This year’s Comic-Con panel for ABC’s hit show Castle revealed a new Twitter narrative titled “The Case of the Fallen Angel”. The show has been using the Twitter account regularly for title character Richard Castle since the first season, and even had a similar narrative during last year’s summer break. The third season premieres tomorrow (9/20), and “The Case of the Fallen Angel” has been solved, so we’ve decided to combine the multitude of 140 character or less parts of the story into one complete narrative that you can read after the break.
First, a little background. In ABC’s Castle, Richard Castle is a detective novelist who shadows NYPD detective Kate Beckett as inspiration for his new series of novels about “Nikki Heat”, using his knowledge to help solve Beckett’s real crimes. His first book, Heat Wave, was an instant smash last year, and now he’s been procrastinating in writing the follow up, Naked Heat, due out September 28th. As we see in the season 2 finale, Beckett almost tells Castle how she feels about him, but Castle’s ex wife Gina whisks him away to the Hamptons for the summer to finish Naked Heat. With that all in mind, read how Castle spent his summer (Chapters are by date published on Twitter, editing only done to format, not content).
The Case of the Fallen Angel
Fallen Angel dead on Hamptons beach. Looks like murder. Bet I can crack the case B-4 Hamptons P.D.
Here are the ligature marks. Ready to solve a murder, tweeps?
The squad descends to ogle the Angel and cordon off the crime scene. Good times. Captain Compton is growing a ‘stache. Asked him if it was to make his promotion to Captain believable. He’s cranky today. They won’t let me near the body but they’re about to turn him over so we can see who it is. Turns out the “angel” is Tristan Manx. Who will do Johnny Z’s concept boards? Guess he won’t be painting Gina after all… Too soon? Quoth Compton “I don’t want you sleuthing around, making trouble, Castle.” So I’ll just chat with people. Get the what’s up on the down low.
Had a dream last night I was flying with black wings. Need to find out why Tristan was wearing them when he died…. Stopped by the East Hamptons P.D. H.Q. with two boxes of pastry. Compton said– sugaring up the precinct won’t buy me any favors. He ate two. Did some detective work (aka eavesdropping). Tristan was at a costume theme party “Be What You Wish You Were.” Careful what you wish for…. Compton’s interviewing Tristan’s fellow partygoers. But he’s “politely” thrown me out. Looks like I’m going rogue.
Beautiful day to hit the morgue. Lucky for me Asst. ME Sandra’s a fan (signed Heat Wave I gave her is on her desk). Might get some intel. Sandra snuck me in to see Tristan’s body (sans wings). Official cause of death: strangulation. Patterned ligature marks still a mystery…. Liked all of your octopus attack, rosary beads, and pearl necklace theories for the cause of the ligature marks. Keep thinking! Tox screen results on Manx: .15 alcohol level. T.O.D. 2:00 am. Diagnosis: Dead drunk. Never saw it coming. Compton snuck up on us and grabbed the file, told me to go home and stop being nosy. Might as well have said “Stop stinging scorpion!” Sandra will keep me informed if I get her an advance look at Naked Heat. Better finish correcting galleys to make our September deadline. You can get an advance look at the first chapter of Naked Heat too here.
Compton can kick me out, but can’t stop me investigating ligature marks. Studded belt? Motorcycle gangster? Fashion Maven? Dolce? Gabbana? Went back through your twitter responses for inspiration and I remembered when Tristan’s dog Buster bit Fergus at the beach…. Buster’s collar and leash were a matching set. Of studded leather! Shout out to @DJPheonyx @jendfaz @chachahutici @Jane0904 @dmg3d @booknerdgirl @onlyshadow @pencilpanda @dpringle – I think you were right! I bet Buster’s collar matches the pattern on his master’s neck. Seems man’s best friend turned out to be my best clue…to the murder weapon!
Who would strangle someone with their dog’s leash? Crazy. Wait! Crazy Bullhorn Guy, Fergus! He hated Tristan – and his little dog poo! Asst. ME Sandra called. Loved chapter 1 of Naked Heat. Tristan’s time of death was between 2-3 AM. Maybe Fergus got fed up and decided to teach Tristan a new trick…like how to play dead…fur-ever. Compton’s gonna love this! Told Compton my shaggy dog tale. For once he doesn’t think I’m barking up the wrong tree – he likes Fergus as a viable suspect. But he says he still doesn’t like me enough to let me observe Fergus The Poop Hater’s interrogation. What a load of crap! (Pun intended). Reminded Compton he’d have spent the summer chasing his tail if I hadn’t handed him the murder weapon. He agrees. So I get to sit and stay. Compton’s uni’s found Buster wandering the streets with collar, no leash, combed the scene looking for possible murder weapon. Found it! They’ll test the leash for prints. Hold Fergus until they check his alibi. Says he was at Quickee Mart buying soup. At 2 AM?
