As Kate drove them towards the precinct, Rick was unnaturally quiet. At least for him, Kate considered. Not that she minded him sitting staring out of the window. It made a nice change. It just … "Okay, what is it?" she asked finally, unable to take the silence any longer.

"Hmmn?"

"You look like you had an idea. Or were constipated, I'm not sure which."

He cracked a faint smile. "Thank you for that incredible show of concern for my welfare, but no, my digestion is fine, thanks. In fact I already had a –"

She held up a hand. "No. Thanks. That's plenty of information."

"You asked."

"And I wish I hadn't."

Rick leaned his head on the side window, seeing the steam from his breath misting the glass. "I was just thinking how young she looked."

"The victim?"

"Mmn. Probably not much older than Alexis."

"Probably not." He didn't seem inclined to go on. Hating herself for it, and promising it was just a one-off mental aberration, she encouraged, "So?"

"Hmmn? Oh, nothing. Just …" He took a deep breath and sat up straighter. "I suppose mostly I've seen the dead bodies we've investigated as … things. Not real people. Not really."

"They lived. Loved. Were loved. Had fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters," Kate pointed out. "And that's why we have to find out who killed them. To give their families some form of closure."

"Like you didn't get?"

"Skating on dangerous ground, Castle," she warned.

"Thin ice."

"What?"

"Skating on thin ice."

"Do you have to do that?"

"What?"

"Correct me."

"No. But it's fun. I love it when you get mad at me." This time the smile was more playful. "That little vein in your temple pops out and pulses away …"

"And how's that writer's block?"

He managed to look shocked. "Who said I had writer's block?"

"Your mother."

"Since when do you go talking to my nearest and dearest?"

She smiled enigmatically at him, childishly glad to have got her own back. "Research."

He mimed being stabbed to the quick. "That hurts. Not entirely unexpected, at least on her part, but it still hurts."

"So you haven't cleared it yet."

"As it happens, I have." He gave her that look, the one that she'd labelled Smug No. 3. "I know exactly what happens next."

"Really. And what's that?"

He wagged a finger at her, and she had to resist the urge to break it.

"That's for me to know and you to have to torture me to find out."

"Don't tempt me."

"I find warm chocolate sauce and a feather works pretty well." He raised one eyebrow and he wiggled it a bit. "How are you at … daubing?"

The look on his face made her want to laugh, but she resisted that as well. "Please, I've had enough with juvenile delinquents making passes at me today."

"Juvenile? I'll have you know I'm in the prime of life."

This time she gave a grunt of laughter. "Right."

"No, honestly. I am what they call a catch."

"Then I think I'll throw you back."

He shook his head. "You can really wound a person, you know that, don't you?"

"And somehow, it doesn't worry me."

"Anyway, who's been making passes at my favourite police officer?" he asked, leaning back in his seat.

A green Buick cut them up and Kate leaned on the horn. "Idiot!" she yelled.

"Well, I gathered that, but I thought you could be more specific."

"What?" She tossed him a glare but he just smiled it back. She gave in. "Just my neighbour."

"You want I should have a word with him? I could make out I was your boyfriend. You know. Spend the night. Just for verisimilitude." He rolled the last word around his mouth as if it were an expensive wine.

"I'm a cop," Kate pointed out for perhaps the millionth time. "I have a gun. I think I can take care of him."

"Then I'll help you bury the body."

"Only if I can make it a two-for-one deal."

"You really have it in for me today, don't you?"

"You bring out the worst in me."

"Odd, someone else said that today."

"Probably about you." Kate drew up at the precinct. "I have work to do."

"Then I'll watch."

"I'd rather you didn't."

"You're my …" He stopped. He was going to say 'muse', but his nose hadn't quite recovered from the last time she tweaked it. "My inspiration," he said instead. "And you make it look so easy."

"You know, I'd much rather –" She was interrupted by her cell. Struggling to get it out from her coat pocket, she glared at Rick when he chuckled, finally tugging it free. "Beckett," she said into it, listening carefully. "Good work. Give me the address." Pulling off her right glove with her teeth, she took the pen and pad Rick held out to her, writing quickly. "When was it reported stolen?" Again, a note. "No, you and Ryan keep looking. Let me know if you find anything else." She turned off the phone.

"Well?" Rick demanded. "What gives?"

"Do you have to be anywhere straight away?" she asked in turn.

He glanced at his watch. It was barely four. "Not yet."

"You know, I'd hate to keep you from your hot date. Perhaps –"

"It's not a hot date. It's only Maggie. And what did Esposito find?"

She wanted to make him wait, beg for it, but the mental image of him down on his knees in front of her was enough. "The name of the owner of the bass case. One …" She tried to make sense of her writing. "Merrick Canfield. The third."

"You mean there's been two others?"

"Apparently. He's one of the cellists with the New York Philharmonic."

"Wait a minute. Canfield. There's something …" He searched his mental records, all the little bits of trivia as a writer he kept locked up in his brain, ready to be useful when needed. "That's it. Merrick Canfield. He's leader of the Canfield Quartet. They play jazz down in the Village."

"Well, he reported his double bass stolen from his dressing room a week ago. With case."

