A/N: Again, big thanks for all the reviews. It helps fuel my motivation and enjoyment.
Chapter 3
"Psst… Hey Neal!" a familiar voice stage-whispered.
Quietly sighing, Neal turned away from the high-end Burgundian wine seller's table, laden with a delightful display of tempting samples and stepped back. Turning to his left, he spied Mozzie in a back corner, peering at him from a short distance, dressed in all black attire, a small, shallow, silver cup-like saucer dangling on a chain around his neck.
"Should I even ask why you're wearing a tastevin?" questioned Neal, quickly moving forward and approaching his friend.
"Not really; it should be obvious."
"That may be so but please enlighten me."
"No one questions a sommelier, Neal." Lifting his shiny, attractive saucer, the smaller man rotated it in the air. "I've been tasting and judging the maturity of the wine and," he waved his other arm, "blending in with the crowd."
Neal closed his eyes and shook his head.
"The vendors have been literally begging me to drop by their booths," Moz smugly boasted. "I'm having a grand ole time."
Seemingly flooded with uncharacteristic euphoria, beaming with delight, Neal's friend edged closer, his gait a bit unsteady.
Peering at him intently, Neal observed a slight rosiness to his complexion.
Mozzie shifted under Neal's scrutiny, eyebrows raised in smiling puzzlement.
"What?"
"Are you inebriated?" asked Neal, a small twinkle in his eye. "Please don't start waving a flag and dancing to a George Cohan tune. Just how many samples have you consumed?"
"Au contraire, mon frere. I assure you I've been carefully balancing my alcohol content with adequate consumption of celebrity chef goodies." Mozzie paused a moment, leaning in to whisper, "True culinary virtuosos; the food is superb. I hope you've been nibbling."
"Moz, focus! Did you find out anything about Coventry?"
"Coventry?" For a moment Mozzie seemed bewildered, his brows gathered together.
"Oh, of course. Come over here; we need some privacy." Taking Neal's arm, he urged him deeper into a cramped, unoccupied corner of the room, once again, twirling his tastevin. "Jean-Luc Gautier ̶ "
Neal nodded. "The festival judge and sommelier…"
"Yes… yes," the pseudo-wine professional added quickly. "I had a nice long chat with the man." He gave a long sigh. "Insufferable know-it-all… arrogant, but very astute and intelligent." Mozzie dropped his voice dramatically. "Seems ̶ "
"Hey, Neal. Caffrey?"
Both men startled at the voice behind, with Mozzie momentarily stumbling forward, as Blake stepped into view.
"Blake? I thought you were assisting Jones."
"We split up in order to cover more of the convention floor," said Blake. "Since you're the PlayStation expert, I came over to ask you how to access the backroom VIP Suites on the second floor."
"Good going, Neal," said Mozzie, hovering at the periphery of their personal space.
"Wait… what are you doing here?" questioned a puzzled Agent Blake. "Does Agent Burke know about this?" His normal congenial expression fading to sudden suspicion.
"Baby Suit…" murmured Mozzie.
"Didn't anyone tell you?" Neal interjected, "Peter invited Mozzie Haversham to join the investigation."
Looking a little crestfallen, Brandon appeared to assess the new information. Ignoring Neal, he turned to inspect Mozzie's odd outfit.
"You're undercover?"
"Listen, 'young Grasshopper'," said Mozzie crossly, "I don't have to explain ̶ "
Stepping in front of Mozzie, Neal squeezed Blake's arm in a gesture of friendly reassurance.
"Yes," he answered for his friend, dramatically lowering his voice. "He is… and was just about to provide me with a critical piece of information." Neal gave his mega-watt smile. "But let's not call attention here. "Why don't you find Peter, tell him I found Mozzie and I'll join everyone shortly."
The young agent frowned, noting the swarm of wine enthusiasts beginning to crowd their immediate area. Looking back and forth between the two conmen, he quickly crossed his arms appearing to come to a decision.
"We'll 'all' report to Agent Burke," he declared, his face and stance resolute.
