A little ink more or less

9.

Castle carried the music box around for half an hour before realizing he was holding it, at which point he dropped it like it was melting, wiping his hand off like he was afraid some of the circus tent or the girl inside it had stuck to him. “What do you mean you don’t know?” he asked, when he realized he’d been silent on the phone for too long. “Why the fuck don’t you know?”

“I’m sorry, Mr Finch,” Reynolds said on the other end. “I arranged the purchase of the house from Patricia Nicholls, but I’m afraid I don’t know much of its history prior to that. I don’t even know how long she owned the house, offhand. I know the original owner was a Glen Copland, who bought the land expressly for the purpose of building Domino, and that the Van Der Linden family occupied the residence for a long time, but I don’t know anything more about them, nor whether there were other residents at some other time. I certainly don’t know anything of the construction history.”

“Goddammit,” Castle snarled. The stress, the adrenaline souring in his veins, was curdling into anger and it needed direction. “I can make things fucking uncomfortable for you, Reynolds. Real fucking uncomfortable. I need to know this shit. I need to know it yesterday.”

Reynolds didn’t say anything.

“Find out everything you can. Put a brief together. Email it to me. Have people working overnight if that’s what you need to do. I want sources listed, I want everything you get. Savvy?”

“I savvy,” Reynolds said, flatly but politely. “Is there anything else, Mr Finch?”

Katrine was at the door, so Castle stuck the notebook in a drawer. “That’s it. Get on it.” Clicked it off, pocketed the phone, opened the door. “Hi Katrine, come on in.” He put his best host smile on and it already felt fake, in that way where he knew she could tell it was fake, but he was still being polite, and chances were she wouldn’t call him on it, judging from every party and social gathering he’d been to in his life.

“Am I too early?” she asked when he’d closed the door behind her — reluctantly, in a way he couldn’t help, because he loved that moment of fresh air against him. There was nothing stopping him from leaving the windows and doors open all the time, of course. But he didn’t do it anyway.

“Nah,” he said. “I was just dealing with a business call.” He kissed her cheek, and she his, and it was all very CPW, very Port Antonio. She was wearing cut-offs that were cut a little too off for most environs but might be just right these days, with a green thong visible in the back where her Pixies tank top left a long expanse of skin. Not very CPW; furthest thing from Port Antonio, except for the thong. “Are you –”

“Hungry?” she asked, and smiled. “I am now — smells great, whatever you’re cooking.”

“Coq au vin,” he said, mildly irritated, some of that poisoned anger unfurling towards her. “Told you that yesterday.”

“Yes sir,” she said, and lowered her eyes a little.

#

He made an appointment with a rare books appraiser while she set the table for him, since her return reminded him of the Under Ground edition, which he told her about over dinner.

“Wow,” she said. “Nice. So how’s it different?”

“Dunno yet,” he said, and explained about Mia’s book while he was at it — assuming it was Mia it’d belonged to. This interested her even more, and when they finished dinner, she stretched a little, like a cat.

“So,” she said. “Unless you had something, you know, specific in mind — what about if we went down to the lake with that Mia book and a bottle of wine? I think that could be fun. It’s a gorgeous night out.”

He shook his head. “We can go upstairs with the book if you like.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Upstairs with the book? This is a sexier book than I thought.”

“I just don’t feel like going down to the lake tonight, that’s all. Maybe tomorrow, if you want.”

“Mm-hm,” she said, and crossed her arms as she leaned back in her chair. “You can’t leave, can you?” He didn’t say anything, trying to think of what to say, and she continued, “There’s no car in the driveway. You won’t go down to the lake. I’ve never seen you leave the house, or even seen evidence that you’ve done so. And you’ve got that elaborate delivery thing set up. You can’t leave, can you?” She got up, walking around the table towards him.

“Well –” he said. “You’re reading a lot into –”

“You’re a ghost, aren’t you?” she asked, sliding her hands down over his shoulders from behind, massaging his neck.

