One good thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain.
-Bob Marley

"Howard?" Beckett said, pushing past Castle to step out onto the stage. Howard jumped a little and turned, relaxing when he saw her.

"Oh. Kate. You surprised me." He gestured out into the air of the performance space, looking a little sheepish. "I just, uh, came to take a moment, you know? Such a sad business, such a tragedy."

He was back into public-relations mode by the end of his sentence, Beckett noticed. "Yes, very sad," she agreed, studying him.

While she was still debating how - or whether - to bring up the subject of Howard's recent arguments with Annabel, Castle jumped right in.

"So, Howard, we heard that you'd been having some kind of disagreement with Annabel the other day," he said, and Beckett groaned a little, rolling her eyes at Castle's complete lack of subtlety.

But, to her surprise, Howard didn't take offense. "Yes, that's true," he nodded, meeting both of their eyes in turn. "Annabel had requested some changes to her contract, and I wasn't too pleased. We had gone over the contract in detail before she signed it, after all."

"What would make her want to change it, then?" Castle asked. Howard shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Maestro, but the details are confidential, as I'm sure you can understand."

"Oh," Castle said, looking surprised and a little embarrassed. "Of course. I'm sorry, I should have realized."

"Don't worry about it. In any case, I've given all the pertinent information to the police, and they'll decide what to make of it," Howard said. "As for you two, you should put some thought into how we might rearrange the concert if we don't have a soprano soloist. The board members and I will be making phone calls today and tomorrow, but of course it's a busy time of year and most singers are already booked. It'll be difficult to find a qualified soprano on such short notice." He sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face.

"Right, of course," Beckett agreed, remembering that the same thought had gone through her mind that morning. "We'll have to look at the program and see what we can do. Maybe add another chorus to pad it out?"

"We're in negotiations with Chloe Palmer, the alto soloist, to do the alto versions of He Shall Feed His Flock and How Beautiful Are The Feet," Howard said.

"That could work," Beckett agreed, but she felt her face falling as she added, "but we'd still have to cut out Rejoice Greatly."

"Yeah," Castle put in, "and Annabel was also planning to do I Know That My Redeemer Liveth."

"That one isn't very Christmassy, anyway," Howard shrugged. "Every year I get board members asking me why we still include it."

"Drama," Castle proclaimed, a little grandiosely. "Worms eating your body, the end of the world? Come on, that's good stuff."

"For Easter, sure," Howard retorted. "At Christmas, we generally prefer not to sing about death."

Beckett wasn't really listening. She had wandered over to the piano and absent-mindedly started playing the opening measures of Rejoice Greatly. Lost in thought, she hardly noticed Howard leaving, and only jolted out of it when Castle appeared beside the piano.

"It doesn't seem right to do Messiah without Rejoice Greatly," he said, studying her. She nodded slowly, wondering how he had read her mind again.

"Yeah, well, hopefully they'll find another soprano."

She stepped away from the piano and they started toward the stage door.

"Howard could have done it," Castle said, low-voiced, as they walked. Beckett blinked, turned to look at him.

"What? Now you're back onto thinking Howard killed Annabel? What happened to Brett?"

"Oh, I haven't given up on him," Castle grinned, "but it's always important to consider all the possibilities, don't you think? And Howard doesn't have an alibi."

"You asked him for his alibi?" Beckett exclaimed, slightly horrified. Castle just chuckled.

"Well, I mean, not as such. I just said, 'so where were you when...?'"

She continued to stare at him as he held the stage door for her. Emerging into the hall again, she finally gave in and demanded, "So? Where was he?"

"Says he was stuck in traffic in his car, and his cell phone battery ran out," Castle replied smugly. "How's that for a crappy excuse for an alibi?"

"It's probably true, though, Castle. I mean, come on. You saw how frustrated he was about having to find a new soprano. Why would he kill her and bring that hassle on himself?"

"Murder isn't always logical, Beckett."

She groaned. "Oh, you just have an answer for everything."

"Not quite everything," Castle commented, looking thoughtful. "We still haven't really figured out why Annabel was here in the first place."

Just as he spoke, the door to the nearby men's room opened and the security guard who had let Kate into the building earlier emerged.

"I can answer that," he said, and both Beckett and Castle jumped guiltily, wondering if he had seen them poking around.

"Oh - Kevin, I didn't see you there," Beckett said a little nervously. "Uh, have you met Maestro Castle? Castle, Kevin Ryan, security."

"Pleasure," Castle said smoothly, reaching out for a handshake. "I don't think I saw you here yesterday."

"No, I went off shift just before all the excitement," Kevin replied. "But I was here earlier and I did see Miss Matthews meeting with that lawyer. I figured that was why she came."

"Lawyer?" Beckett repeated, her radar going up. "What lawyer?"

