And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah
- Leonard Cohen

"Okay," Beckett said, setting her cell phone down on the table. "Everything's arranged. Now all we can do is wait."

"Detective Gates didn't have to be so rude about us investigating," Castle sulked, slumping in his seat. "I mean, we did solve the case, after all. You'd think she could be a little grateful."

"She was already on the right trail," Beckett pointed out. "She probably would have cracked it eventually. And anyway, she did say 'thank you.'"

"Yeah, but she used a tone. There was a definite tone."

"Get over yourself, Castle. We're probably lucky she didn't rush right over here to arrest us both for obstruction, or interference, or something." Beckett looked at her watch. "Let's just hope we can get all of this wrapped up before the dress rehearsal starts."

"The rehearsal!" He sat up straight again. "That reminds me, Beckett. About the solos." He paused, looking at her hesitantly. He didn't want to push, but ... they were running out of time.

"Yeah..." She looked away. "Let's see how the rehearsal goes, okay?" Biting her lower lip, she turned back and met his gaze. Her eyes seemed to plead with him to understand everything she wasn't saying.

And he thought he did. He hoped so.

"Okay."

Beckett was quiet for a moment and then, unexpectedly, said "Hey, Castle?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you nervous?"

He blinked at the apparent non sequitur as she lifted her eyes to his. The crease in her forehead was adorable, he thought irrelevantly as he tried to decipher her expression.

"No, why should I be?" he asked, and saw her face fall slightly. He added, "We've got the right suspect this time, and everything is going to fall into place."

Beckett's expression cleared. She rolled her eyes and huffed in exasperation. "Not that! I mean about the concerts."

"Oh! That!" He smacked his forehead melodramatically, and was pleased to see that it drew a light laugh from her. "Of course I am."

She tilted her head, considering him. "You were nervous the first couple of rehearsals," she said slowly, "but then it got better. You seemed a lot more confident yesterday."

He stared at her. "You could see that I was nervous?" And here he thought he had done such a good job of hiding it. He was the son of a Tony-award-winning actress, after all.

"Yeah." She was still studying him with that strange expression: a little uncertain, a little something else. "It wasn't obvious, but I just ... had a feeling."

"The first couple of rehearsals were tough, for sure," he admitted. He couldn't remember the last time he had said something so revealing, so personal, to a woman he wasn't related to. "I'm out of my element here, you know."

"I do know," she agreed. "But you settled in."

"I'll still be nervous for the performances, though." He shrugged. "I always am, even when it's my own stuff. Right up until the moment when the stage lights come up and the music starts. Then I'm just ... in it." He looked at her curiously. "Isn't it the same for you?"

"Yeah, it is." She looked down at the table and said carefully, "When I've got my violin."

Oh. Castle was silent, unsure what to say. He knew that any tired platitudes like It's going to be fine or You can do it would be entirely worthless.

"Do you know why I've been so sure that you're the right person for these solos?" he said at last.

She lifted her face to him again, her expression more open now, anticipating. "Why?"

"Because you're tall," he said, and she broke out into a real smile at last.

Beckett and Castle met Darla Matthews, Annabel's sister, at the front door of Symphony Hall just before noon. "Good morning," Kate said. "Thanks for coming, Darla."

"No, thank you for calling me," the young woman replied, stepping inside with them. "You said on the phone that you found the thing Annabel was trying to give me?"

"That's right," Kate nodded. "We've left it in our administrator's office for safekeeping. If you'll just follow me?"

"Of course," Darla agreed, and fell into step beside Kate, with Castle bringing up the rear.

"You know," Kate said as they walked across the lobby, "the police have been working very hard on trying to figure out who killed Annabel."

"Yes, I'm sure they have," Darla said, looking down at her moving feet and sniffling a little.

"Mr. Castle and I have been gathering some information about it also," Kate went on, opening the door that led to the administrative area, and holding the door open for Darla. The younger woman frowned quizzically as she went through the doorway.

"You have?"

"Yes, not intentionally," Beckett explained, falling into step again, "but since we're basically in charge of the orchestra and chorus, people do tend to come to us with their issues and information."

"You'd be amazed how much people see and hear behind the scenes at a rehearsal," Castle put in mildly from behind them. Darla looked confused.

"I don't understand - why are you telling me this?" They turned a corner and started down another hallway.

