A Deadly Mixup

Season 9, Episode 15

Written by skygirl55

This is a work of fiction by writers with no professional connection to ABC network's Castle. Recognizable characters are the property of Andrew Marlowe and ABC. Names, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Carlo Moretti shivered as he jammed his key into the lock of the gate barricading the bakery's front entrance. The damp chill of the early morning seeping through his pores and into his bones made him wish he'd grabbed a jacket to put on over his sweatshirt. He could have sworn the weather report had predicted low sixties for that day, but perhaps that was by afternoon, once the overnight rain moved out. For now, he was shivering as he hoisted up the gate and used a different key on the same ring to unlock the main entrance.

He shouldn't be doing this, he thought, cupping his hands around his mouth and blowing hot air into them while bracing the door open with his shoulder. He should still be in bed beside his wife. He would have even settled for sitting at his kitchen table with a mug of coffee and the dog barking at him relentlessly, giving his ankle a nip for every minute that passed without scratches or a bowl of food. But no, he had to be here — all because of Vito.

What kind of person called before six A.M. anyway? Vito; of course Vito. And in typical Vito fashion, his request had not been pleasant, apologetic, or even of the bargaining variety. No. It had been a gruff "Get to the shop, NOW! Russo won't answer his phone and I can't miss the refrigerator delivery again!"

So up Carlo got from his warm bed, where he'd been snuggled against the ample backside of his wife, even though he didn't want to, but it's what cousins did for each other; it was all part of being family.

Family — pah. Some family Vito was; he'd never go to the pizzeria for an early morning delivery if Carlo asked him to, but that was just a fact of life Carlo had long accepted. With Vito, the path of least resistance was always preferable, and that path usually involved saying, "Sure V, I'm leaving right now."

Carlo only made it three steps into the shop before his toe connected with a solid object and he cursed under his breath. Hopping around on his non-injured foot, he made his way to the wall, groping for the light switch. He found it a few moments later as his big toe continued to throb. Despite trying to be gentle, he still winced when he placed his foot back down on the ground and observed the space. Chairs piled haphazardly by the entrance so that an unsuspecting victim would injure their toe, tarps draped over the limited number of tables clustered in one corner, and dust practically everywhere. What a mess!

Limping, Carlo made his way behind the front display case where the counter beside the cash register flipped up, allowing someone to access the back kitchen area from the front entrance. He didn't bother putting the flap back down as he was the only one in the store at that moment. Midway past the empty bakery racks, he flipped the switch illuminating the kitchen in the rear of the building. Only then did he notice something odd.

...was that a shoe?

Brow wrinkling, he approached the prep area, his eyes focused on the bottom of the white sneaker sitting lonely in the middle of the tile floor. Strange. Had one of the workers left his sneaker behind? That didn't make any sense. Why would—

"Oh, God!" Carlo cried out before crossing himself at the sight of the bare foot and body attached to it. Though Carlo barely crept more than a few inches forward, he didn't need to question whether the crumpled figure was alive or dead; the maroon pool of blood told him all he needed to know.

Turning away as his stomach began to feel unsettled, he reached into the pouch of his sweatshirt to retrieve his phone, intent on calling for the authorities. As for calling Vito? Well, he'd put that off as long as possible.

Richard Castle ambled his way up 27th Street from where the cab had dropped him off at the corner of Lexington Ave. He flipped up the collar of his jacket and stuffed his hands deeper down into his pockets, shivering in the mist-filled cold. Geez, if he had known about the insufferable weather, he'd have stayed in bed with his wife. Then again, she hadn't given him much choice, nudging (well, kicking — kind of) him out of bed, telling him to check out the scene along with the boys while she enjoyed her last twenty minutes of sleep in their king-sized bed solo.

Arriving at the address Ryan had texted him, Castle frowned at the front of the space. When Kate informed him there had been a murder at a bakery, he had assumed it was a bakery-café in which he would be able to obtain coffee — something even more necessary now that his fingertips felt so numb. However, what she had failed to convey to him was that this bakery was not yet open. One glance inside told him it was very much still in the construction process and thus more than likely would not be serving him water, let alone a latte.

Crap.

Nodding to the uniform guarding the entrance, Castle ducked inside, tip-toeing around the chairs blocking his path with skill, particularly for a man of his size. Now that he was out of the annoying weather, Castle smoothed his jacket collar back down and observed the interior. The bakery was a thin slice of a shop sandwiched between two other buildings, barely wide enough for a few people to stand beside the counter — even less once they set up those tables clustered off to the side, he imagined. The glass display case out front sat upsettingly empty just a few feet away from bakery racks that suffered the same fate. So much for that muffin to go with his non-existent coffee.