"Yeah, some guy in the chorus. He specializes in contract law. I know because Bruce, one of the other security guards, he had some kind of insurance contract problem last year and this same guy helped him out."

"A contract lawyer, huh?" Castle asked, giving Beckett a meaningful look. She tried to ignore it, focusing on Kevin.

"Do you know his name?"

The guard shook his head. "Sorry. Bruce would know, of course, but he's off today."

"Well, the guy has to be either a tenor or a bass," Castle put in. "Can you describe him?"

"Uh, he's an older black guy," Kevin said, "maybe sixty, about your height, gray hair, skinny face, always wears jeans."

"I think I know who you mean," Beckett said slowly. "He's a bass. His name is Daniel." She searched her memory. "Daniel ... I can't remember his last name."

"Sorry I can't be more help," Kevin offered, but she shook her head and gave him a warm smile.

"No, you've been very helpful, Kevin. You should call Detective Gates and tell her this, too."

"Okay." He nodded. "I'll do that after my shift. I gotta get back to it." And he walked off down the hall.

"This is getting more and more interesting," Castle hissed into Beckett's ear. "First Annabel argues with Howard about her contract, then she meets with a contract lawyer, and then she gets murdered. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"If you're thinking that it makes Howard look even more suspicious, then no," Beckett replied firmly, but quietly. "I still can't see it. But I do wonder what Annabel was talking to the lawyer about."

"Well, let's call him and ask," Castle suggested eagerly. "I bet Lois can tell you his full name and where he works."

"Castle," she groaned, rolling her eyes. "Are you still trying to investigate this case? Need I remind you that you're not a police detective?"

"I know, I know," he said, following her down the hall, "but how many fantastic mystery books are there where the main character is an ordinary citizen who solves crimes?"

"That's fiction, Castle. Here in the real world, the police do that job, and you and I have our own jobs to do." She jabbed a finger at him. "Which, by the way, I am trying to get back to, and so should you."

"I will. I will!" he protested at her skeptical look. "Right after we ask Lois for that lawyer's name and phone number."

Beckett scowled, folding her arms across her chest and glaring at him. But she had to admit, if not aloud, that wondering about Annabel's meeting with the lawyer was going to bother her all day. "Fine," she sighed at last, "but we are not interrogating people, okay? We don't have any standing at all."

"No problem. I'll deal with that when the time comes," Castle said, which didn't instill a lot of confidence in her. She gave him another glare for good measure and opened the door.

But Lois wasn't at her desk, and the inner door leading to Howard's office was closed. "Hmm. She must have stepped out," Beckett muttered.

"Check the ladies' room," Castle urged.

She rolled her eyes. "For heaven's sake. No, I'm not going to go chasing after Lois. You can check back here later." She closed the door again. "Since I'm here, I have some work to do in the library. And you should go..." she waved a hand vaguely, "do whatever it is you do with your days."

"Fine," Castle retorted, "but I'm not finished with this. I have a lot more questions."

"Impersonating a police officer is a felony," Beckett called after him as he strode away down the hall. He didn't respond.

Beckett shook her head and headed off toward the orchestra library.

Castle wandered all around Symphony Hall, hoping for some kind of inspiration to strike. He prowled the labyrinthine corridors, seeing nothing and no one; got lost, wandered some more, and eventually found his way back to the stage door. He went out onto the audience floor and looked at the spot where Annabel had fallen. Then he climbed the stairs to the balcony box again and looked down, thinking about Annabel up here arguing with someone, not knowing that it was the last argument she would ever have.

He thought about the flash of Beckett's eyes when he had pushed her against the wall, spinning his story of a lovers' tryst way up here in the private box. He was pretty sure that the heat of the moment had affected Beckett the same way it had him, but she had fought it off.

He leaned against the wall and lost himself briefly in a tangle of thoughts about Kate Beckett. God, she was hot, and smart, and deliciously bossy, and it had been so much fun working out potential murder scenarios with her. She would have made a great cop. Of course, she also made a great musician.

He tore himself out of his reverie and went back down the stairs.

Approaching the orchestra's library, he heard music from behind the door, which stood just slightly ajar. He recognized the tune; it was Rejoice Greatly.

At first he thought it was a recording, and was briefly surprised by the thought that the symphony's library would have recordings as well as sheet music. But then he realized that there was no orchestra playing, just the voice singing; and, peeking through the crack in the doorway, he discovered that it was Beckett, singing quietly to herself as she flipped through the pages of a violin score.

"O daughter of Jerusalem," she sang, "behold, thy King cometh unto thee."

Castle stood in the hallway, transfixed. Beckett's voice was possibly the most beautiful soprano he had ever heard. It was clear and pure, with just a touch of vibrato. She knew the piece by heart, and her voice floated effortlessly over the runs and decorative trills of the melody. He found himself holding his breath as the music flowed around him.