"Well, you see," Kate said, taking over again, "since Castle and I aren't experienced investigators, there were a lot of little facts people brought to us that we couldn't make sense of. This item that your sister wanted to give you, for example. Or why Annabel told you that she was here rehearsing on Tuesday, when in fact she wasn't scheduled to rehearse with us until today."

A flicker of something like surprise darkened Darla's eyes briefly, and her tone was more cautious when she said, "Oh, really?"

"Yeah," Castle put in brightly, "we couldn't figure out why she would lie to you about that."

"We also don't have the resources that the police have," Beckett continued, "like the ability to trace phone calls - access autopsy results - look at surveillance video - that kind of thing." Kate opened another door and gestured Darla in. The young woman's eyes darted nervously from Beckett to Castle and back again, but she stepped forward and through the door.

"If we'd had all of that," Castle said, following the women into the outer office of Howard's suite, "we would have figured it out sooner." As Kate went to lean her hip against Lois's desk, Castle closed the outer door and leaned against it, casually blocking off the exit with his body.

"F-figured what out?" Darla asked in a trembling voice. She turned a beseeching look on Kate, her lower lip wobbling. "I don't understand what you're saying."

"That Annabel didn't lie to you about rehearsing that day," Kate said quietly. "It was you who lied. You didn't know that she wasn't on the rehearsal schedule, so you just assumed that's why she was here."

"You lied about her having something to give you, too," Castle said as Darla's hands flew to her mouth, her eyes growing even wider. "You were hoping we would find it and give it to you, because that's why you killed her, to get your hands on it."

"The real reason Annabel was here," Beckett picked up, "was to meet with a lawyer in the chorus and have him look over your mother's revised will. Because your mother had decided to cut you off, and Annabel wanted to be sure that the new will would hold up in probate court."

"It never occurred to us to suspect you," Castle said, "because we aren't cops. Detective Gates had her doubts about you from the beginning, but your alibi seemed air-tight. You were with your mother at the nursing home all afternoon on Tuesday, and the staff confirmed that."

"But after we turned up a witness who saw you arguing with Annabel in the stairway here," Beckett went on, "Detective Gates decided to take another look, and found out that your alibi wasn't as solid as it had seemed."

"No," Darla protested, the first words she had spoken in several minutes. "No, that's crazy. There's some mistake. I was at the nursing home with my mother."

"Yeah, you were," Castle agreed. "Thing is, your mother has been extremely ill and sleeps most of the time, and when she is awake, she's not often lucid. So she isn't in any condition to reliably say whether or when you were there."

Beckett picked up the thread again. "And, she's in a private room, so it would have been pretty easy for you to slip out for a little while and then come back, without anyone noticing."

"Which is exactly what you did," Castle added quietly. "Once we put the idea in Detective Gates's mind, she was able to get hold of the nursing home's surveillance video, and saw you leaving shortly before Annabel died and returning shortly afterward."

"This is crazy," Darla said again, but weakly. "You, you can't prove any of this."

"No, we can't," Beckett agreed with a small smile. "But luckily, that's not our job. It's the police's job. And they're very good at it."

"Although, to be fair, so are we," Castle smirked. Kate rolled her eyes at him.

In a flash, during the split second when both of their eyes were off her, Darla reached into her purse and pulled out a gun.

"Stop it," she sobbed, the muzzle of the gun weaving dizzily through the air as her hand trembled violently. "Both of you just stop it. Leave me alone."

Castle stood paralyzed against the door, his eyes riveted to the gun. He gulped, breathing shallowly.

"I never meant to hurt anyone," Darla cried, her face twisting in anguish. "I just wanted to see. She wouldn't let me see."

Beckett slowly slid off the edge of the desk, holding her hands up in front of her to look as unthreatening as possible. "Calm down, Darla," she said, struggling to keep her voice steady, although her mouth was dry and her heart pounding. "Put the gun down. You don't want to do this."

"Why not? What's the point?" the young woman cried. "What's going to stop me now?"

"I am," said a cool voice from the side. The inner door to Howard's office swung open and Detective Gates stepped out, her gun held firmly in her hand, pointed at Darla, unwavering. Behind her stood Howard, Lois, and Laura the flute player.

"Put the gun down, Darla," Gates said evenly. "It's over."

