“We have unexpected guests, Max,” he stated flatly. “Your father is at the front gate with another man, a Mr. Lukens. Get your things and come quickly.”
On the elevator ride up, Nigel gave Max a frank look.
“Max, did you know that your father was planning to visit?” asked Nigel.
“No,” Max breathed, simultaneously thrilled and terrified at the news of his father’s arrival. Seeing Nigel’s expression, Max blurted, “I swear I didn’t, Nigel! He mentioned in his last letter that he had a surprise for my birthday next week, but I thought it was just a present.”
“Who is this Mr. Lukens?”
“He’s my dad’s boss,” replied Max. “He owns the agency where my dad works. Oh my God, Nigel, what are we going to do? I know my dad—he’s going to want to see my room, meet my friends…everything!”
Nigel placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.
“Relax, my boy. A bit of a surprise, granted, but it’s not as though this is the first unexpected visitor we’ve received. We know how to keep up appearances,” explained Nigel, guiding Max on a brisk walk out of the Smithy. “At the gate, your father and Mr. Lukens received special visitor badges that will filter their experience. Instead of the Rowan you know, they’ll be witness to nothing more than a posh little prep school. Have faith—the badges are really quite marvelous.”
“If you say so,” Max said. A sudden wave of realization washed over him: his dad was here. His father whom he had not seen in over six months was here, and Max would get to see him any moment.
A sly smile crept across Nigel’s face. Stopping abruptly, he scratched his chin, as though pondering a difficult question. “By the way, how do you think you would have scored on that scenario?”
Max rolled his eyes and started trotting ahead, calling back over his shoulder.
“I dunno—a six, maybe seven….”
“Hmmm. And how do you think the vyes scored?” inquired Nigel with a chuckle. “An eighty? Ninety, even? Always look for the second vye, Max! Always!”
“Yeah, yeah,” groaned Max, “like I’ll ever forget now. See you there!” Max ran ahead of Nigel, making for the Manse, whose windows now shone bright and cheery.
When Max opened the door, he saw his father’s mountainous figure in the foyer, wearing his olive trench coat and gesturing wildly to Mr. Lukens, who was dressed neatly in a topcoat and fedora. A large, gift-wrapped box sat on the floor, and both men wore white badges on slender cords around their necks. As Max walked inside, Mr. McDaniels stopped in mid-sentence and turned around.
“There he is!” his father exclaimed, his blue eyes brightening. “There’s my guy! Surprise!”
“Dad!” Max exclaimed as he was abruptly hoisted six inches off the ground.
“Ugh, you’re getting too big and tough for your old dad to lift! Bob, is it me or has Max grown half a foot since August?”
“A foot at least,” said Mr. Lukens, tipping his hat. “Good to see you, Max. Happy birthday. I hope I’m not intruding—your father was kind enough to let me tag along after our pitch in Boston. Funniest thing, though, trying to find this place. I could have sworn it wasn’t on the map until your dad finally spied it! I must be getting old.” He chuckled and retrieved a slim black box from his coat.
“Hi, Mr. Lukens,” said Max, stepping over to shake Mr. Lukens’s hand and accept the present. “It’s very nice to see you. Thank you for the gift.”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” said Mr. Lukens with a dismissive wave. “I hope you like it. It’s a tad personal so you might open it in private.”
Max nodded and slipped the package into his pocket.
“Actually, we’ve got Mr. Lukens to thank for letting me tag along,” gushed Mr. McDaniels. “Told me a few weeks ago I’d be going to the meeting—this was his idea! It was everything I could do not to spill the beans that I’d be popping in for your birthday!”
Nigel quietly slipped into the foyer and gave a little wave.
“Dad,” said Max, tugging at his father’s elbow, “this is Mr. Bristow. He’s—”
“In admissions,” Nigel interjected, engaging Mr. McDaniels in a friendly handshake. “I had the pleasure of meeting you at the airport.”
“Of course, of course,” Mr. McDaniels said, pumping Nigel’s hand. “How could I forget? Nigel, please meet Bob Lukens—head honcho of my agency. Actually, if you’re in admissions, you’re probably just the guy Bob wants to see. He has a niece interested in—”
“Scott,” Mr. Lukens interjected, “let’s not torture Mr. Bristow just yet. It sounds as though dinner is being served. Maybe Max can give us a tour and we can corner Mr. Bristow before we have to catch our flight…?”