Then Beckett apparently found what she had been looking for in the book, and her song cut off as she bent over the pages. Castle let his breath out in a soft whoosh, blinking dazedly.

"Oh, Mr. Castle!" said a voice from behind him, and he jumped a foot, gasping in startlement. It was Lois, hurrying toward him with an anxious expression. "Have you seen Kate?" she implored, not even seeming to notice his discombobulation. Inside the library, he could see Beckett reacting to their voices, looking up from her work.

"Uh, um," he stammered, and Beckett came over and opened the door fully.

"What's up, Lois?"

"Oh, Kate, thank goodness." The older woman sighed anxiously. "Annabel's sister is here, and she says there's supposed to be something here for her, and she's just so distraught, and I don't know what to do. And Howard has disappeared again."

"Okay. Okay, calm down," Beckett said gently. "I'll be right there in a minute, okay?"

Nodding gratefully, Lois fluttered back down the hallway toward her office, while Beckett fixed an angry look on Castle.

"Were you spying on me? That's really creepy, Castle."

"I wasn't spying," he protested. "You were singing. I was listening." Very smooth, Rick, he groused internally. Why couldn't he keep his cool around this woman?

"Singing?" Beckett repeated dubiously, taking a step back. "I wasn't-" She cut herself off, frowning a little. "I was singing?"

Castle's eyebrows went up. "You didn't even realize it? You were singing Rejoice Greatly."

"Lots of people hum to themselves while they're working," she muttered defensively, moving back into the library to put away the books she had been looking at.

"Yeah, but most of us don't sound like-" angels from above, he stopped himself from saying, oh god she had reduced him to purple prose, "-like we're on stage before an audience of thousands."

"What?" she exclaimed, blanching slightly. He watched her curl in on herself, almost unconsciously, he thought; her expression was guarded, uncomfortable.

"Beckett, your voice is amazing," he said slowly. "You're so talented. How can you hide it away?" The next thought was so obvious that it popped out of his mouth the instant it popped into his head. "You should be our soprano soloist."

She sucked in a harsh breath, looking stricken. "That's crazy," she said, and he was sure she hadn't intended the quaver in her voice, the hitch in her breath.

"It's not crazy at all," he denied. "You have a gorgeous voice, and you know the piece by heart. You-"

"Stop it," she interrupted fiercely. "Just stop. You don't know anything." She brushed past him and strode down the hall, her heels clicking angrily on the glossy wooden floor.

Castle gaped in bewilderment for a long moment, then hurried to catch up.

"Beckett, wait-"

But he reached her just as she reached Howard's office, and he had to cut himself off as Beckett grasped the doorknob, took the briefest moment to compose herself, and opened the door.

Beckett took a deep breath and pushed aside the roiling emotions of her conversation with Castle. As she entered the outer room of Howard's suite, her eyes were immediately drawn to the young woman sitting on one of the visitor chairs, red-eyed and sniffling. With her blonde hair and round face, the resemblance to Annabel was unmistakable.

Lois was hovering nearby, twisting her hands helplessly. Hearing the door open, she looked up and her face flooded with relief.

"Kate. Oh, thank you for coming." She reached out a hand to urge Beckett forward. "Darla, this is Kate Beckett, our concertmaster. Kate, this is Darla Matthews, Annabel's sister."

"Hello," the young woman said wetly, extending a limp hand.

"Hello, Darla," Kate replied, taking her hand for a quick squeeze. "I'm so very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you." As Kate slid into the chair beside her, Darla fixed her with a beseeching look and said, "I just don't understand. Who would kill my sister? And what was she going to give me?"

"Give you?" Kate repeated, glancing over at Lois and Castle, who stood looking just as confused as she was. "What do you mean?"

"Annabel called me," Darla sniffled into a wad of tissues in her hand, "and said she had something for me. She said that she was in rehearsal all afternoon and she would call me when she was done, so we could meet up."

"She said she was rehearsing?" Castle asked, then started guiltily, putting up an apologetic hand even before Beckett gave him the evil eye.

"Darla, this is Richard Castle, our conductor," Beckett said reluctantly, and Castle stepped forward to shake Darla's hand and murmur something sympathetic. "But I don't know what you mean about Annabel having something for you," Kate added gently. "What was it?"

"I don't know," the young woman shrugged helplessly. "She wouldn't say. I was at the nursing home with our mother when Annabel called, so I couldn't talk long. I said, 'what is this thing you want to give me?' and she just said, 'you'll see.'" She blinked watery, puffy eyes at Kate. "I asked the police, and they let me look in her purse, but there wasn't anything unusual there. So I thought maybe she left it here, whatever it was."

"We haven't found anything," Lois put in diffidently, "and the police did look around very thoroughly. So I don't know what it could have been."