"Castle? Back here."

Ryan's voice pulled the writer from his observations and he made his way along the counter until he found the open space to slip through. There, he dodged an ME tech on his way out, which was quite a task given the absurdly tight space. Finally, he progressed to the kitchen area where, due to the limited space, the observing detectives and medical examiner stood single file. Castle slipped in between Ryan and Esposito to gaze down at the crumpled body of their victim.

"Meet Vito Russo, 29 according to the Florida driver's license found in his wallet."

Castle moved his eyes from the man's shoeless foot to Ryan. "Florida? Bit out of his neck of the woods, isn't he?"

Ryan hummed and pointed with his pen towards the opposite side of the room. There, standing against the wall beside a double-stacked oven, stood a man with a salt-and-pepper mustache and rounded belly. He had his arms folded over his sweatshirt and appeared to be in a state of distress Castle recognized as post-corpse-seeing shock. "According to Carlo, who found the body, Vito owns a restaurant in Sarasota and was here helping his brother-in-law get this bakery off the ground."

Castle nodded and stepped around Ryan to get a closer look at their vic.

Vito's body was on the floor tucked tightly between a stainless-steel prep counter and a stand mixer the size of a middle schooler, each of them dusted with no small amount of white powder. Over the manufacturer's label sticker on the face of the mixer was a smear of crimson which corresponded to the matching drips on the mixer's safety cage and bowl itself. Gazing down at the victim, Castle took note of the mashed-down hair at the back of his head along with smears of red and brown.

"Blunt force trauma?" the writer asked Lanie, who was crouched down beside the knees of their vic.

"So it would appear," Lanie said, adjusting the wrist of her blue nitrile exam gloves. "Won't know officially until I get him back to the lab." Then, turning to Ryan, she said, "I'd estimate TOD around twelve hours ago, give or take."

As Ryan nodded, the writer looked around the scene and observed, "So he was killed yesterday evening... and when was the body found?"

"Ah." Ryan flipped back in his notes. "Just after six this morning. According to his statement, Mr. Moretti came in to open the shop for a delivery at the request of the owner, who is on his way back from Long Island where, apparently, there was some sort of family emergency."

"I-I just can't believe it." The eyes of both homicide detectives and the writer turned in the direction of the meek voice coming from the edge of the kitchen. "I can't believe he's dead. In the kitchen! Dead in the kitchen! Vito is going to be so, so mad."

Castle's brow furrowed as he glanced at the detectives. "Would... Vito have preferred to die elsewhere?"

Carlo's face contorted with confusion. "What?"

"Ah," Esposito stepped in, tapping Castle on the arm. "The bakery owner is Vito Moretti; I assume that's the Vito he's talking about."

"Got it." Castle muttered to him before turning to Carlo and apologizing.

"Could you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Mr. Russo?" Esposito asked the sniffling man.

Using the sleeve of his sweatshirt to mop under his nose, Carlo shook his head. "No, not at all. Russo was the nicest guy, really. Always had a smile on his face and greeted you like you were the best friend he hadn't seen in years. He was even nice to Vito — and people aren't usually nice to him."

"Why not?" the writer asked.

A guilty expression immediately flashed over Carlo's face and he tried to backtrack. "Well, um, see, Vito isn't exactly what you'd call... warm and cuddly. He's, ah, difficult at times — especially with Russo, but Russo took it in stride... what a guy..."

Castle glanced back at Ryan suspiciously. "Did Vito have a particular reason for disliking Mr. Russo?"

"No. Just that he was there, I suppose. See, Russo is Vito's wife Luciana's younger brother. She brought him up here to help her husband open this bakery."

"And Vito didn't want help," Castle concluded, his spidey-senses beginning to tingle as he got a whiff of motive.

"Vito didn't have a choice and he's not the type of guy to take lightly to decisions being forced on him, but Russo took it in stride; he really did try not to step on Vito's toes but, ah, as you can see," Carlo gestured around the space, "it's a bit tight in here. Would you guys excuse me for a minute? I want to try and call Vito again."

The detectives waved him away and began to confer with each other, reviewing the facts they'd gathered so far. "TOD was last evening; business isn't open to the public yet... think they have an employee list?"

"I'm hoping for security cameras in the area."