Thinking of other suspects… Hmm…Tristan did say “Pissing off Johnny Z. is taking your life in your hands.” Maybe JZ got hands on? At JZ’s estate – directing big $$$ creature features must pay well! At gate intercom, reminding him we met that time at that thing. Johnny Z’s a Derrick Storm fan – we’re talking 7 part movie series. Don’t know why they call him L’enfant terrible. So far he’s magnifique. …until I brought up Tristan’s name. I guess no one teaches directors about anger issues. Forget director jail, he might need real jail. Just ducked the fifth script he chucked at me. He’s telling his bodyguards to throw me out – apparently he directs everything in his path. Ouch! Goons tossed me out. Haven’t flown through the air like that since parachuting in the Bahamas. I’ll be back Johnny Z. and next time, it’s personal. Guess whose wedding I’m attending this weekend?
Back at the gates of Casa Johnny Z, Captain Compton calling the shots. The director gets directed. Suddenly, “His Hackness” is all smiles and humility – he’s giving a better performance than the lead actress in his last film, POWER-BEAR. …and he’s got an albi. The Hackmeister was at a party begging billionaires to fund his “passion project” about “brokeback” rodeo clowns. Compton believes him. I don’t. Compton’s heading back to the station. My chance to scope out Tristan’s gallery. Don’t tell CC. At Tristan’s Gallery – everyone’s devastated here. His receptionist Amy will take Tristan’s dog in. At least Buster gets a happy ending. Have to admire Tristan’s HR practices: all his employees are beautiful women. Even his accountant Emily is gorgeous. Nicely done, sir!
Amy followed me out. Told me I have find Tristan’s journal, says Tristan recorded everything that happened in his life in the journal. Amy insists – sketches, diary entries, everything. “Find Tristan’s journal, you might find his killer!” Think she has a crush on me. Told Amy police found nothing at Tristan’s house. Amy says, “Then either someone stole it or it’s at his studio.” Guess where I’m going. At Tristan’s studio. Door’s open. Looks like someone else got here first. Shhhh. Venturing inside. His art everywhere. This guy was good.
Tristan’s broker/manager Dixon just stepped out of the bathroom. Awkward wet handshake time. Hope that’s from washing. Dixon’s saying how inconvenient Tristan’s death is. “My schedule’s packed, curating his art, comforting his clients.” Heartfelt. Dixon has strong $$$ motives but says he was in NYC delivering art to a buyer that night. Have to confirm that one. He gives me the willies. Dixon’s outside on a call telling a client that a dead artist is a commodity. He reminds me of my agent, Paula. Continuing the journal quest! Not in nooks, not in crannies. Tristan was a Pop Art fan like I am – love the Lichtenstein print on the wall [below]. No go on the journal, but found an appointment book in the desk. Grabbed it as Dixon was coming back. Off to decipher its secrets.
Flipping through Tristan’s appt. book. Guy’s busier than an Irish pub on St. Patty’s day. He’s booked through Oct. Except for tonight. Odd. Tristan had “SOS-Maidenstone Club – 8 PM” crossed out for tonight. Better call the Club and see what he canceled on… and why it was an SOS. Seems it’s a fundraiser, starring Charles Belmont, councilman. Why would Tristan want in-then out? And who’s SOS? Off to Club to find out. Armani suit, Hermes shirt, Testoni shoes, Ed Hardy underwear… I love going undercover. Just charmed a gaggle of Chatty Cathys. One said she got more in 6 sittings with Tristan than in 6 yrs of therapy. What exactly did she get? Met Charles & wife Naomi. May/December romance? Try January/December! Not judging, just saying. Excused themselves when I asked about SOS. There’s a commotion outside– did someone lose an invite? No, security’s losing their cool…at activists chanting “Save Our Seabirds” Ha! SOS! Tristan was coming to the protest – he wasn’t going to be a partygoer – he was going to be a party crasher! But why’d he cancel? Cops arresting activists for disturbing the peace, but I need to talk to them about Tristan! Unis say I can talk to them tomorrow.