Kate held her breath, watching Darla's face, not moving a muscle. Castle was as still as a statue against the wall.

Abruptly Darla's gun clattered to the floor and the young woman collapsed onto the nearest chair, sobbing.

Castle slumped against the door, gasping for breath. Beckett sagged down onto the desk again.

A short while later, as the police led Darla away in handcuffs, Detective Gates came to find Castle and Beckett in the orchestra library, where they were sitting on opposite sides of the table again, not speaking. Their eyes were glazed as they digested the morning's events, but they both snapped to attention and stood up as the cop entered.

"Well, the D.A. thinks that this case looks like a no-brainer," Gates said, "considering all the evidence. We'll need to run ballistics to prove it, but I'm sure the results will show that Darla's gun was the one that shot Annabel. And that, combined with the revisions to their mother's will, ought to be enough right there." She paused, and looked from Beckett to Castle and back again. "We couldn't have done it without you two, though."

"Oh, please, Detective," Kate said weakly, "don't encourage him." Castle huffed, but the cop only cracked the smallest of smiles.

"It's true, though, Ms. Beckett. Much as I hate to admit it - because you two really shouldn't have been poking your noses into this-" and she punctuated this with a hard glare directed mostly at Castle, "-we wouldn't have been able to spot the discrepancy about Annabel supposedly saying that she was rehearsing. And without that, it might not have occurred to us to check their cell phone records and find that it was Darla who called Annabel, rather than the other way around."

"Darla was so anxious to get her hands on the revised will so she could destroy it," Beckett mused. "If she had just let that go, instead of coming here and making up a bunch of lies to get us to look for it, things would have been so different."

"True," Gates nodded. "Annabel had given the will to the lawyer for safekeeping, and he gave it to us, but that by itself wouldn't have been enough to convict her."

"Well, I'm just glad that it's all taken care of," Beckett said with a sigh of relief. "Now we can get back to focusing on our rehearsal this afternoon."

"Yes, and I'll let you get to it," Gates said, holding out her hand to shake. "Ms. Beckett, Mr. Castle, it's been a pleasure. But next time, please, leave the murder investigation to the professionals."

"We will," Castle assured her, and put on an injured expression in response to Beckett's skeptical glare.

"I kind of feel like I owe Howard an apology," he commented after Gates had left. "He was being a hard-ass at first, when Annabel just said that she wanted to change her contract. But he softened right up when she finally told him it was because of her mother's illness."

"Yeah," Kate agreed. "I guess at first she didn't want to play the sympathy card, but when her mother took a turn for the worse, she figured Howard needed to know what was going on." She turned away, growing pensive. "It's kind of ironic, isn't it? Annabel was the daughter who cared more about their mother, which is why she changed her will, but that's also what got Annabel killed. Darla was only at the nursing home that day to make herself look good and give herself an alibi."

"Yeah. It's a sad story," Castle said quietly. Kate turned back to look at him, and found him closer than she had realized. Her breathing sped up slightly as she looked up into his eyes.

"Castle..."

"It was exciting, wasn't it?" he breathed, inching closer. "The way we tag-teamed her. Getting her to give up the goods."

"Getting her to almost kill us too?" Kate countered, but she couldn't muster a lot of bite in her tone, not with the heat of Castle's body lapping at her skin. And anyway, he was right: it had been exciting. The fire of it was still sizzling in her veins.

"Beckett," Castle said softly, taking another half-step toward her. In her heels she was nearly his height; their faces were almost level, less than a foot of charged air between them.

"Oh, there you are, you two!" boomed a voice, and they both jumped, springing apart. Howard Grainger bustled into the room, full of good cheer. "I've been looking for you. It's past time."

"For the rehearsal to start?" Kate gasped, looking at her watch in dismay, but they still had a good ten minutes.

"No, no. For you to tell me your plan," Howard said. He saw them both staring at him in confusion, and cocked his head to the side. "Your plan? For the soprano solos? You said you'd have one."

"Oh my God, yes," Castle exclaimed. "I'm so sorry, Howard, all the excitement-"

"Oh God," Kate echoed, feeling nervousness flood through her again. She was already dizzy and breathless from the electric moment she had just shared with Castle - her face felt hot and flushed - and now the butterflies began to roil through her stomach again.

