Raging Heat (32 page)

And he got it.

“Nikki, I believe in destiny. Not only has everything I’ve ever done led me to you, every time we are apart—whether I’m in Paris or a jungle or across town in Tribeca—I measure everything, every minute, every breath, by how soon we can be together again. Which, in a way, means we are never really apart. But here. Now. Together like this. This is what I want forever. To spend the rest of my life with you. And you with me. Rockin’ happiness.”

After working some swagger, he paused before he continued. “I want to be your husband. And I want you to be my wife.” He started to choke up and some water rimmed his eyes. Rook collected himself, held out the ring, and smiled at her—an angel’s smile. “Nikki Heat, will you marry me?”

First off, I am not Richard Castle. It seems proper to get that out up front, although certainly you have already discerned that from the absence of his flair in this section. Normally, Mr. Castle would write this part himself, but circumstances I’m not at liberty to discuss have intervened to make him…unavailable by deadline. So it falls to me, this lowly junior editor, to fulfill his wishes by acknowledging those who assisted him with this book. Please bear with me. Searching his office, I found his notes to be less than organized, and anyone I could consult for clarification is too rattled to talk. Here is my best offering gleaned from his work space.

In his Moleskine I came upon a starred page calling Kate Beckett “my muse, my inspiration, and my life.” Underneath that, something that looks like it says, “…in space they can’t hear you scream, but can they hear you say ‘I do?’”

Clearly he wanted to thank the Twelfth Precinct. He lists Javier Esposito and Kevin Ryan with “bro” printed beside each. Then Captain Victoria Gates, with a question: “Is it possible for a smiley face to frown?” He drew an arrow from that scrawl to Dr. Lanie Parish, so there must be some smile versus frown connection to her, as well.

There’s no doubt he wanted to highlight his mother, Martha, and his daughter, Alexis—simply because he did that—highlighted them, literally. With a highlighter.

On his desk, under a ten-pound slug of iron from a scuba belt he was using as a paperweight, I found a list of names with the heading “Magical” on top. The list follows: “Nathan, Stana, Seamus, Jon, Molly, Susan, Tamala, and Penny.” Beneath that, a note to “Thank the wizards in the Clinton Building.” One assumes that is not a reference to the presidential library because he had added “Raleigh Studios” to his annotation.

Of all places, spiked to the rotor tips of a motorized toy helicopter (!), were two pieces of scratch paper. The first mentions Terri Edda Miller “for keeping me aloft.” The other name appears to be Jennifer Allen and it’s printed on a sketch of a hot air balloon shaped like a heart.

In a file drawer, almost hidden under a pair of Slinky eyeglasses, I found a map of the Hamptons with some marginalia acknowledging the Southampton Town PD duty officer for “answering my dumb questions,” plus a brochure from the 1770 House in East Hampton with a reminder to thank the manager for the personal tour.

I thought that was that until I noticed the cabinet above his espresso maker was plastered by Post-its. I hope I have the order correct: “My stalwart agent, Sloan Harris; Executive Editor Laura Hopper [my boss]; Ace researcher, Christopher Soloway; Ellen Borakove, for ‘all things OCME’; John Parry, for ‘the Dutchess County GPS 411’; Clyde Phillips, for clearing writing space; Ken Levine, for blog shout outs and support.”

Apparently the author also wishes to acknowledge Lisa Schomas, ABC’s
Castle
franchise manager, as well as Melanie Braunstein of ABC, who so ably handles book promotion. This is because I found a note stuck in his blotter that reads: “Don’t forget to acknowledge Lisa Schomas, ABC’s
Castle
franchise manager, as well as Melanie Braunstein of ABC, who so ably handles book promotion.” I’m not a mystery writer, but I do know a clue when I see one.

Although not what one would explicitly consider a note, the screen saver on Mr. Castle’s computer monitor consists of a pair of animated inkwells that drift to and fro. One bottle is branded “Andrew” and has a subscript: “Leader, visionary, creator, friend.” The other says “Tom,” with its ink label reading, “Always half-full.” Not notes per se, but I am including them, just in case the names mean anything.

One can only guess. And hope that one’s admittedly untrained (and perhaps, unwelcome?) search of Mr. Castle’s writing domain has brought forth all the editorial needs for these acknowledgments. If, in the interim, the author himself should—become available—the publisher shall, of course, stop the press run and allow him to revise.

May it please be thus.

Junior Editor, Name Withheld

New York City—May 12, 2014