Off to the Big House to talk to the activists in the clink. Wonder how many synonyms for jail I can come up with en route? Care to help? Activists in line for mugshots are fixing their hair and putting on lipstick. Only in the Hamptons… well maybe in LA too. Querying them. The SOS protest was to stop the city council from developing land on a seabird sanctuary. The development would mean bye-bye birdie. And it seems Tristan went bye-bye, left the SOS group because of some ruffled feathers between him and fellow co-founder Allison Monroe. Found Ms. Monroe. Not a fan. Thinks my stories are insipid. Told Compton he runs a shabby cop shop. “Let my people go!” She’s no Moses. Allison says Tristan left over creative differences, swears ‘twas with mutual respect. Methinks the protesting lady doth protest too much. Compton let Allison go. CC and I are both relieved. She doesn’t stop talking and everything she says is insulting to someone. Run away! On my way out, one of the SOS activists whispered to me. Go talk to Rex T, Tristan’s best friend. Rex who owns my favorite diner!? Yes.
Started my day with some hard-boiled detective work and Tristan’s BFF Rex at his local diner. Breakfast with a side of answers. Rex laments “Who am I gonna tell all my secrets to now that Tristan is gone?” Tristan kept everyone’s secrets, told none of his own. Rex told me one of his secrets is cinnamon in the pie crust and the clues to who killed Tristan probably live in his work. Amy said the same thing. If I look at the paintings and find the journal, I might decipher what was going on in Tristan’s life. Rex said Tristan probably hid his journal behind a painting in his studio. I bet I know which one it is. Do you?
At Tristan’s studio. Took a 2nd look at that portrait. You guys were right -it’s a baby on her shoulder. Guess her secret was a ticking clock. Yes! It was behind the Lichtenstein! Combing through Tristan’s journal, a drawing of a blood red stiletto heel caught my eye – stabbing into a man’s back. 3 pages later a man being strangled with a tie! Written inside tie/heel: Erica B. Did Tristan predict his own murder? Is Erica the killer?
Got Erica B’s info from Amy who describes her as piece of work. She’s more than that if she’s anything like sketch in Tristan’s journal. Something to help with the Mon-daze: the second chapter of Naked Heat. More incentive to finish. Erica’s housekeeper let me in, told me the Mrs. is in back by pool through the parlor, past breakfast room, and out the French doors. Stopped. Stunned. Stared. Tristan’s portrait of Erica above the mantle in the parlor is classy. Stilettos firmly planted on the ground. Erica lounging poolside in bikini. Leaves little to imagination. But giving me lots of ideas. I understand why men end up at Erica’s feet. She and Tristan were “making art together” Her air-quotes. Small problem: she’s not his Mrs. I wonder if her husband, Jason K. is the jealous type. What would he do if he found out Erica was seeing anotherrrrrrrr aaaaaahhhhhh. Whraqohfeaohfeao! Excuz spellig mistkkes. Beig shot att. Drove out of there like a bat out of hell. Did Erica’s jealous husband murder Tristan Manx? I need to sit in my hot tub and think.
Compton called. Jason K. filed a complaint against me! I’m going down there to straighten this out. Not that Compton’s not smart, he’s just not a metaphor guy. This case is all about the metaphors. Made my own copy of the sketchbook. Jason claims I was breaking neighborhood no soliciting laws. Has he met his wife? We should call her Solicity. Clueless about her affair. Jason may be jealous, fashion insensitive, and handy with a shotgun, but he isn’t our killer. His alibi checks out. He was in NYC at TOD. All this talk about Tristan makes me want to tap into my inner Picasso. Whaddya think? Should I take a class?
Tough day. No real suspects. Start from scratch tomorrow. Appt. Book. Sketch Book. I wonder if Rex was thinking what Tristan thought he was thinking.
Castle & Compton on the prowl. For a murderer. We’ve called a truce and decided to work together to crack the case. But he’s no Nikki Heat. Next suspect: Regina Williams, editor of a local paper. She’s heavily featured in the sketchbook. Here’s the smoking article:
Here’s a close-up of Regina’s article from Tristan’s sketchbook:
RW wrote a scathing article about Tristan’s last gallery opening. Claimed he suffered an “artistic death.” Think she make it corporeal? Regina seems heartbroken over Tristan. And she has a rock solid alibi. Her pen may have been mighty but it didn’t kill him. She’s got some dirt to dish. Tristan was occasionally stalked by a woman who had a dangerous, obsessive love for him. All ears. Gallery Accountant Emily! Obsessed with Tristan? I wonder if he returned her ardor, and got a return receipt.
