Chapter 2: Crossed Signals
White Collar Task Force. Friday, July 29, 2005.
Peter had outed himself at the morning briefing in a very real sense. He'd laid their encounters with witches and vampires on the table for Diana and Jones to accept, mock, or reject as they saw fit. It was a sign of their caliber that once the initial shock wore off, they drilled down on the essential takeaways. Vampires and witches were real, they posed a growing threat to the public, and Neal was in a high-risk group.
At the meeting's conclusion, Peter called Neal into his office. "Thank you for giving me the push. No secrets for either one of us."
Neal nodded as he slid into a chair beside the desk. "You're looking at a reformed man."
That was classic rock music to Peter's ears. Neal had stressed he'd reformed after his confession about the Braque and Peter trusted he meant it. Equally important for the upcoming sting was that Neal's head was back in the game. Two weeks ago, the cybercriminal Rolf Mansfeld had attempted to brainwash Neal by using a virtual reality program. After a week of intensive therapy, Neal had learned how to control the false memories Rolf and his brother Klaus had implanted.
Neal had been visibly glowing when Jones and Diana accused him of conning them. All well and good, but now he'd be more eager than ever to set in motion the op they'd spent the past few weeks designing. The undercover assignment would be one of the toughest Neal had ever faced. He was physically ready, but mentally?
Neal had admitted he continued to have nightmares about the virtual ordeal. Peter suspected that only the Mansfelds' capture would bring Neal the closure he needed, and for that to occur, they'd have to move forward with the op. One more week of desk duty before pulling out the throttle was Peter's compromise solution.
"I'll finish the Braque forgery tomorrow." It was if Neal could read his mind. Offering it for sale on the black market would kick-start the Adler con. "Mozzie's willing to take it to France for us. He can leave on Monday."
"Do I want to know where in Paris he'll store it?"
Neal shook his head. "It will be safe. You have Mozzie's word on that."
"That's good enough for me." For once Peter had complete trust in Mozzie. He wanted Adler captured as much as the rest of them. "I'd like to see your forgery before he takes it away. How about Sunday afternoon?"
Neal nodded. "I'll finish aging it tomorrow morning. The forgery will be ready for your inspection Sunday. After that, the con can start whenever you're ready." A sneaky half-smile flitted across his face. That could only mean one thing. It didn't take long for the confirmation.
Neal reached over to Peter's desk for a pen and began twirling it between his fingers. "Diana and Jones thought we'd planned something paranormal for Adler. Maybe we should."
"Don't tell me it involves Hitler clones." Peter had worried about Mozzie's influence on Jones. Should he have been more concerned about Neal?
Neal took his comment as a joke. He held his right index finger under his nose and said something in German before he broke into a snicker. "Nothing that obvious. What I have in mind is much more reasonable. Henry and I are supposed to be out of control. It would be just like me to make a video of the U-boat discovery. And naturally I wouldn't want it to be a dry, factual account. I'd likely get inspiration from The Blair Witch Project and decide to turn the U-boat into a ghost ship. No Hitler clones but perhaps the malevolent spirit of an SS officer."
"Will Henry go for it? Given his sensitivity to ghosts—"
"That's what will make it even better," Neal insisted, blowing away his caution. "I can make it part of his birthday gift."
Neal and Henry liked to plan over-the-top birthday parties for each other, but this would add a new meaning to the term. What would Henry's reaction be? Neal would have to wait to find out. Henry had already left on a two-week sailing trip. In a typically devious maneuver, he'd rolled a supposed vacation with his boyfriend Eric into an essential part of the con. It made Peter wonder how much of his plan he'd disclosed to Eric. The expression need to know as practiced by Neal and Henry had gotten them both into a mess of trouble in the past. Both of them now claimed they'd reformed, but Peter was taking a wait-and-see approach before declaring victory.