He laughed abruptly, startled. “A ghost? Jesus. No.”

“Stuck haunting this house — it’s why no one’s heard anything from Sebastian Finch since his girlfriend OD’ed — it was a suicide pact, wasn’t it? Or you both died together or something? And the family covered it up — who knows why, maybe you’ll turn up dead in a plane crash, something more innocent — but you, you’re stuck here haunting the place up, aren’t you?”

“Katrine, for fuck’s sake –”

Her hands clenched down around his throat, hard. She was stronger than she looked — in that sourly cliche, “because she had to be” kind of way. She was methodical about it, careful, something he appreciated on more levels than he had the luxury to annotate at the moment. Whether through luck or skill, she was squeezing just the right places, and if she didn’t strain his windpipe she’d impact the carotids and knock him out.

He held his breath instead of getting distracted by trying to choke one through, and reached around him, pushing the chair back, grabbing her around the middle. Pushed her, pulled her, it was awkward being the one in the chair with her standing behind him, but he yanked her against the table hard, until she let go of him. The minute she did, he smacked her head down against the table and held it there, her hair tangled around his fingers, kicking her knees out from under her with a couple of tries so she was half-kneeling half-crouching by the table while he held her against it.

“God fucking dammit Katrine,” he said, his voice raw and scratchy, his throat aching. He could feel where her nails had dug in, hot little scratches. “Do I seem dead? Do I seem fucking dead to you, you stupid bitch?”

“Not — really,” she said, trying to struggle away from him. He shoved her away as he stood up.

“Goddammit,” he said again, looking at her on the floor. She didn’t bother getting up, just righted herself and folded her legs into a sitting position. “Goddammit.”

“So what, then?” she asked. “Look, fuck, I’m sorry. I mean, you have a table full of books about ghosts, did you happen to notice that? And the noises in this place –”

“What?” he asked.

“I’m just saying –”

“What noises?”

“At night. Listen, I –”

“Katrine, what fucking noises?”

“At night, at night, I can always hear — things. Scratching sometimes. Like on a coffin, is what I thought. On the inside of a coffin. And sometimes voices, but I can’t make them out. I didn’t even notice that at first, because it’s like in my apartment — except you don’t have an apartment on the other side of your wall, you have –”

“More of the house.”

“Right.”

“Katrine, I’m not a ghost. And I’m not dead.”

“Yeah, no shit, I can tell that now. Ghost doesn’t fucking choke when you choke him. So what the hell?”

He sighed, started to sit down, and shook his head. “I’ll need a drink.”

“‘Kay,” she said, and when he came back with a bottle of Scotch, she was still sitting there on the floor with her legs crossed, elbows on her legs and head resting on her palms.

“I’m under house arrest,” he said, after pouring each of them a drink and taking a more-than-a-sip of his. “The Finch family has determined that after multiple arrests for driving while intoxicated, drunk and disorderly conduct, property damage, assault and battery, and possession over the last fourteen years of my life as a legal adult, I am as much liability to my father’s legacy as I am its only heir. And my father’s legacy is my grandfather’s legacy, and his father’s legacy before him. And their legacy is Senator Jonathan Finch’s legacy, if you see what I mean.”

“Only sort of,” she said. “What did you do?”

“Rachael dying was the last straw. I haven’t seen the press — not more than a couple headlines — but the assumption must be that if she OD’ed, I was doing drugs too, right? Heroin, coke, and so on. Horse tranquilizers. Et cetera.”

“Castle,” Katrine said, almost smirking. “Everyone in Massachusetts has been assuming you’re on something for, like you say, about the last fourteen years.”

“Right,” he said. “But as long as I was still clean in the national spotlight, it didn’t matter. I was supposed to be President, Katrine, at least to hear my mother talk about it. My father didn’t make it, so — you know.”

“It skips a generation,” she said.