Emily’s tough to track down. Each place we go, we’re told “just missed her.” Investigation break for Rachel’s engagement party. What’s a good engagement gift for my ex-summer fling? Probably not the best time to return her red Hanky Pankies. Rachel is glowing. Don’t like Billy the fiance. His hands are sweaty. She could’ve done better. He has beady eyes… Whoa! Emily! Emily saw Compton and me and ran out the front door! She’s on the run! Casualties in my wake: broken gifts, tipped over fondue fountain, and cake on the floor. Note to self: write Rachel apology & a big check. Compton’s going wide. I’ll try to cut Emily off at the front. Does anyone who’s innocent make a run for it? Scanned the parking lot. She’s nowhere in sight… think we lost her. Whoa! Car speeding towards me… why am I tweeting? Owwwwwwwww grrrrrrrrrr ugggggghhhhhh.
I survived. Thanks for all the concern. Jumped out of the way of the car just in time. Minor injuries. Major annoyance. Watching General Hospital in Hampton’s hospital – really hoping my Doc doesn’t have a sinister evil twin. Doc says I can leave in an hour, unless my temp spikes. I felt pretty cool…till I saw Tammy the RN. Think I’m taking a turn for the nurse. Like Confucius says: “Man who wants pretty nurse, must be patient.” Guess I’m here for the weekend!
Mother called from Williamstown. Sounded like a teenager. Alexis called (w/ her mom in Paris). Said “Mon Pere, je t’adore.” So grown-up. Got some tender loving care from Nurse Tammy at the hospital. Suggested I stay off my feet. Said I would if she’d join me. Doh! Compton came & cop-blocked me. He wants to talk case & tracking Emily. Gave him license# of runaway car. Did Emily cause my near miss? Car that aimed to take me out belongs to Billy, Rachel’s fiancé. I didn’t fall victim to Emily. Nay, it was the green-eyed monster. Compton wants to question Billy…alone. No way he interviews the assassin w/o me. A shame to check-out before Tammy’s 6 pm sponge bath. Settling my hospital bill needed another trip to the ER for my heart attack. Ten bucks for a Q-tip!?! Glad I didn’t need the bed-pan. Ouch! Still favoring my right leg a bit, but no worries. Hop-a-long Castle is on the case!
Tripped the Limp Fantastic and made it to the Precinct. Wormed my way into interrogation using ye old Tiny Tim pout on crutches. Billy’s Prince of Denial, said he wasn’t driving his car, has no idea who was. I said “Not buying it unless the car’s named “Christine.“ Guests at the party provided an alibi for Billy. No one bought my K.I.T.T. theory. Compton believes Billy’s car was stolen from valet. Rachel picked Billy up. Said I ruined her party, got her fiancé arrested, and I should… um, won’t tweet that. Crutches didn’t help. Just overheard Billy’s car was found and is outside in parking lot. Maybe there’s a clue inside who went all Death Race 2000 on me. This is why I carry evidence gloves – time for a little search and seizure! Once more unto the breach, dear friends! Found a local market discount key-tag beneath the floor mat. If it’s not Billy’s I’ll swipe the card to find out who swiped the car. Perfect timing – found my clue just as Compton arrived to say State Troopers found Emily, bringing her in. Gonna hold her accountable. Note: I would never say “gonna” when speaking. It’s a colloquialism I use only to make character count or illuminate character voice.
Watching Compton interrogate Emily from observation. He’s Andy Griffith meets Sipowitz with a dash of Brenda Leigh Johnson. Impressive. Emily swears she didn’t steal Billy’s car, or kill Tristan. Says she loved him. Everyone did. He was beautiful, talented, good in bed. Emily’s guilty about something. I can feel it in my bones. Like the time Alexis fibbed about eating the last mochi. I knew the truth. Plus, she had some powdered sugar on her upper lip. Compton got Emily to admit she cooked Tristan’s books. An act of devotion that could get her 5 yrs for tax fraud. Things we do for love. For leniency she’s handing us her co-conspirator. I never would have guessed. Can you? It was DIXON, Tristan’s broker. He skimmed off the top and Tristan found out – planned to give him the axe (not the deodorant). Tristan was Dixon’s number one cash cow. His golden goose. His one way ticket to moneyville. Value rises on the wake of a dead artist. When Compton came out of the box, I showed him the key-tag I found in Billy’s car. If we go to the market we can ID the owner. Market register IDed the key-tag as Dixon’s! Time to track the dirty dealer who tried to make me a pancake. Mmm, pancakes. Buying Bisquick.