"Right, right, it was quite a morning," Howard said, nodding. "The police have finally gone, and may I say, we all owe a big debt of gratitude to the two of you for helping out with that awful situation." His public-relations tone was back in place, but when he saw them both nod in acknowledgement, he switched back to businesslike. "So, let's have it. Who's singing the soprano solos?"

Castle drew in a deep breath, and looked over at Kate.

Slowly, she straightened her spine and made eye contact with him, and then with Howard.

"I am."

The performance stage in Symphony Hall was filling up with instrumentalists and singers, the huge domed ceiling resounding with their voices and music as they prepared for the final rehearsal.

A small crowd gathered around Castle almost immediately, as soon as he came through the stage door; he could see the same thing happening with Beckett as she made her way to the first chair and set down her music score and violin.

"Yes, yes," Castle said indiscriminately to the musicians crowding him, all trying to ask the same questions. "Whatever you've heard is probably true. Annabel's killer is behind bars, so we can all rest easy and focus on the rehearsal, right?" He raised his eyebrows, and everyone took the hint and moved away.

Looking over the heads of the instrumentalists who were already sitting, Castle saw that Beckett wasn't having as easy a time shaking off the questions; her face was beginning to look a bit pinched. Just what they didn't need, he thought, was for busybodies to destroy what small amount of self-confidence Beckett had been working so hard to build up for this rehearsal.

So he intervened, forcing his body language to stay loose and casual as he stepped closer to Beckett as quickly as he could. "Ready to begin, Kate?" he asked lightly, and the hangers-on began to disperse.

The look that Beckett flashed him had a hint of irritation in it as well as relief, but she said only, "Yes, thanks."

He nodded to her and ascended the podium, busying himself with setting out his score and adjusting his music stand while Beckett got the orchestra started tuning up.

Kate took some deep cleansing breaths as the cacophony filling the hall began to coalesce into the soothing ritual of tuning the orchestra. She had felt her shoulders relax when she stepped out onto that stage, into the midst of that group of people: it felt like home. Being bombarded by questions the whole way to her seat had dissipated some of that good feeling, but it quickly came back as she sank into her familiar role at the head of the orchestra.

When the instruments were all tuned, she gave Castle a nod, and he turned to find the three soloists standing at the rear of the stage: Chloe, the alto; Brett, the tenor; and Vincent, the bass. They came forward now to shake Castle's hand, and proceeded to the front of the stage while the orchestra and chorus applauded politely.

Per tradition, four chairs had been arranged at the front of the stage for what should be four soloists; the three took their seats, leaving the remaining seat empty. Looking at it, Kate was briefly struck by a sense of foreboding, as if the bare chair were an omen; but she shook it off, mentally chastising herself for the Castle-like moment of whimsy.

The three soloists were, however, casting curious looks at the empty chair; the chorus and orchestra likewise were looking and nudging each other and whispering questions; Kate knew it was only a matter of time before someone would ask.

"Let's try to run straight through, if we can," Castle announced, pitching his voice to carry over the rows of seated instrumentalists and up to the singers on their tiered risers. "We've done some excellent work this week, so I don't anticipate any problems with our trouble spots, but if we do run into anything, we can come back to it at the end."

During this little speech, Kate had been amusing herself by trying to guess who would be the first to voice what everyone was wondering; she wasn't surprised to see that it was Doris, the soprano in the front row with the short white hair.

"Maestro, what's happening with the soprano solos?" she called, and a susurration went through the group, half curiosity, half relief that someone had finally addressed the elephant in the room.

Castle carefully didn't look at Kate. "We're going to run them when we come to them in order," he said, and quickly, before anyone could ask a follow-up question, he added, "Let's begin with the overture, please."

The hall quieted. The soloists sat comfortably in their seats, scores on their laps. The chorus members stilled, about half of them taking their own seats while the rest chose to remain standing. The orchestra members sat up straighter, lifting their instruments into position.

Castle gestured the tempo, and the music began.

Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed yesterday's cliffhanger and today's resolution. Thanks again to all of my readers!

We still have a few more chapters to go, but with the holidays upon us, my next updates may be delayed. Please bear with me - I promise not to leave you hanging (much). My family is traveling to NYC this weekend so I am not sure how much internet access I'll have. (and no, a visit to Broome Street is not on the agenda!) I do hope and expect to finish this story before the New Year, however.

If you are celebrating this week, I hope you have a lovely holiday.