“Right. My uncle goes from Ambassador to Governor to Senator, and me, I was supposed to stay out of politics until it was time to shoot for whatever the highest point would be. President, if Jonathan didn’t beat me to it. Senator otherwise. Stay out of politics so I wouldn’t be tainted by them. Let a vote for me be a vote for the legacy.”

“You’re like JFK Jr, if he was more like his cousins.”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Like, because they were fuck-ups.”

“I get it.”

“So you got locked up in a big old house?”

“Yeah.” Close enough. He knocked back the rest of his Scotch and let the taste hover in his mouth.

“For how long?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t –”

“I’m here at the leisure of my uncle.” He knew more than that, but it was none of her damn business.

“Ah,” she said, managing to work at least four tones of voice he didn’t like into one word. “Well, I’m not going to tell anyone, obviously. Believe it or not, I’ve heard bigger secrets.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Nice try.”

#

“So,” she asked, when they’d moved upstairs and fooled around a little. Girlfriend sex again. It felt like she should be charging extra for it. “What’d you do before calling me, anyway?”

“Well, the inspector had come by –”

“No no, I don’t mean today. I mean in general. You’re trapped here, under house arrest and everything: what’ve you been doing for sex? I could be wrong, but I think I’m the first call girl you’ve hired since your stint here started.”

He stretched out and frowned. “You’re not wrong, but there’s no way to phrase that that doesn’t remind me of a woman who said she assumed I was a virgin when we had sex.”

“Were you?”

“No. I’d even had sex with her before, she was just too drunk to remember it was me.”

“You’re dodging the question.” She kicked him with her bare foot.

“Phone sex. Masturbation. And there’s a telescope upstairs.” He grinned.

“What?”

So, since she was already getting wet and he knew this was exciting her, he told her about the girl next door, and about phone sex with Charity. With Babe and the others, too, but especially with Charity — Katrine really, really liked hearing about the time on the phone with Charity upstairs while watching the neighbor girl. She came twice with his fingers inside her and his mouth just behind her ear.

“Do you want to fuck her?” she asked.

“Not as much as I want to fuck you.”

She pulled away from him a little bit nonetheless, and said. “Show me? Show me the telescope, show me the girl. I want to see.”

He brought her upstairs and they spent several minutes fondling each other in front of the telescope, but there was no sign of activity in either of the visible bedrooms. “Bummer,” he said.

“She’s a teenager? Like seventeen or so? Brunette, right?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Why?”

“She was outside sunbathing when I got here, unless she’s got a sister or a very young step-mother.”

“No,” Castle said. “I’ve seen her step-mother — her mother, whatever. Good-looking, but not jailbait.”

“Then I’d guess it was the girl. And maybe she’s still home after all. Do you see anyone else?”

Castle peered through the telescope again and moved it from side to side across the section of the house he could see. “No. Hallway light on, it looks like.”

“Lights on downstairs, too. The whole downstairs. Who puts every light on?”

“Hell, I do.”

“Parents with teenagers don’t, they’re too busy getting pissed at the teenager for doing it and don’t want to get caught in a ‘I learned it from you, okay?’ situation.”

“All right. So you’re pretty sure she’s home. We can wait, see if she shows up …”

She smiled and touched her fingertip to his lips. “I have a better idea. I’ll just go over and find out.”

“Oh, come on.”

“What? You may be stuck here — doesn’t mean you can’t live vicariously through me. Like those probes they send to Mars and whatnot. I can be your Pathfinder.”

“That doesn’t sound as obscene as I want it to.”

“Just keep watching through your little telescope, Mr Castle Finch.”

#

He sat there with a longneck of Moxie for most of an hour, waiting for a light to go on upstairs or for there to be some kind of motion, and more realistically, waiting for Katrine to come back. He was about to give up on her and assume she’d just gone home when the light in the girl’s bedroom came on, and she led Katrine in.