Still, the video could be useful for the op and it would also give Neal something to focus on during the upcoming week of desk duty. Peter had acquired a healthy respect for how much trouble a bored Neal could get into. "Go ahead. Write up a detailed report on how you'd prepare it, including how it will be used in the con. After I've reviewed it, we can discuss it with Hughes. Have you heard anything more from Angela?"
"Not about identity fraud. Her boyfriend Michael is going down to Shepherdstown this weekend to visit her." Neal rested his elbows on the armrests and leaned forward. "Don't tell Diana. She'll think this is another part of the conspiracy, but Angela's having the kids perform a musical version of Dracula."
"She is? How old are the kids?"
"Seven to ten, but it's not as bad as it sounds. Instead of blood, they're using vegetable juice. Have you ever heard of Bunnicula?"
Peter laughed. "Only too well. I've read it many times to my brother's daughters. It was one of their favorite books."
"Same for Angela. For a girl who loved rabbits and Gothic horror tales, the story of a vampire bunny who lives off vegetables was irresistible to her. She's using it as a teaching tool, and has written a musical version for the kids to perform."
Angela was a talented singer and pianist. She was now using those skills for education as part of the doctorate program in ethnomusicology at Columbia. Peter was glad Neal was having a chance to develop closer ties to a cousin he hadn't known during most of his life.
"I hear El will be attending a play this weekend," Neal said. "Are you going along?"
"No, this is women only. She and Janet are meeting Electra Stavrou for lunch. Afterward they'll go to the matinee performance of Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. How did you hear about it?"
"Electra called me last night. She mentioned she'd be in town this weekend. She reminded me that she hoped to see some of my paintings next time she was in New York. She'll drop by my studio tomorrow after the play."
They'd made the acquaintance of Electra and her sister Maia last month when they stayed at Jenny Jump State Park during astro camp. The sisters had been in town for a Wicca festival. El and Mozzie's girlfriend Janet had become better acquainted with Electra over dinner one evening when the men had been busy with camp. Electra ran a bookstore in New Haven and was interested in the theater. Peter was happy to not be invited. He and Satchmo were looking forward to watching baseball instead. "Are you going out with her afterward?"
Neal gave a put-upon sigh. "Don't tell me you're worried that she'll make a move on me. Wasn't it bad enough that El felt that way?"
"Hey, I'm not concerned, but El will undoubtedly ask. It's illogical since she freely admits she likes Electra."
"And Satchmo was doing his share of growling too. Tell them both to relax. Electra did ask me out to dinner, but I already have plans."
Maia's Cottage, New Haven. Friday midday.
Maia placed one more lavender dahlia in the glass vase then stood back to study the arrangement. "Too much?"
Electra tucked an ivory-colored rose under a cymbidium orchid. "No, you've done well. The flowers suit your cottage." In the month since she'd taken ownership of her new home, Maia had transformed it into a rustic retreat. The furniture was large, casual, and comfortable—clearly selected with a certain hunter named Sam in mind. Picture windows looked out on Maia's garden. It reminded Electra of the dacha Maia had designed for her clandestine meetings with the Russian poet Pushkin. She'd had a Russian wolfhound then as well.
Whether it was Alexander Pushkin or Sam Winchester, when Maia established a link to someone she committed herself totally to her protégé. Her current infatuation would pass like all the others. Pushkin's life had ended abruptly when he was killed in a duel. Given Sam's life as a hunter, he might not last long either. Or, if Maia became too besotted over him, Electra would have to do the deed herself. It wouldn't be the first time.
But Electra was in a tolerant mood. She could let her sister indulge in her fantasy a little while longer even if Maia no longer stored any blood in the house. At least Maia had warned her to bring along a flask if she wanted any. It wouldn't do for her precious Sam to find bottles of blood in the refrigerator.
Electra took a seat in an overstuffed armchair. "I assume your idyll with your beloved was satisfactory?"
Maia flopped on the couch and patted the cushion for Tatyana to join her. She was wearing a simple white peasant top and long, cotton gauze skirt. "Even better than I dared imagine. We spent the past three days reading poetry and making music with our bodies."
