Chapter 5
Walking past billboards displaying a fetching array of local wines, Peter and Neal veered left toward the aisle leading directly to the artisan food stations. Jones wouldn't be the only one in partaking of the venue's tasty and irresistible hors d'oeuvres.
Passing countless guests, slowly sipping, swirling or savoring handcrafted wines or busy perusing merchandise and bottles from regional vendors, the two men slowed down to enjoy the overall festive atmosphere.
"Well? Are you going to tell me the favorite vintage wines you sampled?" asked Peter, a twinkle in his eye belying his deadpan expression.
Happily inspecting the food sampling tables, nestled among rows and rows of prettily wrapped specialty gift baskets, Peter mentally prepped himself for the best method of attack. Sausages, pate, charcuterie, crostini smothered in oozing asiago cheese, jams, dips, and tantalizing desserts beckoned him forward.
"Wait a minute. Didn't I distinctly hear you tell our group not to drink alcohol beverages on duty?"
The agent looked up holding two discs of artisan sausage in smoky blackberry sauce, nestled in a napkin on his palm.
"You? Follow restrictions at a wine festival? Come on, Neal. Fess up!"
It was foodie heaven, thought Neal, carefully sidestepping Peter, and trying vainly not to bump into the crowd as he chose an offering of organic Mousse Aux Cepes to munch on.
"I want to purchase a nice vintage for El; you know she stocks her own selection at home."
"Which you obviously keep hidden from guests when she's not around."
Sputtering in amusement, Peter had to swallow a small portion of fiery-red Nduja salami, served on a dollop of lemony yogurt, before he could answer.
"If you're putting yourself in the role of guest… don't. You and Mozzie use my house as a revolving door."
"I'm offended," replied Neal, handing his partner a small fizzy elixir of Kombucha to ease his coughing.
"No, you're not," answered Peter, before downing the drink. Looking slightly bewildered of a taste that reminded him of ginger beer, he quickly snagged another one.
"Elizabeth would tell you that guest, acquaintance or friend, the art of hospitality is to make them feel at home even when you wish they were."
"Is that so? Well, when she's not there I operate under the Burke proviso, 'When hospitality becomes an art, it loses its very soul.'"
"Ah, then let me remove any fear you have in that matter, because honestly ̶ ̶ "
"Stop," motioned Peter. "Do you want a ride back to the office?"
"I did arrive with you, so yes," Neal nodded, "my plans were to return the same way." Reaching past Peter, he picked up a rosemary-lemon shortbread cookie. "I promise," he smiled, pantomiming zipping his lips and tossing away the key, "end of discussion about manners and etiquette."
"Good," replied Peter, "somehow I knew you'd feel that way."
Bypassing Neal's choice of sweet dessert, he singled out a decadent coconut cluster and a hazelnut truffle from Manhattan's Li-Lac before ushering Neal toward the imported wine department.
"El was reading recently about grape growing regions in Spain. Let's stroll over that way... and Neal?"
Neal looked up, eyebrows raised questioningly.
"Try to point out some decent wines, in my price range, the one a federal law officer can afford."
"Would you like to add a bit more clarification?" asked Neal, with that exasperating tone to his voice, before selecting some samples of Cracked Candy to place in his suitcoat pocket. They might come in handy to offer the two office file clerks. They were both vegan and adored anything sweet and cinnamon-flavored.
"Yeah. Consider average wine enthusiast and not sophisticated wine snob," instructed Peter.
Shaking his head, an amusingly pained look on his face, Neal readied himself to argue the merits of quality versus cost, and the positive relationship between price and overall enjoyment.
It was the least he could do for Elizabeth.
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"I can't believe you talked me into spending a ludicrous amount of money for wine. If it wasn't the Christmas season and the time for generosity…"
Sitting in the driver's seat, Peter grunted, gesturing erratically toward the small box in the backseat of his Taurus, prominently displaying two bottles of high-end red Rioja wine covered in bright gold wire netting.
"Whoa! Please watch the road, A. J.," Neal cried out, gripping the dashboard. "The Daytona 500 isn't until February. And seriously, don't you want to thrill your wife with a little extravagance?"
"I already bought her some lovely holiday gifts, if you must know; I don't need to bankrupt myself to toast Christmas dinner."
"You'll thank me later, Peter," answered Neal, a smug look on his face. "Elizabeth will be delighted with the Vina el Pison. Look, it goes well with all meat dishes, no matter how it's prepared. In fact, my personal recommendation is to pair the wine with a leg of lamb, stuffed with wild garlic, rosemary, and anchovies."
At Peter's look of despair, he added hastily, "Don't worry; I can provide her the recipe."
Neal turned on the radio station, choosing some holiday music, blatantly disregarding his partner's scowl and attempt to knock his hand away.
"Don't mess with the stations, Neal."
"Not many American aficionados get the chance to taste Atadi's top wine. Intense blackberry and coffee flavors; it has elegance and complexity. Peter," Neal added, "only 600 bottles make it across the ocean every year, and showing off a wine that's different to friends and family will make Elizabeth's day."
"And you know this how?"
"She shares her wine enthusiasm with Mozzie; they've discussed their preferences in great detail.
Silence greeted his statement.
"Really?" Peter flinched slightly as he said the words.
Neal glanced over at Peter and pursed his lips, nodding his head sincerely.
Looking out the front window, Peter remained lost in thought for a few minutes, and then suddenly grinned.
"Finger Lakes," he said, hitting the steering wheel with delight.
Neal's face was blank, scrubbed of expression but his voice held a trace of caution and amusement, as he asked, "Peter?"
"Upstate New York; east coast Napa Valley. As soon as the weather is nicer, I'm taking El to 'Geneva on the Lakes.' Scenic allure, luxury resort, wine tastings… all the markings of a perfect gift."
Giving a light punch to Neal's shoulder, Peter added, "thanks for the tip."
"Sure, replied his companion, rubbing at an imaginary bruise inflicted. "Anytime."
Peter turned up the volume on the radio, flooding the car with '"Feliz Navidad."
"Mozzie's info about the empty Bordeaux bottles added more ammunition to our investigation. With his associates testimony, Coventry's credit card records for past purchases and what our team finds at his house…"
"Inkpads, glue, paper ̶̶ ̶ "
"Yes," replied Peter. "Let's get back to the office and see how quickly our Christmas celebration will begin."
"Feliz Navidad. Feliz Navidad. Prospero ano why felcidad," sang Neal, in perfect tone and pitch, complimenting Jose Feliciano. His blue eyes sparkled as he motioned to the older man.
"I want to wish you a Merry Christmas. I want to wish you a Merry Christmas," chanted Peter, chiming in with gusto in his strong, pleasant voice. "From the bottom of my heart."
The two, strikingly different singing voices blended together in a delightful and unconventional vocal harmony.
A/N: I was happily able to post much sooner than I originally thought. The last chapter will be appearing in the coming weeks. Thanks to all for your support.