They were talking, smiling, each with a glass of wine in hand, but he couldn’t make out even a hint of what they might be saying. Girl was showing Katrine something on her shelves, something that couldn’t be seen even by telescope, thanks to the angles of the room. Books, cheerleading trophy, photos, presumably something like that. Once the girl was turned away from the window, Katrine shot it — and him — a look, and licked her lower lip.

He scooted the chair closer to the telescope, trying to keep his neck comfortable. Nothing he could put together, ways and reasons the two of them might have wound up in the bedroom, made any sense except in Penthouse letters. On the other hand, he knew someone who’d have more luck.

“Hi, Charity,” he said a few minutes later, after spending time on hold waiting for her to finish up with another call. “It’s David. Remember me?”

“Massachusetts David?”

“Massachusetts David.”

“Shower girl David.”

“The very one. And guess what I’m looking at right now?”

He could hear her settling in. Except he couldn’t: not really. That was the weird thing about these phonesex calls, he’d thought — the total lack of ambient noise, the way you get on a normal phone call. He never heard the girl pacing, or getting a snack, or anything like that. So he didn’t actually hear her settling in now: what he heard was the small sounds in her throat, the cues that if those sounds were there to be heard, he’d hear them. “Is she in the shower again?” she asked.

“Nope,” he said, and briefly explained the situation: call girl, his, next door, girl, bedroom.

“Very –”

“– Penthouse letters,” he said. “I know. But it isn’t like they’re fucking or anything. But you did such a great job last time, with that active imagination of yours –”

“Mmm,” she said. “Okay. This is much better than my usual call, you know. All right, tell me what you’re looking at. Set the scene for me.”

“Katrine has shortish hair,” he said. “Like a few inches past her ears. Wavy, not curly, and very light brown.”

“Dirty blonde?”

“Sure, I guess. She’s about, I don’t know, 5′7″. The girl — should we give her a name?”

“Let’s give her a name. What name do you like?”

“Hell, I don’t know.”

“I’ll pick one, just go on.”

“The girl is a little taller than Katrine. Two inches, maybe? She doesn’t look hugely tall, not gangly or anything. So probably two inches. Kat’s got a nice body, a real body, no plastic surgery or anything — like she hits the gym, but probably not more than once or twice a week. Nice breasts, nice ass, green eyes, the kind of girl you’d doubletake but wouldn’t stop traffic for.”

“All right,” Charity said. “And the girl?”

“Like I said, a little taller. Skinnier. Maybe athletic, but not hardcore. Not a gymnast or anything. Maybe softball. Very nice breasts –”

“Sure, she’s a teenager.”

“Great ass. I mean really great. Dark dark hair, black or very brown, and soft-looking. Like a conditioner commercial. Needs a trim, though. She’s got it tied back right now –”

“Good, tell me what they’re wearing.”

“Girl’s in yellow shorts, not short shorts just regular, and a white T-shirt with some kind of cartoon character on it, nothing I recognize. Barefoot. Pink watch, pink hair ribbons. Very girly girly. Katrine’s in cutoffs, with her thong showing, and a black tank top.”

“Very summery, both of them. Too bad they’re not outside frolicking under the sprinkler. Okay, hon, tell me this: why aren’t you over there with them?”

“You know how it is,” he said. “Today I just feel more like a voyeur.”

“Well, whatever you feel like is okay with me. Let’s get this party started: what are they doing now?”

He glanced across at the window and adjusted the telescope. “Katrine’s on the bed — like she was sitting on the edge of it and she’s laid down. Top’s ridden up a little, hand on her stomach. The girl’s leaning against the wall, next to a dresser, talking to her. Her arm’s resting on the dresser, and her fingers are like draped in this glass bowl — crystal maybe — of Mardi Gras beads.”

“Oh, good,” Charity said.

“What, why?”

“She wants Katrine. She absolutely wants her. Mardi Gras beads: ’show me your tits.’ She’s, whatcha call, she’s probably ‘bi-curious,’ if you know what I mean. The kind of girl who’s always up for a threesome, two girls and a guy. Maybe fools around with her friends a little bit when they’re drunk and gets all oh-my-god-ish and giggly about it the next morning. Any excuse to feel a tit.”