No need to rub it in.
"It makes me feel badly for you," Maia continued. "All this time, you've restrained yourself from visiting Neal."
Electra gazed at her suspiciously. Was Maia mocking her? She appeared to be genuinely sympathetic.
"But your fast will soon end." Maia curled up one bare leg underneath her and stroked Tatyana's head. "You leave for New York tomorrow morning. Have the arrangements gone as you wished?"
"Not completely." It was awkward to admit that she, Astrena, Queen of the Stars, had been rejected.
Maia sat up. "What happened?"
"I was able to arrange the afternoon with Elizabeth and Janet without a problem. We'll have lunch and take in a matinee. But Neal has a conflict. He agreed to show me his paintings, but he already has plans for the evening."
"How unfortunate!"
I'm sure he wanted to see me. I suppose it's my fault. I shouldn't have waited till the last minute, but I didn't want to appear overly anxious." Electra refreshed herself with a sip of blood. It had been centuries since she'd deigned to capture someone's interest without using her powers. Now she remembered why she'd stopped.
"Perhaps he simply needs a little encouragement."
Electra smiled at her. "I'm sure you're right. Neal's too much a gentleman to cancel a previously arranged engagement. Having to decline my invitation was undoubtedly distressing to him. A regrettable situation which can be easily remedied." She snapped her fingers. The air next to the cocktail table shimmered and swirled until Crowley coalesced, impeccably dressed as always in black with a carmine red brocade tie.
He executed a low bow. "Radiant Ones, you called?"
"Status report," Electra commanded.
"As the King of Hell or"—he paused to give an unappreciated smirk—"Cupid?"
"Electra, you didn't!" Maia didn't bother to conceal her amusement. "Have you ordered Crowley to be your go-between?"
Electra heaved an exasperated sigh. Maia would have her fun. "Don't mock me. I already admitted I was a trifle out of practice. What's the good of being the Queen of the Stars if I can't command my minions to act on my behalf?" She turned to Crowley. "Neal is seeing someone. Who is she?"
He raised an insolent eyebrow. "So it is Cupid you want. I endeavor to please in whatever capacity you wish. I enlisted the help of a couple of younger demons who were eager to curry favor. Their task was a simple one. Students are a garrulous lot. When offered free drink, they're only too willing to gossip for hours. It appears that you have little competition. Neal split up with his girlfriend a couple of months ago and is not known to be dating anyone seriously. There is a woman, name of Bianka Kaldy, who has the art studio next to Neal's. She's blonde and attractive. They've gone out a few times. If he has a date, it's likely with her."
Electra opened her purse and withdrew a hex bag. She had no reason to mask it from Maia. They weren't in a competition. If Electra chose to stack the deck in her favor, Maia would simply admire her skill. Electra fingered the silken pouch for a moment as she reviewed its contents. The bee orchid, salamander bone, and thistle. Yes, it was acceptable. "You are to add two strands of the child's hair to the pouch and place it under her bed."
He took the bag and placed it inside his jacket. "What plague will she come down with?"
Electra shrugged. "I sympathize with her. It's understandable why she's attracted to Neal. The spell will be of short duration. After Saturday night, Neal won't be interested in her in any case." She deepened her voice to the tone she used for her strictest orders. "Just make sure that it's in place by tonight."
He bowed once more. "It shall be as you command."
She smiled as he vanished. Crowley serving as Cupid was a useful maneuver to keep him in his place. It wouldn't do for the King of Hell to acquire an inflated opinion of himself. He was her lapdog, serving at her pleasure. It was a privilege she could revoke at any time and he appeared well aware of it.
Burke townhouse. Saturday afternoon.
The Mets' game wasn't over when El returned from her girls' afternoon on the town, but Peter turned off the TV anyway. Satchmo beat him to the door to welcome her back.
She'd worn a slim royal blue dress for her outing, making Peter feel like a slob in his jeans and t-shirt. He'd spent a good part of the afternoon installing a new showerhead in their bathroom. He'd earned the popcorn and beer she saw on the cocktail table.
