Life is for the living.
Death is for the dead.
Let life be like music.
And death a note unsaid.
-Langston Hughes

Beckett woke the next morning with a mild hangover, her thoughts buzzing. As the initial shock of yesterday's events faded, her practical brain was starting to enumerate all the complications that would have to be dealt with. For example, would the police clear the crime scene in time for tomorrow's rehearsals? Would the orchestra and chorus members be able to put aside the tragedy and continue with the work of making music? Would Howard and the rest of the orchestra's administrators be able to find a new soprano soloist on such short notice?

At the thought of Howard, she suddenly remembered the loud argument she'd heard coming from his office on Monday. Hadn't Lois said that it was something to do with Annabel? Beckett mulled that over while she was showering, moisturizing, putting on her bathrobe, and making breakfast in her small kitchen.

She settled down at the table with a plate of food and a cup of coffee and the morning newspaper, but she couldn't sit still. After reading the article on Annabel's death - it was short on details, long on speculation and sensationalism - she got up again, leaving her food half-eaten, and went to get dressed.

Today was a day off, and she had planned to spend it sitting around her apartment, having a quiet lazy morning, then an hour or two of violin practice and a tutoring session in the afternoon, and an evening of relaxing in front of the TV. But after everything that had happened yesterday, the idea of staying home all day had lost its appeal. She felt a need to be in motion.

She finished her breakfast in a rush while putting on her shoes, then grabbed her shoulder bag and headed out.

Approaching Symphony Hall, she was initially startled to see a crowd of news vans, reporters, and camera operators occupying the sidewalk in front of the stately old building. Pausing a block away, she chewed her lower lip and debated what to do. She had no desire at all to be accosted by paparazzi - especially if they got wind of the fact that she'd actually been there at the time of Annabel's death.

She decided to go around to a different entrance. As she strode along the sidewalk, she noticed that there were two security guards standing outside the front door - an almost unheard-of occurrence on a non-concert day.

Around the corner, there was a smaller side door that was generally only used as an exit. It was often unlocked, but today it was not only locked but guarded - from the inside - by another security guard. Luckily, he recognized Beckett and opened the door for her.

"Morning, Kate."

"Morning, Kevin. Crazy day, huh?"

"You can say that again. Haven't seen this much press since Sir Paul was here. Shame about that poor lady."

"Yeah."

Kate made her way through the wide corridors to Howard's office suite and knocked briefly, poking her head in. "Morning, Lois."

"Oh, good morning, Kate." Lois looked much more flustered than usual. "It's just chaos around here, unbelievable. Phone's ringing off the hook."

"Anything I can do?" Kate glanced toward the inner door that led to Howard's own office. "Is he in?"

"No." Lois frowned and twisted her lips. "The board of directors called an emergency meeting, so I assume that's where he is, but I haven't actually heard from him all morning."

"That's weird." Kate lowered her voice. "Listen, about that argument that he had with Annabel the other day…"

"Oh. I told the police about that. I did." Lois looked almost embarrassed. "Maybe I shouldn't have?"

"No, no. It's important information for them to have. They need the whole picture." Kate thought for a minute. "Were you here when it happened? And Howard?"

"I was, but I didn't hear or see anything. The door was closed," Lois nodded to the door Kate was currently bracing open with her hip, "and I was on the phone, so I had no idea. I already told the police that." She paused. "Howard ... he had left a few minutes earlier, and he didn't answer his cell when I called him after ... after ... well, when the police got here. So, I don't know."

"I see," Kate mused. "Okay, well, I'm here if you need anything. Are the police still here? I don't want to get in their way. I'll just be in the library."

"No, they cleared out and said it's fine to use the stage again," Lois replied. "Thanks for coming by, Kate. I'll find you if anything comes up."

Kate turned to step back out the door, and nearly collided with Castle in the hallway. "Whoa!" he exclaimed. "Sorry. Sorry."

"Castle, what are you - Were you eavesdropping?" she demanded.

"I was standing in the hallway," he replied evasively. "I couldn't help hearing a thing or two."

"Why are you even here?" she asked suspiciously, narrowing her eyes, as she pulled the door to Howard's suite shut behind her. Castle put on an innocent expression.

"I just wanted to familiarize myself with the performance hall, you know, the acoustics, that kind of thing. Really get a feel for where I'll be conducting."

Pursing her lips, Beckett reached out and took hold of his ear. When she gave it a firm twist, he yelped and grabbed for her hand, trying to pull away from her grasp.

"Ow, ow! Let go! Okay, I wanted to look around at the crime scene, geez, let go."

She released him, but kept her stern glare in place. "You're trying to investigate, aren't you? Write a couple of mysteries and suddenly you think you're a detective."

"No," he denied, but weakly. "Well, I just, I don't know, I was just curious." He rubbed his ear and sulked at her. "Come on, tell me you're not curious too, Miss I-wanted-to-be-a-cop."

Beckett opened her mouth on a retort, but Castle kept talking. "So do you think Howard did it?" he asked, lowering his voice with a glance toward the office door. "I wouldn't put it past him. That guy's got a temper, from what I hear."