You can have too many pancakes. On the bright side, hobbled around w/out crutches. I’ll hang them on the wall as line of duty trophies. Walked into Hampton Station to hear officers just radio in from Dixon’s house – he’s not there. Rolling with Compton to an old cabin Dixon’s family owns… and there’s Dixon’s car out front. I love small towns. Dixon tried to take off into the woods. Compton went after him. (Hey, I would have but I’m still limping). Compton’s sweating Dixon in the box; swears he didn’t kill Tristan, doesn’t have an alibi. Maybe the daggers I’m staring will do the trick. Dixon confessed he was trying to run me over so I wouldn’t catch Emily. He knew she’d cave about their tax fraud scheme. Dixon says it was a desperate act. He’s not a killer. He expected me to jump faster. Told him I would’ve but his car was on my foot. Dixon knew Tristan was about to fire him. He followed Tristan to get blackmail pics with artist’s paramours. A sleaze of epic proportion! Dixon’s blackmail plan backfired – he showed Tristan pics, Tristan told him to take his pics and shove ‘em, stormed off. Last D saw of T.
Dixon brought us the zip drive with blackmail photos. Slideshow! A photo tour I’ll call “Tristan Manx’s Women of the Hamptons.” There’s Lindsey, there’s Naomi, there’s…. RACHEL?!? Nooooooooooooooooooooo.
Rachel hasn’t returned my calls since her party. Was she seeing Tristan? Did Billy know? Driving back to the city for the weekend. Gina has a party I MUST attend. PR. A writer’s gotta sell his wares. Did I tell you Heat Wave is out in paperback? Naked Heat in pre-sales… both on Amazon. You can read Chapters 1-3 here.
Shanghaied Rachael at her fav coffee haunt for intel on the her macking photo with Tristan. Rachael says to tweet: “embrace of Tristan was strictly professional.” Not talking to me but she’s still following me on Twitter. The kiss was a thank you. Tristan referred a client who bought a $30 million house. I’d say that’s lip-lock worthy. Tristan called to warn Rachel after Dixon showed him pics. She expected the photo to show up. Just didn’t expect it’d be me who had it. Checking Dixon’s other pics, Rachel knows woman he’s hugging in one of them– Lindsey. Says she was Tristan’s type. Has her address too. Bam! Checking Dixon’s other pics, Rachel knows woman he’s hugging in one of them– Lindsey. Says she was Tristan’s type. Has her address too. Bam!
Lindsey’s doorbell plays “Rich Girl” by Hall & Oates. Hope Lindsey will be upfront about her relationship with the artist formerly known as Tristan. Whoa – talk about honest! Lindsey admits Tristan was there for a “do-over.” Does that mean what I think it means? No. Seems the thing getting “done over” was Lindsey’s portrait. She hated her look in the last one. Thought his brush stroke added 20 lbs. She loved the new portrait. Guess the hug b/w she & Tristan was more Vasconcellos’ Reconciliation than Rodin’s Kiss. My visit’s a bust! Spoke too soon. Lindsey says her neighbor Naomi was Tristan’s client. Saw him jiggling the back door of Naomi’s house the day he died. Why did Tristan want “in” to Naomi’s house? And did his visit to her world earn him a one-way ticket out of this one?