Persuading El to tell him about her day with Janet and Electra was not difficult. He offered to make her a cup of tea in exchange for the details. She was practically bouncing with excitement as she followed him into the kitchen.
"Electra took us to brunch at the Glass House Tavern in Times Square. Jessica Lange was sitting only two tables away. We feasted on salmon filet and avocado toast, had Bloody Marys—they were the best I'd ever had. Electra had the same thing, and she claims to be an expert on them. We all splurged on desserts. I had yogurt panna cotta, but Janet's white chocolate bread pudding looked wonderful—"
"—and my doggy bag is where?" Peter handed her the cup of tea and made a show of peering around her back.
"I knew I'd forgotten something! I promise to make it up to you."
He kissed her. "You know I'm teasing you. Come and sit down on the couch." They returned to the living room. Peter stacked the newspaper sections, keeping the crossword puzzle on top, so she'd have room for her tea on the cocktail table.
El had loved the production. Afterward, Janet used her pull so they could go backstage. They'd met several of the actors and, even more importantly from Janet's point of view, seen the costumes up close. But El's biggest news was not about the play.
"During lunch Electra asked me about my community theater group. When I told her about the financial problems we're facing, she encouraged me to apply to a nonprofit which supports the arts. Her aunt had started a foundation—I gather her family made a fortune in the shipping industry—and Electra now serves on its board. She believes our group has an excellent chance of being awarded a grant." El paused to blow on the tea before taking a sip. "This could be the answer to our prayers. With her foundation as a backer, we'd be able to proceed with a full season. She promised to send me an application."
Peter stood up to retrieve his laptop. "What's the name of the group?" He returned to the couch and powered it on.
"Lena Stavrou. I believe their headquarters is in Athens."
"Found it." Peter scanned the report, clicking on the links for the financial disclosures.
El set down her tea to view the page over his shoulder. "Do they pass muster?"
He nodded. "No warning flags. This ratings organization gives them high marks."
"Electra said she's long wanted the foundation to be more involved with community theater. She appeared to be as excited as I was. We discussed our upcoming schedule. You know how we've been struggling to find a good play for Halloween. Others have wanted to do a vampire play, but after our experience last month I'd rather stay away from anything having to do with the undead. Electra suggested Bell, Book and Candle."
"Wasn't a movie made of that?"
"That's right. It featured Jimmy Stewart and Kim Novak. Electra thinks I'd be perfect as the witch, the role Kim Novak played. Janet was already suggesting ideas for costumes. The original version takes place around Christmas but Electra suggested we change the season to Halloween. It's so much more appropriate."
Peter was delighted to see El so enthusiastic. He knew how worried she'd been about their players having to dissolve because of lack of funding. "It's no wonder Electra likes that play. Isn't it about a witch who owns a bookstore?"
She laughed. "We teased her about that. She should be the one playing the character, not me. Janet in particular was merciless, going on about her books on the occult and letting the local Wiccan coven meet at her bookstore."
"How did Electra take it?"
"She loved it. She said she wished she could act so she could play the part. She reminded us that she even has a Siamese cat. Do you remember Kim Novak's cat Pyewacket? If I get the role, I may have to borrow her cat." El turned to Satchmo. "How would you like a lilac-point Siamese as a roommate?"
Satchmo's whine echoed Peter's moan. "Couldn't you use Satchmo instead? He'd make a great witch's familiar."
El raised a brow. "So now you're an expert on familiars? I'm impressed. Have you been brushing up on witches as well as vampires?"
"I don't need to. Since Jones and Diana found out about our experiences, they've been inundating me with their research. I thought they'd treat it as one big joke, but Jones in particular is very serious about it."
"How about Hughes?"
"When he said he wanted to be in the muck with the team, I don't think he meant a vampires' nest. But he was more open-minded than I would have believed. And I must admit, it's a good feeling being able to talk about what happened."