She folded her arms across her chest and frowned. "Seriously? You think Howard killed Annabel over a contract dispute?"

"It could happen," he replied, unfazed by her demeanor. "If the dispute was about money, especially. Everyone knows that the arts are hard to fund these days, and Howard's under a lot of pressure to keep costs down. Maybe Annabel tried to squeeze more cash out of him and he snapped."

Beckett was shaking her head. "I don't know, Castle. It's hard to think of Howard as a murderer. He just doesn't seem like the type."

"Beckett, come on. How many times have you turned on the news and there's some guy who shot a bunch of people, and everyone who knew him says 'He just didn't seem like the type'?"

She pursed her lips, searching for a response, but just then her cell phone rang. "Don't go anywhere," she snapped at Castle as she dug the phone out of her purse. "I'm keeping my eye on you." She glanced down at the screen; the caller ID showed Lanie's name. "Hey, Lanie," she said into the phone.

"Hey, Kate. Listen, I'm just running into a class, but I remembered something about yesterday. About Annabel."

"About Annabel? But you were gone by the time it happened," Beckett said, turning her body a half turn away from Castle. He came up closer to her anyway, and when she tried to step away, he followed, putting his ear near hers so he could hear the conversation. She glared at him.

"Yeah," said Lanie, "but before that, I saw her. I went to the restroom, maybe half an hour before the end of the rehearsal, and I saw Annabel in a dark corner with Brett Donovan."

"The tenor soloist?"

"Yep." Lanie sounded rushed. "I only got a quick look, but Kate, they were arguing and it was pretty intense. It looked like a lovers' quarrel, to be honest."

Kate raised her eyebrows. "Really." She chewed it over for a moment. While she was thinking, she snaked her other arm around Castle's back - he was still standing far too close - and grabbed his other ear. His mouth opened in a silent gape of pain and he flailed at her hand, twisting his body away from hers.

"Lanie, you should call the police and tell them that," she said into the phone, releasing Castle's ear. "It could be a clue."

"I will," her friend agreed, "but it'll have to wait till after my class. I really gotta run, talk to you later." And she hung up.

"Huh," Beckett said to herself, frowning a little as she put her phone back in her purse.

"So, Annabel was involved with the tenor soloist?" said Castle, rubbing his ear and wincing. "Very interesting. Maybe they had a spat and he killed her."

"Castle," she said sharply, but he wasn't finished.

"Hey, do you think that's why she was here? To meet up with Brett? He wasn't on yesterday's rehearsal schedule either, after all."

Beckett paused, and bit her lower lip. It was true: Brett's presence here yesterday was just as strange as Annabel's. After a moment of thought, she reopened the door to Howard's office suite.

"Hey, Lois? Brett Donovan wasn't supposed to be rehearsing here yesterday, was he?"

"Brett? No," Lois replied, looking confused. "He specifically said he couldn't rehearse until Friday because he and his wife are packing up to move to a new apartment."

"His wife?" Beckett repeated. "He's married? Are you sure?"

"Yes, quite sure, why?"

"Um, no reason. Thanks." Beckett closed the door again and resumed glaring at Castle. He just grinned gleefully.

"This is getting better all the time," he exclaimed. "Now we've got Annabel in a hot clinch with a married man. What was it we were saying last night about secrets and drama?"

"This is none of our business, Castle. The police are investigating," she said sternly.

"Oh, sure. But it can't hurt for us to look around." He bounced on his toes a couple of times. "I've gotta get a look at that luxury box." And he took off down the hall. Beckett sighed loudly and rolled her eyes. She couldn't believe she was actually going to do this.

"Castle!" she barked, so commandingly that he stopped in mid-stride and turned to look at her. "The stairs are over here."

He grinned sheepishly and loped back toward her.

"We shouldn't be doing this," Beckett said yet again, a few minutes later, as they climbed the stairs toward the upper balcony boxes. "We aren't the police. We shouldn't be interfering with their investigation."

"We're not interfering," Castle objected. "They have all the same information that we have, and if we find out anything new, we'll tell them. We're just looking around - perfectly harmless."

Beckett pursed her lips and scowled, but couldn't come up with a response to that.

The upper-level luxury box from which Annabel had fallen was pristine; after the police had finished their evidence-collection work, a cleaning crew had come through and wiped everything away - dirt, blood, fingerprint dust, and all. Kate imagined that there could have been dozens, even hundreds of different fingerprints in here. The NYPD's forensics team would have a difficult time narrowing them all down.

Stepping down the shallow stairs to the front-row balcony seats, she peered cautiously over the low railing. The performance hall was spread out below, still and silent now, dimly lit. In the darkness, the spot where Annabel's body had fallen looked unremarkable, just a hint of discoloration showing on the hardwood floors where the blood had been scrubbed away.

When Castle spoke into Beckett's ear from directly behind her, she startled badly, gasping. "From here you can see everything," he said. "If they'd been standing this far down, we would have seen them."

Kate took a moment to calm her racing heartbeat, and then nodded agreement. From this vantage point she could easily see the spot where she and Castle had been standing last night when it happened. "Yeah, they must have been farther back."