At the Belmont’s, talking to Naomi. Charles is clearly a helicopter husband – can see him hovering nearby. Naomi says she barely knew Tristan, no idea why he’d be at her house. Oh, and she and Charles were out of town that day anyhow. …and then they rushed me away – “Errands to run.” Those 2 belong in a tree. They’re squirrelly! Seems like it’s not “if” Tristan was sneaking in, but why? Given Tristan’s history, I’d bet a Nikki Heat book he was sleeping with Naomi! Hmm… In Dixon’s photo of Lindsey and Tristan hugging, noticed a shadowy figure up in the Belmont house watching them. Looks like……Naomi! Can’t tell for sure, but it’s a female form. She must have seen Tristan and Lindsey. She lied about being out of town! Of course Compton doesn’t believe me! “Could have been a maid.” He needs a sharper set of eyes, a better imagination, and some panache.At least Compton’s agreed to go over the Belmont’s financials. Maybe we can find something that…adds up to murder. What? Not funny? FYI – looking over financials is mind-numbing. No idea how Beckett/Ryan/Espo do it. Might die of boredom before we find a smoking gun here. Boredom gone – the Belmonts had a weekly charge at a gift shop. Naomi sending trinkets to Tristan?
Following up on the gift shop lead. Maybe I should buy a gift for someone special while I’m there. But the question is who? Gift shop has a florist known for her beautiful arrangements and smile to match. She liked my pearly whites too–got some juicy information…Payment wasn’t from Naomi it was from CHARLES! Was he having an affair with Tristan too? The plot thickens… The plot is thick and full of scandal. Each week he sent lilies to Susie Olsen’s roadside memorial. Like a guy with a guilty conscience… The hit and run that killed her was never solved. How was Charles involved? I feel a theory brewing. And some Earl Grey tea. Be right back. Look at this sketch in Tristan’s journal. Is that Charles carrying the weight of his secret? Charles killed Susie!
With Compton poring over Charles’s financials. Day before Tristan’s death he paid the fees for a deed transfer to Tristan. Weird. Did a little research – turns out that the land Tristan’s salon was on was owned by Charles. I smell blackmail. And day-old donuts. Theory-during pillow talk Naomi spills the beans about Charles’s secret crime and Tristan uses the info to get ownership of his salon back. Deed never filed with county registrar. Did Charles kill Tristan before he could sign the deed, in order to keep his land and secret safe?!?
Charles is in the box stone-faced. Compton’s worried he’s going to lawyer up. He’s hard as ice – I know a way to melt the truth out of him. He’s not breaking. Time to bring out the big guns and crack that façade of silence. Got a lily-white surprise for him. Think it’ll work? Placed a bouquet of white lilies on the interrogation table. Just like I thought, it was Charles’s kryptonite. Are those tears in his eyes? HE’S CONFESSING! GUESS WHAT HE’S SAYING!
We got a full confession for both Tristan AND Susie Olsen’s murder from 20 years ago. Beckett would be proud. He was the driver of the hit and run that killed Susie. His wife DID spill the beans to Tristan who blackmailed Charles for his land. His wife’s affair + blackmail = crime of passion. Charles confronted Tristan – their argument on the beach lead to murder with a dog leash. And so the mystery of the fallen angel comes to an end. Thanks for all the help, tweeps. Couldn’t have done it without you! Case closed. Didn’t even get a pat on the back from Crusty Compton. Just a nod/smirk. Not even a congratulatory beer? I solved your case!
With Charles behind bars, his vote goes to council veep Terri M. Haven’t felt this nervous since Jar Jar spoke to Galactic Senate. Rex immortalized his bff Tristan on his menu. The T.Manx Meal is beefcake with cheese, sweet potato fries and steamy zucchini au gratin. Charles’s replacement Terri has voted to protect the bird sanctuary. A fitting memorial to Tristan’s passion.
Allison and her people ended up looking like local saviors of the Hamptons’ sea and sky. They’re off the hook. Johnny Z called. Said “bygones.” Wants in on Heat Wave. I tell him, “Too late!” Still wanna see Tristan’s concepts for his blockbuster tho. I didn’t press charges, but Emily and Dixon are going to have to pay the piper and the government back taxes. Talked to Amy about Tristan’s journal. I’m keeping the copy but the original will go in his collection. She’ll curate. Fergus is still making a stink about the poop. I may steal his bullhorn. Compton and I are sharing shots of brandy. Regina slid into our booth. I told her everything so she gets the scoop. Oh and guess who got an invite in the mail to Rachel’s wedding? Hope I don’t get frisked on the way into this one – just on the way out.
Obviously you lose some of the fun interaction and tempo that reading it live (and/or seeing the times during the day they are posted) provides, but it still tells a pretty good story. Let us know what you thought of “The Case of the Fallen Angel” in the comments below, and be sure to watch the Season 3 premiere of Castle on ABC tomorrow night at 10pm (9p CT).