She smiled. "Bridge construction can be very rewarding."
"Trust me, Neal's reminded me of that, too." Last weekend Neal had compared himself to the destructive potential of a river. Peter had countered with the argument that communicating with others provided bridges of understanding which would nullify any harmful effects. El had helped both of them on building their bridge. Was it time for him to return the favor? "Your opinion of Electra has appeared to improve."
She flushed. "I always said Electra was delightful. I was simply concerned she was overly interested in Neal. Looking back, I don't know why I reacted the way I did."
"So you didn't detect any cougar growls?"
She smiled sheepishly. "Not even a purr. She was taking a taxi to visit him in his studio, but it's his art she's interested in. A friend of her owns an art gallery in SoHo which periodically exhibits works by new artists. Neal freely admits that the painting he'd made in camp couldn't ever be exhibited. It's too derivative of Monet. She's curious to see what his own style is like. It would be a wonderful opportunity for him if she recommends him to the gallery."
Neal's Terrace. July 31, 2005. Sunday morning.
What a night.
Neal had earned the right to be lazy. He had the arts section of The New York Times to read and a cup of freshly brewed coffee beside him. On a Sunday morning, the traffic noise coming from Riverside Drive was minimal. Peter wouldn't be over for hours.
He hoped Bianka felt better. She sounded miserable when she called the previous morning. There are few ailments worse than stomach flu. Hers had hit so suddenly, he wondered if it hadn't been food poisoning instead. She was lucky it struck her before they were at the concert.
Electra had appeared at his studio as arranged at five o'clock. He remembered from camp how elegant she was. For their meeting, he'd selected a dove-gray suit. The silver silk tie he'd picked up in London in June. Not typical artist attire, but from the glint in her eyes, she approved of the choice. There was something about that woman. Perhaps the low sultry voice with a hint of an accent which whispered of exotic lands. Neal prided himself on being able to recognize accents, but hers escaped him. It was but one of many mysteries about her, and that intrigued him.
She professed to never having studied art, and yet she demonstrated a deeper knowledge of artist biographies than anyone he'd known. His professors might be more skilled in their analytical ability, but with Electra it was as if she'd been friends with them.
Neal showed her the paintings from his first exhibition and some of his sketches for his upcoming master's exhibition. He had grown accustomed to being criticized for his lack of cohesive style, but Electra didn't view it that way. She was effusive in her praise of his creativity.
Neal had chosen the subject of rivers for the upcoming exhibition, and one of the rivers that he picked was the Seine. His sketch led them to compare his ideas with Monet's series of paintings on the Seine. Neal hadn't felt there was any similarity between his works and those of the French master, but Electra astonished him with her insights.
When she asked if he was still tied up that evening, he was delighted to tell her his schedule was clear.
Electra took him to her hotel, the Hotel Plaza Athénée. The luxury European-style hotel on the Upper East Side suited her. She mentioned that she visited New York often and had a suite set aside for her use. The cost would have been unthinkable for mere mortals like him, but not for someone like Electra who helped manage her family's foundation.
From the allusions she made to her travels and places she stayed, her wealth was in no doubt. Electra's position went far beyond what an ordinary bookstore owner's would be. And that made her even more a mystery.
They'd dined on European seabass with celery root mousseline and pancetta—Neal had taken mental notes for El. Electra selected the wine—a Montrachet Grand Cru which cost more than a month's salary. Of course he would never wish for anyone to have the flu, but if Bianka had to be sick, she picked a good night.
Over dinner, they'd continued discussing art. Neal mentioned that he was considering the addition of more bridges into his rivers series and that led to a discussion of Monet's Waterloo bridge paintings. The meal passed far too quickly and when she invited him upstairs to her suite, he was torn. He'd never seen the suites at the Athénée. Didn't he need to research them for a potential future assignment? The team at work relied on his expertise.
