Visions from Beyond

Chapter 11: A Riddle Wrapped Inside a Paradox

Elizabeth handed Neal a mug of hot chocolate. "One marshmallow or two?"

"Is that for the number of lumps Peter wants to give me?"

She smiled. "Don't worry. Peter may growl like a grizzly bear, but as Satchmo can attest, inside he's a panda."

Peter a panda? He'd take her word on it. At the moment, the grizzly side was front and center. Neal sipped his hot chocolate while he reflected on her comment. A little over an hour ago, he'd been near death on a frozen wasteland. Now he was sitting in the kitchen of people he'd only met a few days earlier—acting like a member of their family, wearing Peter's clothes, petting their dog. If this was a dream, he didn't want to wake up.

"Hey, everything okay?" she asked, concern written in her eyes.

"Yeah, amazingly enough. It's better than it's been in a long time."

"There you are!" Mozzie strode into the kitchen, looking frazzled. "I'm glad to see you're in one piece." When he saw Elizabeth, he stopped in his tracks, his face melting into glowing admiration. "Hello, what ravishing goddess graces this domicile?"

"I'm Elizabeth, Peter's wife," she said, smiling at him.

"Dante Atwood at your service. You may call me Mozzie." He glanced around the kitchen. "Are you having a party? And you didn't invite me? I'm very fond of brownies. These aren't enhanced by any chance with a little Mary Jane?"

"Elizabeth's a doctor," Neal cautioned.

"Even better. She probably has access to—"

"Let's move this conversation into the living room," she suggested firmly. "Peter, you bring the brownies and the plates. Mozzie, would you like some hot chocolate?"

"Do you have any rum for it?"

"Of course. Peter will be happy to get you some, won't you, hon?"

Heaving a sigh, Peter walked over to the liquor cabinet as Mozzie called out, "I prefer dark, aged a minimum of four years, Guyana preferably, but Jamaican is acceptable."

Elizabeth was right. Peter's growls did sound like a grizzly.

Mozzie gave him a nudge. "Handsome socks!"

Neal pulled up his pants leg to look at the goofy-looking dogs on a powder-blue background. "Thanks! They're Peter's."

"I must find out where he acquired them," he said as they went into the living room. "Mine will need to be adorned with cats. Betelgeuse wouldn't approve of me wearing dog socks."

"I've seen Betelgeuse play with dogs. I bet she'd like Satchmo." When Satchmo heard his name he bounded over to rub against Neal's legs. "Betelgeuse is Mozzie's tabby," Neal explained, scratching behind the Lab's ears. "You like tabbies, don't you?"

"Not to interrupt, but to what do we owe the honor of your visit in the middle of the night?" Peter asked, handing Mozzie a mug.

"Lavinia."

Peter stared at him. "You, too?"

"Wait a minute," Neal jumped in. "You mean Lavinia contacted both of you?"

"That's why I was at the church," Peter confirmed.

Mozzie eyed him curiously. "She called me an hour ago with instructions."

"What did she say?" Neal asked.

"You know Lavinia. No time for the niceties. Here's the gist:"

— "He's not wearing it."