Caffrey Flashback

Chapter 11: Impersonation

Saturday afternoon. February 21, 2004.

Peter called June Ellington on Saturday to offer his condolences. She mentioned that family members and friends were converging on New York for the funeral, and she had decided to hold an open house Sunday evening for all of them to gather and remember Byron. Peter and Elizabeth would be welcome, she said. Eager for an excuse to see how Neal was doing, Peter accepted the invitation.

As much as Peter wanted to look for Neal immediately, he had to be patient. El had never visited the Ellingtons' home before, and needed a few minutes to ooh and aah over the stunning mansion. Then she started to recognize some of the guests, pointing out legendary jazz musicians. Finally she looked at her husband and said, "Go ahead, Peter. I know you're worried about Neal."

"Are you sure?" he asked, to be certain he wouldn't be in the dog house later.

"Honestly, I'll enjoy myself more if you aren't tagging along checking your watch every two minutes because you don't know the first thing about music. I'm going to talk to some inspiring people, offer my condolences to June if I can find her in this crush, and then I'll meet up with you again."

"Love you, hon," Peter said, and went on the hunt for his consultant.

To his surprise, he heard Henry's voice. Wasn't Neal's cousin supposed to be on a sailboat between Baltimore and New York? But the familiar voice was saying, "It's one of the best I've ever encountered. Go ahead, try it." The young man leaned against the grand piano, his back to Peter. "Admit it. You miss this when you stay at a hotel. Play something."

"Henry, behave," said another familiar voice. Noelle Winslow. To Peter's surprise, she was blonde.

Even more surprising, Noelle's son chuckled and said, "You called me Henry."

Noelle punched his arm while saying, "No wonder Robert hated you. You must have scared him to death. Stop it, Neal."

Peter had reached them and said, "Neal?" The young man turned around. He had Henry's posture and insouciant grin, with Neal's blue eyes. Peter realized he'd never seen Neal deep in a con, playing another person. It was a little terrifying. Peter grabbed his sleeve and pulled him toward a quiet corner. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Same as you," Neal said with a shrug, still in a perfect impersonation of his cousin. "Paying my respects."

"Why are you conning people into thinking you're Henry?"

"I haven't lied to anyone, Peter. They all know me by my real name. But big family gatherings are more in Henry's comfort zone, so I thought: why not? He's better at this. And it's working."

Peter put his hands on his hips and shook his head. "I cannot believe this is a good idea."

"Avoidance rarely is," confirmed Noelle, who had followed them. "Neal, you need to stop playing a role and face how you feel about losing your friend."

"Later," Neal promised.

"Now," Peter insisted. He placed his hands on Neal's shoulders. "Neal, stop this act."

"I'm not going to –"

"Neal!" Peter interrupted. When Neal met his eyes, Peter took a deep breath and played his best card. "Son. Come back to me." He waited to see if calling Neal Son for the second time would be as effective as it had been in early January.

Neal shuddered. The Henry façade slipped away. Instead of Henry's indolent grace and mysterious expression that promised he was seven moves ahead of you in a game of chess, Neal's own self appeared. His posture adjusted from Henry's deceptive relaxation to his normal state. In Peter's opinion, Neal's default body language telegraphed a youthful readiness to jump into action, and his laughing eyes normally indicated that action would be tied to mischief. Now his eyes provided glimpses of a myriad of emotions, transitioning from surprise to joy to annoyance and finally filling with an uneasy grief.