about you, Castle? What pain are you fighting to overcome?"
"You mean besides my abandonment issues of a father who left my mother to raise me alone and a mother who went on the road and left me with sitters who drank out of a paper bag while spending their days watching soap operas and game shows?"
"You like soap operas and game shows."
"That's beside the point. Isn't that enough childhood trauma?"
"I don't know Castle, is it?"
Castle makes a show of checking his watch. "The refueling won't take long. We should choose our repasts and get back on the plane."
In flight, Kate reviews Jada Bergeron's file and the little other data she's been able to gather on the case as Castle hunches over his laptop. At the airport, he had an expression on his face she'd only seen once before; when she'd told him about her mother's death, and he'd made up that story about finding the housekeeper's son on the beach. Or had he made it up? She's not sure anymore. Maybe he isn't either. Who remembers things that far back in their childhood clearly? He knows what's driving her, inside and out. Perhaps it's time she understood the same about him.
The airport in Tupelo isn't nearly as well decked out as the one where they stopped in Tennessee, but it has toilet paper, and the towel dispensers work. That's enough for Kate, while Castle fills out the paperwork for their rental car.
Castle's travel agent came through on the hotel, the only four-star in the area. The suite assigned to Rick and Kate has a balcony, flat screen TV, both a tub and a shower and the high thread count sheets Castle loves. Without much unpacking to do, the couple is on the road to Abbeville promptly, looking in on the field station and picking up some literature before seeking out the steak house.
Castle is immediately convinced he isn't going to like the place much. He claims that the air has the scent of meat not merely seared, but left to cook long enough for the juices to evaporate and the flesh to toughen. When they both order Rick's favorite rib eyes, Kate discovers that her fiancé was spot on. The meat bounces on the plate. Fortunately, the restaurant provides much needed serrated steak knives and sauce to disguise the lack of flavor.
Kate and Castle both eat slowly. They might as well. Small pieces are easier to chew, and there isn't any sign of Persky. Kate is trying to decide whether she's brave enough to sample what is billed as fresh-baked peach cobbler when the tinkling of the bell over the door signals the arrival of another victim. She compares his face with the picture she took from Persky's file. He's older of course. His hair is almost entirely white, and his jowls are more pronounced, but it's Persky. Now she just has to go into her act.
Kate waits until Persky is directed toward what appears to be his usual table, before accidentally bumping into him, sticking out her breasts as far as she can. Persky's eyes don't rise much as Kate's lips overflow with apologies.
"It's fine, Little Lady. No harm done." Persky assures her, the nasal tones of his Bronx accent evident.
Kate smiles up at him. "Oh, another New Yorker. I would never have expected one down here. My fiancé and I are scoping out the field station to see if it can collaborate on a project we're working on. Can we buy you dinner?"
Persky's eyes sweep over Kate's trim body. "I never turn down a free meal. Lead the way." Persky views the remains on Kate's and Rick's plates and shakes his head. "The sign says steak house, but the only thing decent is the fish. It comes straight from the lake every day. The desserts aren't bad though. Marybelle, she's the mother of Jack who runs the place, bakes them herself."
"I was thinking about ordering the cobbler," Kate confesses.
"I have a taste for the chess pie," Castle adds.
Persky smiles benevolently. "Both good choices. I should get through my fish fast enough. They know when I come in. They'll have it ready for me. You can tell me about what that S**** mayor is doing in New York, and we can finish together."
Kate kicks Castle under the table to remind him not to react to the slur on his friend. She forces herself to continue smiling and keep Persky talking.