"I just wish I knew," Darla sobbed, scrubbing her face with the tissues. "I wish she had said to come and meet her here. Maybe I could have - I could have stopped it." A fresh flood of tears flowed down her cheeks.

"No, no. Don't think that way. It's not your fault," Kate murmured, putting an arm awkwardly around the other woman's shoulders. She shot a glare toward Castle, who startled and then quietly backed away, giving them space. Lois handed over the tissue box.

It took Kate another ten minutes to get Darla calmed down enough so that she could call a friend to come and pick her up. "I'm so sorry to get you all wet," the young woman moaned, seeing the damp patch she had made on the shoulder of Kate's sweater.

"Please, don't worry about it," Kate told her sincerely. "I'm sorry we don't know what Annabel was going to give you, but we'll be sure to let you know if we turn anything up."

"Thank you so much," Darla sniffled, and with some relief Kate was at last able to hand her off to her friend, showing them to the side exit so they could leave without being spotted by the reporters out front.

"This mystery gets more and more mysterious," Castle exclaimed, when Darla had at last departed.

"Yeah," Beckett agreed, pulling her sweater off. "Well, maybe the cops found something they didn't tell us about."

Castle was badly distracted by the removal of Beckett's clothing, which had left her in only a light gray tank top. His eyes followed the long line of her throat, the strong bones of her clavicles, the dip of her cleavage; then he found himself hung up on her slim but well-muscled arms. Violinist arms, and the sinuous curves of her deltoids and biceps captivated him.

Belatedly, he realized that she was in motion, walking away, and he hurried to catch up.

"What do you think Annabel was going to give her sister?" he asked eagerly as he followed her down the hall. "There are so many possibilities. Drugs? Money? Jewelry? Secret nuclear launch codes?" He gasped. "A puppy?"

A gurgle of laughter broke free from Beckett's throat before she managed to stifle it. "Castle," she said, apparently striving for a sharp tone, but not really getting there. "The other interesting question is, why did Annabel lie to her sister? Why tell her that she was rehearsing, when we know she wasn't?"

"Good point," he said thoughtfully. "That is interesting." Beckett opened a door and he started to follow her through it, but she paused and looked quizzically at him. "What?" He looked up, and realized that it was the door to the women's restroom. "Oh. Sorry." Grinning sheepishly, he retreated.

Shortly he heard the roar of the hand-dryer, which continued for a while, and when Beckett emerged she was putting her sweater back on. She seemed surprised to see him.

"You're still here," she said flatly.

"We were in the middle of a conversation," he pointed out, falling into step as she headed back toward the library again.

"No, I'm pretty sure you were in the middle of wild speculation," Beckett retorted, "and I was about to tell you to get lost."

"Well, you didn't get around to it, so I guess that means you subconsciously want me around," he said cheerfully, and was rewarded with a very dirty look as she opened the library door.

"You really do have a talent for fiction, Castle."

"Ouch," he groaned, clutching his chest dramatically. "No, but seriously, Beckett, we're on the trail of something here. Can't you feel it?"

"What trail?" Huffing exasperatedly, she turned to face him fully. "All we have is a series of unconnected facts and a bunch of unsubstantiated theories. And a complete lack of police credentials."

"Say 'unsubstantiated' again. That's so hot." That got him another hard glare, but he barreled blithely onward. "And the facts are not unconnected," he said loftily. "We just don't happen to know how they're connected yet. Once we figure that out, we'll see that there is a story here. One coherent, cohesive narrative that makes all the pieces make sense."

"Fine," Beckett sighed, "then why don't you go write that story, and leave me in peace?"

"I -" he began, but suddenly paused, rocking back on his heels as a realization hit him. Of course - he couldn't believe he hadn't seen it last night. The woman in the alley scene he had composed was Beckett, and... In a flash of inspiration that he felt physically like a fist to the gut, the entire plot of the opera burst into his head. Background, exposition, rising action, primary conflict, secondary conflict, minor resolution, major resolution; a whole collection of major and minor characters. They were all there, arranged in his mind like constellations, like branches on a tree. Snippets of melodies began to form as well, attaching themselves to the various characters.

It had been a long time - years, he thought - since a whole opera had come to him so forcefully, so completely. The excitement of it buzzed through his veins like a familiar drug, one he hadn't taken a hit from in far too long.

He realized that Beckett was staring at him, saying his name curiously. "Are you okay?" she asked, wavering between amusement and concern.

"Good. I'm good," he choked out. "I gotta go. I'll see you tomorrow at the rehearsals." And he dashed for the door.

But before he left the building, another thought occurred to him. He dashed back inside and found his way back to Howard's office.

"Hey, Lois? I forgot to get Kate's phone numbers - do you have them handy?"

"Sure, of course, Maestro," she said agreeably, and wrote them down for him, both home and cell phone numbers. He thanked her with his best charming smile and left.