Castle backed away and returned to the small vestibule of the private box, a rectangle of open space above and behind the seats, framed by heavy velvet curtains on both sides. Beckett stepped up the stairs and joined him in the small space, looking around. From here, she noticed, she couldn't see the audience floor at all, nor most of the stage.

"This would be a great place for a romantic liaison," Castle commented, grinning a little. "I bet they snuck up here for a little fun and then things turned sour."

"Why would they come all the way up here?" Beckett asked skeptically. "Why not the lower balconies, or there must be a dozen other places in Symphony Hall if they were looking to…" she trailed off, embarrassed.

"Oh, come on, Beckett. This is the best, up here," Castle exclaimed, his eyes sparkling. "The height, making you feel above it all. The thrill of exhibitionism, the need to be quiet, the risk of getting caught."

She stared at him, her mouth suddenly dry. Her heartbeat had sped up again, completely beyond her control.

"They came up here," Castle went on, lowering his voice to a husky growl that sent tingles down her spine. "They looked around." He matched his actions to the words, looking around the small space with exaggerated care. "Oh, look - this little nook right here, behind the curtain." He seized Beckett's arm and pulled her over to the side of the booth. The wall was slightly recessed there, creating a small cocoon of space, with the velvet curtain partially shielding it from the concert hall.

Her arm tingled at the point of contact where Castle had grasped it. Her pulse pounded loudly in her ears.

"He pulled her over here," Castle said, low, pushing Beckett back against the wall. "She probably giggled. Maybe she said 'oh, we shouldn't, not here,' and he said 'don't you want me?'" He looked directly into Beckett's eyes on the last words, and she shivered, pressing herself more firmly into the hidden nook. The air suddenly seemed heavy, her chest stuttering as she struggled to breathe evenly. The heat of Castle's body, so close to hers, suffused her. What was she doing? What was he doing to her?

Castle cleared his throat, but when he resumed speaking, his voice was still hoarse.

"Then he kissed her," he almost whispered, his blue eyes holding hers. Beckett was frozen on the spot, captivated by his gaze and the spell of his words.

But she blinked hard and forced her way out of it. "And then he killed her?" she challenged, bringing one hand up to Castle's chest and shoving him away. "Why would he do that if he was about to get lucky?" She pulled her hand back, stepped carefully around him and away, refusing to let her mind linger on the feel of his hard muscles under her fingertips.

Castle scowled theatrically, his eyes flashing hot. "Don't ruin my story with your logic. Beckett, come on, it's a good theory." He turned his head to look toward the performance hall. "They came up here to make out, or whatever, and then they started to argue."

Beckett paused to consider. It was one possible scenario, she had to admit. "Maybe she threatened to tell his wife about the affair," she offered, conciliatory. Castle nodded eagerly.

"Maybe she tried to get him to leave his wife and he refused," he suggested.

"So they fight. Quietly at first," she went on, warming to the story, "but they get more upset; they start yelling."

"It reaches the point where we can hear it from below," Castle put in. Beckett nodded.

"Maybe he's breaking up with her. He tells her that it's over." Now it was Castle's turn to nod as she spoke. He picked up the thread again.

"She refuses to accept it," he added, his words coming faster as he evoked the urgency of the scene. "She tries to convince him not to break it off. He tells her she needs to just let it go, find someone else."

"Yes," Beckett exclaimed. "But she doesn't want anyone else. She just wants him." She paused, a little breathless, her skin tingling under Castle's heated look. "So she says 'no, I won't,' and then-"

"-he gets desperate, pulls out the gun and shoots her," Castle finished. They both stopped and stared at each other, panting. Beckett's skin was buzzing with excitement; the phrase "thrill of the chase" floated through her mind. It was oddly exhilarating, putting together this theory with Castle, their minds working in sync.

But reality intruded on her thoughts an instant later. "But where did the gun come from?" she asked, deflating. "And why did he even have it with him? Did he come here intending to kill her?"

Castle frowned, and sagged against the wall. "Yeah, that part doesn't really make sense, I guess."

"It's a good theory, Castle," she said, a little apologetically, starting toward the door, "but there are just so many open questions. Like, if she was having an affair with Brett, why did she come on to you?"

"Maybe she just couldn't resist my ruggedly handsome charm," he answered, following her out the door. They started back down the stairs, matching their strides as she scoffed and shook her head.

"I don't know, Castle. Brett's pretty charming himself."

"Beckett. I'm deeply hurt." She rolled her eyes.

"I think your ego can take it," she shot back as they emerged back into the corridor on the main floor. "And anyway, why would Annabel and Brett come here for a ... liaison? Why Symphony Hall, of all places? If they just wanted to hook up, they could have met anywhere."

Castle frowned and didn't answer, but turned toward the door that let out onto the stage.

"Where are you going?"

"I just wanna-" But he stopped halfway through the door, looking. Beckett stepped up behind him to see what he had spotted.

Standing at the edge of the darkened stage, staring out into the empty audience, they saw the figure of a man. With a start, Beckett realized that it was Howard Grainger.