The buzzing of his cellphone roused him from his musings. He reached into his pocket and was surprised to see Michael's name on the display. Of all the people who might call on a Sunday morning, Michael was near the bottom of the list, particularly when he was visiting Angela.
"Angela's still asleep," Michael said. "I snuck out to call you." Neal heard the sound of cars in the background and faint snippets of conversation.
"It's ten o'clock, and Angela's not awake? You must have had a good time last night."
Michael exhaled and didn't say anything for a moment.
"Something wrong?" Neal sat up straighter. This wasn't Michael's normal carefree tone. "Did something happen to Angela?"
"That's what I'm afraid of. I went on a run, hoping to clear my mind. I've been trying to make sense of what happened, and it keeps sounding worse. Man, I'm losing it."
Michael wasn't the type to stress easily. He was a year ahead of Neal in the doctorate program of art history and Neal's best source for advice on how to maintain his sanity while pursuing a PhD. Like Neal, Michael had another job. He paid the bills by working at Manhattan Geeks. Of Neal's friends at Columbia, he was the least obsessed of the lot. Neal couldn't remember him sounded so agitated, ever.
"Have you talked with her recently?" Michael asked.
"She called a few days ago to discuss some identity fraud problems her friends were having."
"Did she sound normal?"
Neal thought back. "Nothing rang a warning bell. She was excited to see you. We chatted about the Bunnicula play she's producing."
"That sounds like when I talked with her Thursday night. I drove down Friday after work. It took me longer than I'd planned to get to Shepherdstown, and when I arrived, she'd already fallen asleep. I'd attributed it to the late hour."
"Attributed what to the late hour," Neal demanded, growing increasingly concerned.
All he heard were traffic noises for a moment or two. "I wish I knew," Michael admitted finally. "At first I was worried she'd cooled on me. I thought about what happened to you and Fiona. Was I suffering the same fate?"
"Not possible," Neal said firmly. "She's crazy about you. Probably draws hearts over all her photos of you."
"She's certainly not acting that way. I've become more boring than week-old bread."
"You must be exaggerating."
"You tell me. We haven't seen each other in over a month. I come down to visit her, stay with her in her apartment, and she's not interested in . . . ?" Michael's words trailed off.
Neal assumed they were intimate—they'd been a couple for over half a year—but that was one subject he had no intention of exploring.
And Michael didn't need to draw the picture. His heartfelt sigh was testimony enough. "Our phone calls were a lot steamier than the way she was yesterday."
Angela had taken him to the Bunnicula rehearsal yesterday afternoon. Afterward, she'd wandered off while he was chatting with the kids. She didn't return for over two hours. Strange yes, but there could have been a good reason. Neal wasn't swayed.
"The worst was last night. She took me to a concert by a dulcimer player at the university. She waxed rhapsodic about what a wonderful player he was. I got the distinct impression she wasn't just talking about his musicianship. After the performance we went up to speak with him and I swear her eyes appeared to glaze over when she looked at the dude. That's when it struck me."
"What?"
"I wondered if she could be under the influence. She seems so irrational and not herself. I don't think if she'd fallen for someone else, she'd be acting this way. Do you know if she's ever taken drugs?"
"Angela? No way." Drug use wasn't uncommon at rock performances, but he couldn't believe Angela was a user. She was as opposed to drugs as Neal. For Michael to ask the question meant that something was seriously wrong with her.
WCWCWCWCWCWCWC
Neal looked at Peter pleadingly. "Surely you can understand why I need to go to Shepherdstown. Two days should be enough to check out the situation. I have the vacation time."
Peter had arrived at the loft midday, expecting to view the completed Braque forgery. Instead, he found Neal pacing the floor about Angela.
Peter attempted to be the voice of reason, the wise councilor. "I admit that doesn't sound like her, but her mother lives in D.C. That's only about an hour away from Shepherdstown. Shouldn't she be contacted?"
Neal's eyes widened in horror. "You want me to tell her about possible drug use? I can't!"