Neal sighed, deciding it wasn't worth the effort to persuade Blake differently. As the trio began their walk toward Coventry's booth, he looked back, answering Mozzie's scowl of disapproval, with a passive shrug of his shoulders.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
After stopping by Table #10, Coventry's exhibit booth, laden with an ostentatious display of high-end Burgundies and Bordeaux bottles, Peter and Diana were informed that the wine dealer, himself, was currently giving a lecture in the VIP Suite upstairs. They quickly mounted the stairs.
"I wonder if Clinton heard about the food selection up here," chuckled Diana. "Tuna Tartar, Maine lobster, shrimp rolls, filet mignon," she read off the board, "my mouth is watering right now."
"And… Pate de mousse de fois gras," added Peter, with a remarkably good French accent. "Is that what I think it is?"
"Yes. The fattened liver of a duck" translated Diana. "I'm sure Caffrey would be happy to pontificate, in minute detail, about this cuisine delicacy. He probably eats it as a snack."
"Unbelievable. And he sneers at my deviled ham on stakeouts."
"I don't believe the two are quite similar, Boss."
Grinning at his agent, Peter said, "At least I don't have PETA up in arms over my eating habits."
Diana smiled back as Ashley Coventry's voice began to resonate throughout the elegant, fully carpeted and wood-paneled room.
"… and of course, your VIP ticket provides you a more relaxed atmosphere, away from the hustle and bustle of the main floor. In this luxurious, private suite, we hope you enjoy our twelve exclusive and high-end wine selections, along with the specialty hors d'oeuvres. You'll be able to mingle and talk to sellers, winery representatives and winemakers."
About thirty elite guests were gathered around Ashley Coventry, a tall, thin man with an unruly shock of dark hair. Dressed in a dark gray, custom-made suit and tailored dress shirt, the forty-something year- old, bachelor held his audience rapt attention.
"And don't forget the highly sought after swag bag, valued at over $500." Coventry chuckled, "Each item inside is individually wrapped. As a VIP guest, invitation-only status, you get to pick your color."
"What a bonus," muttered Peter, "an adult goodie bag. I wonder how much the VIP ticket costs."
"I hear the tickets can go as high as $1500 for this gala," answered Diana. "The swag bag enhances the 'wow' factor."
For a moment Peter stared at her in disbelief, giving a head shake. "I think I've changed my mind about buying El a ticket."
As Coventry noticed the two federal agents, he excused himself momentarily from his admirers and approached them directly.
"Well, hello Agent Burke," he said, offering Peter a congenial smile and a bow to Diana. "I didn't know you enjoyed wine festivals."
"You'd be surprised," answered Peter, returning the smile, "at how many different locales and festivities a federal agent will appear."
"Is this a social call? Or am I about to be questioned, once again?" Coventry motioned to the participants in the room. "You see I'm about to give a presentation on the regional types of wine. Can't keep my fan base waiting. My celebrity status has been quite the draw for this festival."
"We wouldn't want to inconvenience you, Mr. Coventry. I thought it would be a nice gesture on my part, since I'm attending the festival, to personally drop by to inform you that a search warrant was finally granted and served at your home this afternoon."
Coventry's smile faltered momentarily. "Really, Agent Burke. On what possible grounds?"
"An old business associate, Jeremy Ruppert, had some interesting information to provide during our questioning yesterday."
"What was it, Diana?" Peter turned to his agent. "Something about purchasing glue, paper, inkpads and corking tools."
"That's right," said Diana, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "It seems some of these items are often used in doctoring wine labels."
"Imagine that." Peter shook his head. "But don't worry about us. No, Agent Berrigan and I will just step back and listen to your lecture. Will you, perhaps, be covering the eastern and southwest areas in France?" he asked. "Maybe Nouvelle-Aquitaine or Bourgogne; they hold a special interest to me."
Coventry stood there, staring at Burke, before moving away with a disdainful scowl.
Peter rocked back on his heels, a contented look on his face until Diana jerked her head, glancing over his shoulder. He turned to see Blake, Neal and (was that Mozzie) step into the ostentatious suite. The senior agent rubbed his hand across his brow, noting the beginning of a sudden headache.