“Talking from experience here, Char?”

“Honey, I know I like pussy. So what Mia’s thinking right now –”

He went lightheaded in an instant. “What?”

“I said, what Mia’s thinking right now –”

“Mia?”

“That’s what I’m going to call her, yeah, we’re going to get sick of calling her ‘the girl.’ What’s wrong, sug?”

It wasn’t that uncommon a name. Especially for phonesex girls, right? It was probably a very phonesex name. Tiffany. Amber. Jessica. Mia. It was probably up there. “No, it’s fine. I knew someone named Mia, that’s all.”

“Hey, okay, we’ll go with Jessica, then.” See, there you go. “Anyway, what Jessica’s thinking right now is that this is perfect, this stranger, this cousin visiting the guy next door.”

“Cousin?”

“That’s how they met. Katrine wandered by next door, struck up conversation, explained she was visiting her cousin next door but she was totally bored, asked what kinds of things there were to do in the area — Jessica was all, not a damn thing, or why would I be here? So they started talking, and it’s hot, so Jessica asked her in for lemonade.”

“But lemonade became wine.”

“Chardonnay, from the back of the refrigerator, and Jessica will keep the bottle hidden in her room until whatever day you have trash pickup, when she knows she can get rid of it safely. Do you see the bottle?”

“No — wait, yes.” It was on the floor just inside the door. “Looks empty.”

“Uh-huh. Two girls, neither of them any big, bottle of wine, just tipsy enough to do some damage. What’s going to happen now is that Katrine is going to find some excuse to touch Mia.”

“Jessica.”

“Uh-huh.”

At the other end of telescope-land, Katrine said something, who knew what, and got up, walking over to Mia — Jessica — damn it. Walking over to the girl, putting fingertips on her shoulder for the briefest moment in the course of conversation. The girl smiled and turned slightly, letting her long silky hair brush against the back of Katrine’s hand.

“Now Katrine will suggest putting on some music,” Charity said after Castle relayed the play-by-play to her, and after more random chit-chat and pacing back and forth across the room, the girl turned a stereo on, and the two of them started swaying.

“It’s always so strange watching people dance when you can’t hear the music,” Castle said. “I feel like I’m trying to guess at it, but –”

“But you don’t have a chance,” Charity said. “Unless they do the Macarena or the Hustle.”

“Exactly.”

“Are they touching?”

“Not yet. Well, maybe. A little. They’re dancing very close. Hair definitely swaying against each other. I think — I can’t tell, but I think the girl has her hand on the small of Katrine’s back. No, it’s gone now.”

“One or both of them is commenting about how drunk they are. Maybe some exaggerated swaying, you know, the whole ‘wow, I can barely walk in a straight line’ thing.”

“Katrine just took her shirt off.”

“Wow,” Charity said, and paused. “That’s more forward than I would have guessed.”

“It looks like she spilled some wine on it — or the girl did — I’m not sure. They’re laughing.”

“Bra?”

“Yeah.”

“Mia’s going to be watching those breasts move while they dance now. Maybe she’ll move behind Katrine. Steady herself by putting her hands on Katrine’s hips. Then leave them there.”

“She’s doing it.”

“She’s going to move her hands up Katrine’s sides, but she’s still moving to the music, so she can excuse it if she has to. And then Katrine will –”

“– she’s turning around, Katrine is, turning towards Mia –” Damn it, he didn’t want to call the girl that.

“Of course, because the whole idea here is, the whole idea is that Katrine is seducing her. Even if she has to do it by letting Mia think it’s her idea.”

