A/N: This is my favorite chapter. I actually went to the Lowell for high tea.
Chapter 4
Late afternoon the following day, while seated in his office meticulously putting together the pieces of the puzzle his team had begun to gather, the agent's phone rang. Neal looked up at him from across the desk. Checking the display screen, Peter noted the call was from Elizabeth.
"Hi, hon. You should probably come home for a quick visit," his wife said. "Bring Neal with you."
"I'm pretty busy right now, El. We're in the middle of correlating reams of information. As much as we'd love to leave this mess, see you and catch some lunch—"
"The Martinez case?"
"Yup. For the last several hours." Neal, overhearing Peter's side of the conversation ambled over to him, desperately mouthing the word, please. Peter turned his back on his CI. "You shouldn't have offered the invitation. Neal, with puppy dog eyes, is clued to my side… now he's tugging at my arm."
Peter shook him off.
"Well this time he's right, Peter. I'm here enjoying a very pleasant tea with Mozzie and he insists you come home. He wants you to hear the information he's uncovered." She paused. "And no, he won't come to the office. Besides sweetie, you've been running yourself ragged again. A nice break will do both you boys some good. It's 3PM," her voice softened, "and I'm sure you haven't stopped for lunch."
It took only a moment for Peter to mull over his wife's invitation as he watched Neal go through a series of unspoken gestures, displaying a pantomime of prayer, followed by pantomime starvation; theatrics that would have equaled the genius of Marcel Marceau. Tempted to delay his acquiescence, if just to enjoy more of Neal's stagecraft, Peter hesitated a few additional seconds. He rarely refused his wife's infrequent requests and, if truth be known, Mozzie had hooked him with mysterious bait.
"Of course, hon. You're right. Neal and I will be heading your way shortly."
Peter heard El chuckle as she heard his final words directed at his partner. "Neal! Get off your knees; I said yes."
Since traffic was light, the two men entered the Burkes' home within the hour. Neal's small friend, attired in regal if bizarre splendor, smiled, raising his hand as a token of greeting. Seated at the dining room table, dressed in red velvet smoking jacket, white shirt and matching bowtie, Mozzie's highbrow appearance didn't extend to his lower quadrant. Rugged tan cargo pants and light sneakers peaked out under the dainty Irish tablecloth.
That's a strange outfit for even Mozzie, thought Peter, wondering as he often did, why his wife enjoyed the eccentric grifter's company.
Glimpsing the table's display, Peter stopped suddenly, halfway into the room to gawk. Spread with a beautiful vintage china teapot with different patterned and colorful floral teacups, an assortment of lit candles, three tiered trays, cake stands, tea sandwiches, white napkins, Irish butter and decadent pastries that might put a queen's high tea to shame, the dining table's surface was barely visible. Lovely soft music, Glen Miller's Moonlight Serenade, played quietly in the background. Peter was flummoxed and speechless. He knew El and Mozzie shared occasional tea and luncheon dates but he never thought the scale would be this grand.
Wait a minute. He couldn't remember his wife offering to put this kind of spread out for him. Of course, if he was honest, he had no desire to partake of a high tea, would feel awkward even attending one, but it was the principle of the thing. Right…right?
"Are those smoked salmon and lobster salad sandwiches?" asked Neal, grinning with obvious delight. "From the Pembroke Room at the Lowell?"
"It certainly is, mon ami, and there's your favorite cauliflower tart with walnut crust and ginger scones with Devonshire cream," intoned Moz. "Sit down and enjoy this sumptuous repast." He directed his next question to his lovely companion. "We won't mind, will we, Elizabeth?"
El shrugged with an apologetic smile at her husband and waved both men over to the table. "No, of course not," she replied.
"I'm sure she won't," muttered Peter, as he came around the table, taking a seat next to Elizabeth and fixing the little interloper with an evil stare.
"Be careful, Suit. Don't knock over any of the crystal," Mozzie instructed. "Your wife provided some of the lovely tea accoutrements, but the rest must be returned in tip-top shape. It's not your usual lunch at the hot dog cart."
Elizabeth quickly and firmed grabbed her husband's right arm as he raised it heavenward in an alarming manner. She knew Peter's signs of frustration and impending eruption. Pouring him some tea and placing the delicate china cup gently in his hand, she cast a pleading look for help from Neal as she attempted to defuse Peter's temper.
"Mozzie knows I love attending the occasional high tea. So he contacted a few of his friends in the hotel business and voila a special treat, right here in our own home." The petite brunette fixed her eyes on Peter's face, smiling winningly. "Wasn't that sweet?"
Peter nodded, a small smile not reaching his eyes as he scanned the contents of the table.
Neal held up his tea cup in salute. "To this wonderful meal and delightful company. What a surprise to take part in a refined custom of afternoon tea. A respite from the hectic pace of today's busy world."