"It wasn't my fault," a familiar voice squeaked from behind Peter's back. He spun around to see Mozzie standing at the doorway, a guilty look on his face.
"Why do you think we're talking about you?" Peter asked with a sigh.
"You mentioned drugs," he muttered. "Never mind." Mozzie was carrying a large canvas tote. He placed it on the kitchen counter then took a seat at the dinette table. "What kind of drug and what was the effect?" He gazed at Neal eagerly.
Now it was Neal's turn to sigh, but Mozzie's arrival had a positive effect. He was forcing Neal to slow down.
Neal plunked down in a chair next to Mozzie. "It's Angela—"
"Wait!" Mozzie interrupted. "We can't have a story without a liquid libation. I brought refreshments."
"What's up with him?" Peter muttered, also taking a seat.
"He and Billy have been experimenting with new honey wine blends for fall," Neal said gloomily. "He mentioned he might stop by to have us taste them. I hope it's better than what he had me try on Friday. My stomach's still a little queasy."
He sounded like he was making a joke, but Neal did look a little off color. Peter had at first attributed it to his concern over Angela but perhaps that was the cause instead. Mozzie had launched a Hawaiian organic honey business with Billy Feng, the owner of the Aloha Emporium nine months ago. For the line of honey wines, he was constantly experimenting with new blends and roping Neal in to be the taster. Peter didn't have to worry about being drafted into service. No one had ever praised him for having a refined palate.
Peter realized he was being a helicopter dad, but under the circumstances it was understandable. Neal hadn't been cleared for field work, and now he wanted to go down to Shepherdstown. Not that it was for a case, but Peter was still uneasy.
Angela was probably just going through a phase. She and Michael hadn't seen each other for a while. Her boyfriend could have blown a disagreement out of proportion. Neal was right not to involve parents at this point. Angela could be experiencing a normal case of the jitters about their relationship. She might feel the need for a cooling off period. It was unfortunate Henry had already left or he could have gone in Neal's place.
Mozzie placed three glasses filled with an amber-colored liquid on the table.
Neal eyed his glass warily. "Is this better than what you gave me on Friday?"
"Of course! That was the first effort for a new line. This is a completely different product. Billy and I've been working on it for quite a while and feel it's ready to make its debut." He raised his glass expansively to Peter. "You'll like this. Skol!"
Peter's mood lifted at Mozzie's words. "Is this what I think it is? Do you have a drinking horn?"
"Excellent idea! We could market a custom line of drinking horns to go with it."
Peter took a sip, savoring the taste on his tongue. A fruity tartness balanced the sweetness of the honey. Mozzie was looking at him expectantly. Smacking his lips, Peter raised his glass to him. "You've got a winner." He turned to Neal. "I know you're not fond of beer, but you should give it a try. Don't think of it as beer."
"Because it's not," Mozzie added. "The finest honey mead I've ever tasted and I'm just getting started. Do you know that some meads sell at $100 a bottle? By the time university classes begin, Billy and I will be ready to launch our line of craft meads."
Neal gingerly took a sip and smiled his approval.
"Now tell me about the trouble our Angela's gotten into," Mozzie ordered, sounding positively avuncular. Angela worked part time at the emporium during the school year, helping out with the books and their honey-based cosmetics line. When Mozzie heard Neal's report, he concurred with the need to go down to check it out.
"I'd go with you," he said, "but my flight to Paris is already booked. You must keep me informed. It's likely just a lovers' spat, but these matters of the heart must be taken seriously. Michael's a good lad, but a sensitive one. I worked with him on the website for our honey products. He was eager to do everything he could to please Angela. I can see my coaching services will be required once more."
Neal rolled his eyes expressively to Peter. Neal had been driven to distraction by Mozzie's overly solicitous romantic advice. It now appeared that Angela and Michael were to be the beneficiaries. They didn't realize how lucky they were that he wouldn't be able to visit them in person.
Peter mulled over Neal's request while enjoying what he had to admit was a truly remarkable brew. By the time he'd finished a second glass he'd arrived at a decision.