"Vikram can look into that. Meanwhile, I'll take this back to the Twelfth to find out more about our vic. He's wearing a wedding ring so I'll need to do some notifications. Why don't you stay here and wait for the owner to show up."

"Got it." Esposito responded to his colleague's recommendation.

"Mind if I hitch a ride with you?" Castle asked. Ryan beckoned for him to follow and they made their way back towards the exit, when the menu board resting atop the counter drew Castle's attention. In pink, puffy lettering at the top of the board was the title Sweeter Sty of Life, which presumably was the business's name. As he could not immediately see the connection between the peculiar name and a bakery-café, Castle's brow wrinkled. "Odd sort of name, right?" he said to Ryan.

The detective merely shrugged, but before another word could be said, Carlo returned to the tight space and said, "Sorry; he didn't answer, but I'll keep trying."

"Excuse me," Castle said to him, holding up the two-foot-long wooden sign, "was this going to be a specialized bakery?"

"Oh. Yeah. Most of the donuts were going to be fried in bacon fat — that was Vito's great idea." Carlo said, though his tone indicated that he strongly disagreed.

Castle bounced up on his toes, his face lighting with glee. "And a great idea it was! Bacon fat donuts!" Genius! He was disappointed he hadn't thought of it himself.

The two detectives, who, due to their profession, considered themselves donut aficionados, met his enthusiasm with skeptical expressions. "Really, bro? Sounds like it could be weird," Esposito commented.

Castle placed the menu board back on the counter, brushed his hands and said, "Then I guess you just don't love bacon enough." Then, with nose held high, he led the way out of the bakery with Ryan rolling his eyes as he trailed behind him.

"Good morning again, my dear."

Kate Beckett looked up and a grin spread across her face upon sight of her husband. After a night of fitful sleep thanks to the growing child resting on her bladder, she was much happier to see him post her one allotted cup of caffeinated coffee that day. Of course, she was always happy to see him, but it felt better when anvils weren't weighing down her eyelids and her lower back didn't ache.

She stood belly-first (seemingly the only option now that she was 34 weeks along) and approached him. "Hey Castle. Interesting case?"

He leaned in and brushed his lips over hers before offering a hum. "Mmm maybe. Turns out, the bakery will be specializing in bacon fat donuts once it opens."

Kate could feel deep crinkles in her brow forming as that notion did not sound remotely appealing to her. "Really?" She was more of a regular Krispy Kreme person and she'd never turn down the occasional cronut — perhaps even one with chopped bacon on top, but bacon fat? That may have been going a little far.

The writer's chest deflated. "Why is no one else excited about this?"

Kate went to laugh, but almost immediately felt the bump of an elbow — or was it a knee? — against the inside of her belly. She gasped and pressed her hand over the spot where their daughter was saying good morning. The little girl had seemingly been holding a conga line in-utero during her shower earlier, but this was the first time she seemed to be alert since; she must have recognized her father's voice.

"I think Lily might be; she — ah," Kate gasped again — okay that was definitely a knee, "she seems excited."

He grinned and reached out his hand to press against her blouse and feel the bumping movements of their growing child. "Our future bacon connoisseur."

Kate rolled her eyes at her husband's suggestion. "Just what I always wanted for my daughter." After winking, she moved around him, skimming her hand over the top of his shoulders as she passed, and went out into the main bullpen to examine what Ryan was scrawling across the still-uncluttered murder board.

Her eyes skimmed over what he'd written out so far: the name of the victim, his age and current residence, information about the crime scene, and the word "Suspects" which, to that point, was blank underneath. "Do we have COD?"

"Unofficial." Ryan responded, holding up his cell phone that displayed a crime scene photo. "Blunt force trauma from falling against that commercial mixer."

Kate glanced over her shoulder and quirked her lips at her husband. "Guess they won't be making bacon donuts anytime soon."

He sighed dramatically. "I know; so disappointing. Maybe if we solve the case the owner will give us a free dozen!"

The captain rolled her eyes and then turned back to the murder board so the detective could fill her in on what they knew so far.

Barely five minutes passed before his partner showed up announcing, "Carlo finally got a hold of Vito; he's caught up in traffic and won't be back until around lunch."

"Vito?" Kate questioned, side eying the murder board.

"There are two Vitos," her husband explained. "One dead; one alive."

"Vito Moretti owns the bakery," Esposito clarified further.

Kate nodded. "I see. Well, make sure you keep your Vitos straight and keep me in the loop." With that, she moved back towards her office, trying her best not to waddle.