Mozzie smiled in agreement and took a drink. "The tea is outsourced, of course, but it's of most importance that teas are brewed using real loose leaves, not tea bags. Can you imagine the disappointment of seeing a couple of limp tea bags hanging out of a teapot?"
"That would be tragic," agreed Peter. "It would certainly remove some of the enjoyment of lounging around someone else's home for hours on end." He reached for a ginger scone, clotted cream and five small sandwiches, filling his small plate to overflowing.
"Mozzie and I were just discussing the origin of the afternoon tea," said El.
"Anna, the Seventh Duchess of Bedford," answered Mozzie and Neal, seemingly by rote.
Peter looked up from his meal, his glance lingering for a moment on both men.
"Yes," the agent broke in. "It was a custom during the late 1700's to eat a huge breakfast and small lunch with a very substantial dinner late in the evening. I'm sure the Duchess began to ask for tea and cakes to tide her over." He popped a dainty lobster sandwich in his mouth before he finished the story. "Inviting her friends to share the ritual, the event became a fashionable−"
"And treasured custom," finished Elizabeth, providing a warm hug to her erudite husband. "Mozzie, please pass Neal the smoked salmon and tell Peter the news you have for him."
"Of course, Mrs. Suit." Mozzie passed Neal several plates of delectable goodies including a collection of artfully arranged sweets. "Here, Neal. Don't pass up the fresh berry tart." Mozzie hesitated, glancing over at the Fed.
Peter calmly and deliberately reached for his tea, took a few sips and fixed a penetrating gaze at the little guy. "You have information for me?" he asked. Peter cleared his throat and waited.
"Neal told me you wanted to know any street scuttlebutt about the Martinez Ring. And he asked me to check on any known associates of theirs having a distinctive scar on the arm."
"Well … what have you got?"
"Let's start with 'thank you, Mozzie' for spending time doing research and risking life and limb to provide needed information that could not be gathered through official channels." Sitting up straight, Mozzie peered owlishly over his glasses at Peter and crossed his arms.
"My thanks will be heartfelt and sufficient in nature, once I hear the particulars," pledged the agent.
"Humph," uttered Mozzie, sniffing the air with undisguised skepticism. "I suppose I'll proceed."
"Moz," prompted Neal.
"Martinez and his coterie have made a name for themselves, in several states, with big money jewel thefts. They love smash and grab robberies and target traveling salesmen. Your ordinary New York crook is staying clear of them. The gang is bad news, tied up with South American theft groups. The jewelry industry is getting really riled. Some of the bigwigs are even talking about hiring their own 'protection', maybe tying into local Mafioso."
Mozzie leaned forward with his arms on the table. "In the past, they used New York strictly as a fencing city but now they're playing in our ballpark. Why they've changed location and how long they're planning to be here no one seems to know."
Peter sat back disappointed. "I know most of that. Can you give me a name of one of their fences?"
"Even better, Suit" replied Mozzie. "An associate, who will remain nameless, told me the identity of a jewel thief with scarred wrist. Raul Diaz−"
"Martinez' second in command," announced Neal.
"That's a confirmation we needed," replied Peter.
"Hold on," said Neal's friend. "It gets better. A nameless fence is poised to convert a nice wad of jewels into instant cash. He's waiting to hear from one Manual Perez, supposedly some hanger-on of the theft ring. Manuel's been spotted hanging out around East 63rd Street. I did some checking and found out a couple of jewelry salesmen will be in town on Thursday, staying at The Lowell."
"East 63rd Street," said Peter's consultant. "Prestigious address, deluxe rooms and absolutely fabulous penthouse suite!"
Peter threw him the look.
"At least that's what I've heard," Neal added.
"And don't forget … a delightful high tea," said Mozzie.
"You stopped by the tea room during your reconnaissance," stated Peter, matter-of-factly, giving a cat-like smile. When the conman refused to answer, the agent stood up, moving into Mozzie's personal space. He bent down, inches from face to face contact, making the smaller man lean back in alarm.
"Thank you, Mozzie, for spending time doing research and risking life and limb to provide needed information that could not be gathered through official channels." Peter paused. "You did good."
Elizabeth and Neal smiled. Mozzie remained, surprisingly, speechless before he stammered, "I only did it for Neal."
Nodding, Peter quickly straightened his lean body into an upright manner. "Let's go, Neal. We've got a lot of work to do before Thursday." As he headed for the door, the agent pulled his wife out of earshot range and whispered, "This was a delightful meal, hon. But keep an eye on our silver− and make sure our guest removes any ill-gotten items out of the house."
Mozzie, taking advantage of Peter's momentary inattention, took the opportunity to mention his own misgivings to Neal. "Keep your eye on Duddley Do-Right, over there. I don't want any mention of my name in his reports or verbal diatribes."
"Okay, Moz. I've got your back. I won't let him tell Inspector Fenwick, Nell or his horse."