Poison Pen

Chapter 1

Castle groans and covers his head with a pillow, but the insistent buzzing of his doorbell refuses to abate. He was hoping that with Mother and Alexis on a yoga retreat in the Catskills, he'd have a chance to sleep in, but Morpheus is obviously not smiling on him.

Reluctantly pushing back the covers, Castle throws his bare feet over the side of the bed, shoving them into his slippers. He grabs a tiger-striped terry robe from a hook on the en suite bathroom door, before shuffling his way to answer the unrelenting summons.

His book agent, Paula Haas, charges over the threshold, holding up a letter. "You got another one! Ricky, this is scaring the hell out of me."

"Maybe you'd be less jumpy if you took some time to sleep," Castle suggests. "Come on, Paula, I've been getting disturbing mail ever since 'In A Hail of Bullets.' Except for the occasional enterprising fan who's managed to stow away on a room service cart or masquerade as hotel staff to invade my tour accommodations, nothing has happened. The most I've had to do is sign a few body parts, and I do that all the time at readings anyway. Just turn that thing over to the postal inspector as usual and let me get back to bed."

Paula shakes her head, loosing a raven strand from her tightly wound bun. "Ricky, call it agent's intuition, but this guy doesn't come across like your usual harmless crazies. Listen! 'The poisoning of the literary arts that flows from your fingers will flow through your veins, and your vile attacks on the writer's craft will cease.' This one isn't just complaining that he didn't like how Derrick Storm's last case ended. This is a personal attack on you. It gives me agita every time I read it. I think we should at least put on extra security for your book party tonight."

"Fine," Castle agrees. "Talk to Gina. She makes all the arrangements. Look, Paula, I appreciate your concern, as fiscally motivated as it may be, but I think it would be in both of our best interests for you to leave me alone now. I believe I was dreaming of a new character, but your arrival banished it from my brain. If I'm lucky, maybe I can get it back."

"I'm going. After your idiotic move of killing off Storm, you need to dream up a new character, and it better be a good one." Paula lifts one fashionably shod foot. "Jimmy Choo heels don't come cheap, and neither does your house in the Hamptons or those five-star hotels you love to stay in on your tours."

"I'll come up with something, Paula," Castle promises, "I always do."

"It better be soon, Ricky. Gina is already making noises about clawing back your advance."

"With Gina, clawing at me is standard operating procedure. My next character will knock her on her ass."

"Just make sure that happens before Black Pawn knocks you on yours," Paula warns.

Castle shuts the door behind his agent. No wisp of his dream remains in his mind. He's not sure now that there even was a character, or if there was, that it would have made sense in the harsh light of day. He can try going back to sleep, but he doubts that it will do any good.

"Weird you like, weird you get," Esposito announces as Detective Kate Beckett arrives at a crime scene.

"What's weird about it?" Kate asks, pulling on a pair of gloves and walking toward a body slumped over a vintage writing desk.

M.E. Lanie Parish points at the victim's neck. "Death by pen, specifically the old type that writers dipped in ink wells." She holds up the bagged murder weapon. "We'll know more when the lab guys have a look, but it appears to have been sharpened for the job. The strange thing is this guy didn't bleed much, and there's a substance on the pen that isn't blood. It could be poison."

"A poison pen," Kate considers, taking the bag and tracing the shape of the murder weapon with her fingers. "Some kind of a message, maybe? I recognize this. It's the symbol of the Poe Society, a mystery writers group that gives out awards that look like this, every year. I get the books they recommend. They're good."

Lanie's head waggles back and forth on her neck. "Kate Beckett taking anyone's advice on anything; that's a coin landing on edge."

Kate ignores the tease. "Who's the victim?"

Lanie lifts the head of the body so that Kate can see its face. " I already got what I need so I can move the body without destroying evidence. If you recognize the pen, maybe you recognize him."

Studying the features, Kate nods. "That's Connor O' Donnell. He won last year's Poe award."

"That's who's listed as owning the house," Ryan notes.

"Who discovered the body?" Kate queries.

"We don't know. The front desk at the 12th got an anonymous call, a male voice, from one of the few payphones the city has left," Ryan replies. "It's on a corner a few blocks away from here. But you know New York, no one admits to seeing anyone using it, and there's no video.

"The killer didn't want us to find him, but he wanted us to find Connor. He needed us to see his work," Kate speculates. "He's sending a message."

Kate looks up grimly from her computer. "Two other Poe Award winners have been killed within the last few months. One was on an island retreat in the Caribbean, and the other was on a research trip to Saudi Arabia, so no one made the connection."

"Until now," Esposito points out.

"Who won this year, Beckett?" Ryan wonders.

"Richard Castle. He writes the Derrick Storm books. His next one is supposed to be available today. Since I order similar novels sometimes, I got a notice from Amazon to preorder. I should go talk to him."

"As a detective or a fan?" Esposito smirks.

"As a detective," Kate retorts. "There may be an event to celebrate the book's release. If there is, I can talk to him there."

Castle marvels at how Gina can go from shooting daggers out of her eyes at him in a private corner of the room to her effusive praise of his work in front of an audience. Perhaps during their unfortunate marriage, she picked up some acting tips from Rick's mother. He has to give his ex-wife credit for putting on a good show. The music is lively, the Champagne palatable, and the requests for signed copies of Storm Fall, brisk.

Now if he can only figure out what comes next. Gina issued an ultimatum. She needs chapters on her desk within three weeks, or not only will Black Pawn demand the return of his advance, which he can afford, but they may drop him as an author, which he can't — at least not right now. After 20 years with Black Pawn in its various incarnations, building a relationship with a publisher who will promote him as tirelessly as his present home does, would be difficult. He and Gina may not have had an amicable parting as husband and wife, but she is still tops at her job.

Handing a newly signed book to a gushing fan, Castle flashes his carefully developed smile and looks out across the ballroom. For a moment, he feels as if he's been struck by lightning. An exquisite though unadorned woman is striding toward him. She's not dressed in party clothes, and is that a badge hanging from her waistband? He knows Gina put on the extra security Paula requested, but a cop?

Kate approaches the book signing table. "Mr. Castle, I'm Detective Beckett. I have reason to believe that you're in danger."