Papa Jack Chapter 62

Richard sips the coffee he brewed to accompany the dessert of bakery-bought tiramisu. "Kate, if you're really interested in helping me with my Nikki Heat novel, we should work out some kind of a schedule."

"Not too many hours at a time," Jim Beckett cautions. "The doctor wants her to get plenty of rest."

Kate sighs into her coffee cup. "Dad, I'm going to be telling Castle about being a cop, not going out on the street making arrests."

"I won't work her too hard, Jim," Richard promises, leaning across the table. "And we can plan around doctor's appointments, physical therapy, or whatever she needs. That's why I thought we should have a schedule."

Kate waves her hand in the faces of the two men. "Hey! I'm right here, and I'm more than capable of deciding what's best for me."

Jim and Richard lean back in their chairs, chagrined. "All right, Kate, how do you want to work it?" Richard asks.

She drums her fingertips against the linen-covered table. "I usually have the most energy in the afternoon. So I could come over tomorrow around two, and we can see how it goes."

"I can drive you," Jim suggests.

"Dad, we're only 20 blocks from my apartment, and you'd have to come from uptown. I can get a cab."

"I bought a new car while you were upstate. The passenger seat has a power recline with fully adjustable supports. It would be more comfortable than a cab – and smell better. I can pick you up," Richard offers.

"Castle," Kate interjects, "you don't need to do that."

"As you pointed out, it's only twenty blocks – not exactly a long drive. Besides, I want to show off my new toy. Aside from the salesman who went along on my test drive, you'll be the first one to ride in it with me. Come on, Kate. I'll let you program the radio."

"What kind of car is it, Castle?"

"A Cadillac STS V-8 like the one we drove in Venezuela – except newer and much cleaner. The way you fought me to get to drive that one, I know you liked it."

Kate shoves a strand of lengthening hair behind her ear. "All right, Castle. Pick me up tomorrow at two."

"With bells on."

As Castle opens the car door for her. Kate hears a faint tinkling sound. "What is that?"

Richard pulls two jingle bells on a ribbon from beneath his coat. "I told you I'd come with bells on." He grins. "Actually, I was thinking of making them the trademark of a killer. As a kid, he was traumatized when he pulled on the beard of a shopping mall Santa and discovered that the jolly old elf was a fake. So he goes around killing men who work as Santas and leaves the jingle bells behind. What do you think?"

Kate carefully lowers herself into the Caddy's passenger seat. "I think you might need therapy, Castle. When did you find out there was no Santa Claus?"

"I never believed there was. The apartment where my father and I lived – he still lives there – has no fireplace. I knew no one could come down the chimney. I used to write stories about the things I wanted. Except for a couple of my teachers, no one except my father read them. And the stuff that was possible and not too dangerous showed up on Christmas morning. I never got a magical jet plane named Scotty, which starred in one of my stories. Most of the magic in a magic set I did get eventually, came from using chemical indicators. You know, like pouring a bunch of different colors out of a pitcher supposedly containing water? And then there was the handkerchief treated with cobalt chloride that could turn from pink to blue in the warmth of my hand. I could put on a pretty good show, but I knew there was nothing supernatural about what I was doing. How about you? Did you believe?"

"If I did, it wasn't for long. Our apartment didn't have a fireplace either. I seem to remember my dad saying something about Christmas magic when I was really little. But when I was four, I managed to stay up late enough to sneak a look at my parents putting the presents under the tree and filling stockings. So I knew for sure from where everything came from."

"Did you tell your mom and dad?"

"Not for a few more years. They seemed to be having so much fun I didn't want to ruin it."

"You must have been a very sweet little girl."

"Not that sweet. Once I knew the truth, I made a point of making sure my parents knew exactly what I wanted – usually in October before the stores could run out."

"Still sweet – but practical," Richard offers. "Nikki will be like that: generous and kind but using every tool she has to bring the evildoers to justice."

"I can live with that," Kate says as Richard pulls into his slot in the underground garage.

He turns off the ignition. "Glad to hear it."

From the comfy chair Richard moved from his living area into his office, Kate scowls at him. "So, I know you made Nikki a theater major, but just how theatrical do you want her to be?" Kate asks.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, she seems to be a very straightforward detective type, pretty buttoned down. She gathers all the clues, carefully puts together a theory, and goes after the killer."

"Right," Richard confirms, "kind of like a lady detective I know."

"Maybe," Kate acknowledges. "But if she's into acting, wouldn't she want to do more undercover work?" Richard's guffaw almost sprays coffee on his keyboard. "Get it together, Castle," Kate orders. "Look, I can tell you're planning to have Rook and Nikki end up in bed together, and if that chapter has anything like, um, the heat we generated, the book may need a warning label. But that's not what I meant. If Nikki's into acting, wouldn't she want to use her skills in a sting or something?"

Richard stares at the notes on his computer screen. "You're right. She would. So what kind of a sting? Not dressing up as a lady of the night. That trope shows up on almost every cop show on TV."

"I was thinking more as a possible victim," Kate says. "We were talking about MOs of serial killers. Sometimes, they have their hunting grounds, like the Hillside Stranglers' victims were found in the hills around LA. Still, a murderer could have a much more limited territory than that."

"In which case, he'd need a target-rich environment," Richard considers, "with Nikki acting as a tempting target. She'd have to be vulnerable somehow, maybe suffering through a trauma."

"Like getting shot?" Kate asks.

Richard tries to read her expression. "Would that be a little too close to home?"

"If you and the boys hadn't gotten Cedric – if he was still out there somewhere – it would be. But Castle, I want to read about Nikki using a real trauma and getting stronger for it. And if he's up for it, Rook can help her."

"Oh, I think he'll be up for it, Kate. He'll be very much up for it. But first things first, we have to figure out how Nikki and the killer meet."

"That's the easy part," Kate declares. "The department refers shooting victims to a support group. Nikki could easily become part of it. The killer could also be a member."

Richard raises his coffee cup in salute. "Sounds perfect."