"Yes, you can go to Shepherdstown. You can take as long as is needed, but under one condition, and that is I'm going with you."
Neal's look of appreciation switched to puzzlement. "That's really not necessary."
"Yes, it is, and here's why. Those identity fraud cases Angela reported provide the perfect cover. We've been trying to feed the rumor mill that you've been taking advantage of me. This will make a great example. You conned me into the need to investigate the cases so you could visit her without taking vacation. You've been back at work for only a week after a totally unnecessary week of medical leave—"
"—which Diana has been complaining about vociferously to Ruiz," Neal added, a smile breaking out.
"Exactly," Peter agreed, plastering an equally complacent look, "and now you've hoodwinked me yet again.
"Suit, I admire your lack of scruples," Mozzie said, raising his glass to him.
"Thank you, I think. Neal, you persuaded me to consult on the cases at Quantico, even though I've placed Jones in charge of the work. You then convinced your pushover of a boss to take you along so you can have a day or two to visit your cousin while not doing a lick of work."
"Will Hughes agree to it?" Neal asked. He still had a hard time believing that Hughes had so wholeheartedly endorsed the con.
"I don't expect any problem. It's really not much of a con. Identity fraud is a serious concern. Jones can send me the necessary documentation on the D.C. cases he's been looking into. Henry's grandfather Graham and Julia live in Baltimore. This will give me a good opportunity to discuss with Graham the part he'll play in the U-boat con." Peter outlined the plan in his head for a moment. "We've been spreading the rumor that agents have accused me of favoritism. Diana's told Ruiz that Hughes is reviewing your work and has been giving you additional assignments. When I walked into the bullpen Thursday, I was surprised to see you working with Jones. Others may have noticed it as well."
"And naturally I would take that lemon of an assignment and turn it into a delicious lemon soufflé," said Neal.
Peter nodded. "You could argue that since Hughes delegated you to work on ID fraud, you're simply performing your assignment."
Crisis resolved, they turned their attention to the Braque. Neal placed the original painting next to his forgery and walked him through how he'd created what to Peter's mind was a flawless copy.
Neal appeared to enjoy the grilling Peter gave him about how he'd created it. Adler believed this painting was key to finding a U-boat of plundered art. He'd put out feelers to fences in Paris based on a rumor that the painting was located there. Adler was offering much more than the typical black market price. Mozzie hoped to be able to sell the painting through a fence for close to Adler's original offer of fifteen million euros.
Part of the money would be used to fund the con, and then, of course, there would be Mozzie's fee. That was still a matter of negotiation which Peter might insist would be conducted over several more rounds of honey mead. Mozzie may have just discovered the ideal negotiating tool.
Notes: Neal hasn't given a full account of what happened with Electra. That will come next week when he and Peter travel to Shepherdstown. Peter's been stressing about Neal, but the tables will be turned in Chapter 3: Nothing Else Matters. As for Angela, Neal will feel the need to call on the Winchesters for advice. Angela's the subject of my blog post this week. She's been campaigning to be in a Crossed Lines story for quite a while, and it's finally happened. The post is called "Angela Caffrey."
Penna can now reveal the titles of the seven stories she wrote for the Chocolate Box exchange. Each one is a delectable confection of wit and humor! The list is in her profile. She's also blogged about them, giving a summary and link for each one. For White Collar fans, there's a story of Neal and Jones pretending to be a couple at a bar. Another story is a crossover between Leverage and White Collar. Other fandoms include The Good Place, Discworld, Harry Potter, Mary Poppins, and Star Trek: Voyager. There's also an original work where a Pride and Prejudice fanfic seduces a reader into writing. Who can pick a favorite? I loved them all! The blog post is called: "Chocolate Box 2018."
Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation
Chapter Visuals and Music: The Dark Rabbit board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website
New pins include the Monet paintings Neal and Electra discussed, Hotel Plaza Athénée, and the Glass House Tavern.