“Katrine’s hands are on the girl’s cheeks. They both look pretty flushed — the wine –”

“– the lust –”

“Mia’s hands are moving up, slipping the bra straps down –”

“But she’s not going to look at Katrine’s breasts, she wants to feel them before she sees them. So she’ll lean down –”

“Katrine’s pulling her towards her, kissing her — like a porn kiss, their lips are barely touching but their tongues are everywhere –”

“Well, she’s a call girl, David, what do you want? Mia’s going to feel those breasts now, just run her hands over them, the way she did feeling herself up when you were watching her, and Katrine will push Mia’s T-shirt up –”

“Mia’s not wearing a bra,” Castle confirmed.

“– mm, and we already know her tits are nice. So they’re feeling each other up now, and the kiss will get deeper — less tongue, more lips, like you say. And Katrine will turn Mia around –”

“Katrine’s sliding her hand down the front of Mia’s shorts,” Castle said. “Mia’s bending forward a little, like –”

“Like she’d be rubbing her ass against Katrine’s cock, except Katrine’s a chick. No rooster in the coop.”

“Right.”

“Instinct, David. Mia’s in the moment now. Mia is the moment. What Katrine is going to do now, is she’s going to finger that little pussy — just enough, just feel that wet slit, run her damp fingers up around Mia’s clit without actually touching it — and her hand’s mostly just staying there, you know, just sort of cupping, keeping Mia in her place –”

“Okay –”

“– and Kat’s other hand is coming up to push that T-shirt up again, to trace her fingers along the underside of those young breasts — God, Sebastian, you must be hard now –”

“You have no idea.”

“Honey, I have every idea. I am the idea. Kat’s going to fuck this little bitch, you know. She’s pushing that T-shirt up, and Mia’s pushing her ass back, wanting a cock, she wants cock so bad –”

“Mmh.”

“She wants your cock. Kat’s getting her ready for you, isn’t she? That’s why she went over. She’s getting that little teasing bitch ready for you. She’s getting her wet for you. Her fingers are in that cunt for you, but Mia, Mia wants it in the ass. She’s pushing her ass back trying to find you, and you’re not there.”

“Uh-huh.” His hand was in his shorts, and was spending as much effort keeping himself from coming as getting himself there.

“And Kat’s pushing that T-shirt up, and it comes up over those young, firm little tits — those perfect little tits — and she’s yanking the T-shirt back like she’s trying to get it off, like she hates the idea of there being anything but skin in front of her — and the collar doesn’t come over Mia’s head, it yanks back against her throat.”

“– hhh –”

“And Mia groans, she’s not aware of anything but the moment, she’s so into it, she’s just gushing now, the groan’s more like a croak because of that white cotton Spongebob T-shirt catching her throat — and Katrine twists it behind her. Twists it and yanks. Yanks nice and hard, Sebastian, and Mia’s pushing her ass back, wanting cock, and coughing empty coughs, as she starts to slump to the floor –”

“What the hell,” Castle said thickly, coming despite himself, like it was something that would’ve been released the moment he relaxed his concentration on it. “Charity, what the fuck –”

For a moment, he saw it clearly: Katrine humping her hips against Mia from behind, one hand in her crotch and the other yanking the T-shirt back to choke her as the brunette twitched and slumped, Katrine looking right at him and smiling wildly. For a moment, he saw the girl die. Saw that snapped-elastic moment after struggling had given way to sagging when she just lost her everything, and saw Katrine look down at her with disgust, dropping her to the floor, before pulling her bra back on and turning towards him across the way. Saw the coldest, hardest, steeliest look in her eyes. Something like challenge, something like victory, something like gloating.

And then it went away, and they weren’t even where he was looking: they were making out, sloppily but slowly, on the bed. Clothes on. Katrine’s top still on, and no evidence of wine spills.

He slumped away from the telescope, one hand wet and the other clutching the phone, which wasn’t making noise at the other end anymore. “Charity?” he asked, holding it to his ear. “Charity, what the fuck are you doing?”

Nothing but blank silence on the other end, and CALL FAILED on the display; he hit the back key, and Charity’s number wasn’t even the one he’d dialed: he’d missed a digit.