His mind instantly bringing up the image of the young girl stuffed inside, basically folded up, he nodded, his face serious again. "I think I've got time."

"Fine." She started the engine again, pulling her glove back on and handing him back his pad and pen. "And who's Maggie?"

---

"Kate Beckett." Alexis studied her hair in the mirror, pushing one long red strand back into its clip. "She's a police detective. And the inspiration for his new heroine."

Maggie stepped out of the guest bathroom, drying herself with a large white towel. "Is she nice?"

"Mmn. She's okay. Dad thinks she is."

There was something in Alex's tone that made the older woman narrow her eyes. "Just nice?"

"I think Dad would like there to be more. And the amount of UST that's around when they get together … it's embarrassing."

"So what you mean is your father likes her." She ran her hand through her almost-black hair, absently checking to see it if was dry enough to style.

"Pretty much."

"And do you?" Maggie sat down on the bed, tightening the towel around her body.

"Not like that."

"You know what I mean. Do you like her?"

"Well, we haven't exactly spent a lot of time in each other's company, but … she's okay."

"Just okay, or …"

"Maggie, I don't think Dad's looking for another wife, if that's what you're worried about, and I'm sure Kate isn't looking for a husband. They're just … friends." She scrunched her nose up at the last word.

"Hmmn."

Alexis might only have been fifteen, but she had what they called an old soul, so she knew exactly what that sound meant. "You should have said yes."

"You know, you should totally come," Maggie said, firmly changing the subject. "You and Martha. To the awards ceremony with me. There's going to be food, booze, men … okay, admittedly there aren't exactly going to be many your age, but since I'm not sure what your age actually is …"

"Dad wasn't even going to go this year," Alexis admitted. "I mean, he won last year for best novel in a series, but … I think people were annoyed he killed off Derrick Storm."

"I'm not surprised. That's why I don't have a recurring character – easier to mix and match."

Alexis laughed. "I know what you mean. And now he's just doing the same thing, just changing the sex and profession."

"That sounds … painful."

"I think it probably is."

Maggie looked hopeful. "So, will you? If you don't then it'll be just Rick and me at a huge table, and we'll look lost and lonely, and have to drink far to much just to make up for –"

Alexis gave in. "Yes, fine. My grandmother will go wherever the booze is free, and although I've got homework to do tomorrow, I'd like to go."

"Homework?" Maggie shook her head. "Alex, it's Sunday tomorrow. You should be out enjoying your free weekend, not inside working."

"That's what Dad says. But I enjoy studying."

"I didn't." She lay back, staring into the ceiling. "I just about managed to cram most of my work in on the way to school, writing furiously in the back of my dad's car, while he sat there growling and bemoaning the sorry state of education."

"You went to college," Alexis pointed out, turning to gaze at her.

"It was expected."

"You met Dad there."

"And your mother. Don't forget that."

"Oh, I don't." Alexis stood up and crossed to the bed, sitting down next to her friend. "Why didn't you say yes?"

Maggie narrowed her eyes and glared at the girl. "That's between me, your father and a very expensive bottle of single malt whisky."

"One day you'll tell me."

"Not even then." Maggie sat up and sighed. "Well, the car will be here at six-forty five so we can be fashionably late but not enough to have to interrupt the first award. So that gives us a shade under three hours to make ourselves stunningly beautiful so that everyone stops to stare at us."

"Only three hours?" Alexis joked.

"I know, I know. But I think we can do it."

---

Kate parked the car a little way along from the lobby to the very new and very expensive block of apartments that looked like little more than a tower of glass cards. For a moment Rick had a touch of nausea looking up, imagining them all coming crashing down in picturesque but deadly shards, and he shivered slightly.

"Cold?" Kate asked, feeling the chill biting into herself despite her coat.

"Yeah," Rick lied, cursing his sometimes over-active imagination. "Come on. Let's get going."

Kate looked at him strangely, but led the way into the building.

"Can I help you?" a guard behind the desk asked, his skin shining blackly in the soft lights.

Kate showed her badge. "Detective Beckett. I'd like to see Merrick Canfield. Is he in?"

The guard glanced down at something on a screen. "I'll ring up for you."

"Just tell us which apartment –"

"I'm sorry, that isn't possible. The elevators won't be going anywhere unless Mr Canfield gives permission."

Kate glanced at Rick then nodded. "Fine. Whatever."

The guard dialled, waited, then said, "Mr Cranfield, there are two police officers here to see you. Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Of course, sir." He put the phone down and flicked a switch. "Please, use elevator number two."

"Thanks." Kate gave a tight smile and moved down the lobby.

"Excuse me," the guard added, somewhat diffidently. "But aren't you Rick Castle?"

Rick turned, a wide smile on his face. "That I am."

The guard almost let go enough to grin. "I'm a big fan. In fact, I'm reading Storm Fall at the moment. Would … would you autograph it for me?" he asked, already reaching under the desk.

"No problem." He pulled the black Sharpie he always had ready in his pocket, and signed the title page with a flourish. "There you go."

"Thank you. So much." The guard stared at the signature, and the message Rick had written above it. Thanks for all your help.

Rick recapped the pen and ambled down the hall to join Kate at the open elevator doors. At her look he opened his eyes wide and asked, "What?"