“I’ve got an idea,” said Nigel. “Allow me to take you to dinner to celebrate Max’s birthday. I’d be happy to answer your questions there. Max, why don’t you show your dad your room while I offer Mr. Lukens the express tour? Meet back here in twenty minutes?”
“Perfect,” said Mr. McDaniels, looping an arm around Max.
Max hoisted the gift-wrapped box and started up the staircase, turning back to see Nigel leading Mr. Lukens into a sitting room. Mr. Lukens smiled politely, his eyes following Max and his father’s progress up the stairs.
“So,” said Mr. McDaniels, his face shiny from the climb, “surprised to see me? Think I’d miss your initiation into the terrible teens?”
“I’m really glad you’re here,” Max said, relieved to see his third-floor hallway empty. “I missed you!”
He gave his father’s badge a hopeful glance and opened the door.
“Well,” he said, wincing, “here it is….”
His father took a step inside the doorway and stood silent for a moment. Max froze. The light from David’s reading lamp was reflected in the glass dome where Andromeda was fading in the night sky. David was curled up in bed, an open grimoire on his lap, while he closely examined a large Vermeer print. He spoke without so much as a glance at the door.
“Hey. How was the scenario?”
Max shut his eyes tight and gulped.
“Uh, fine,” said Max. “Dad, this is my roommate, David Menlo….”
David’s head snapped up to gape at Mr. McDaniels, who stepped past Max, laughing and extending his hand. David started coughing profusely as he slid the grimoire under his pillow, alternating panicked looks between Max and his father.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. McDaniels,” David peeped.
“Call me Scott, David. Mr. McDaniels is my father,” he said amiably while looking around the room. “Well, they sure don’t give you much space, but I guess this is cozy enough!”
Humming to himself, Mr. McDaniels ambled down the stairs to examine a framed photograph of their family taken before Bryn McDaniels had disappeared. David poked Max in the shoulder.
“What’s going on?” David hissed. “Does your dad know about Rowan?”
“It’s okay,” whispered Max. “He’s wearing a visitor badge that hides anything funny. Why aren’t you at dinner?”
David shrugged. “Got wrapped up in my book—wasn’t hungry.”
“Did I hear you say you haven’t eaten?” said Mr. McDaniels, his head popping up from the stairwell. Both Max and David jumped.
“Uh, yeah,” said David. “But I can get something later—they usually keep leftovers in the kitchen.”
“Nonsense! You’re coming to celebrate Max’s birthday with us!”
“Oh, that’s okay,” muttered David. “Thanks, though.”
“Nonsense again!” cried Mr. McDaniels.
“Give in, David. He’ll drag you if he has to,” Max said with finality.
“It’s true!” Mr. McDaniels conceded, planting a kiss on top of his son’s head. “Oh, it’s good to see my birthday boy! Let’s unwrap your present and get going—my fuel tank’s near empty.”
“If you insist.” Max grinned, sliding the large box across the floor. He peeled off handfuls of wrapping paper while Mr. McDaniels chuckled in anti
cipation and winked at David.
“Wow, it’s, uh, great!” said Max, trying to sound enthusiastic as he studied the box. “Thanks, Dad!”
“What is it?” asked David, leaning forward.
“It’s a Beefmeister 2000!” crowed Mr. McDaniels. “You boys will be able to grill your favorite meats and veggies right here at school!” Max’s father seemed to swell with pride.
“Oh, it looks really neat,” offered David. Max shut his eyes and waited.
“‘Neat?’” exclaimed Mr. McDaniels. “Is the Great Wall of China neat? The Grand Canyon? Then don’t make the mistake of underestimating the Beefmeister 2000! David, what would you say if I told you this product could handle anything desired by the summer sportsman? Anything—from steaks to rotisserie chicken to a delicate salmon fillet! And with its EZ-Clean patented surface, cleanup’s not just easy, it’s fun!”
David’s eyes widened. He shot an incredulous glance at Max, who merely shrugged.
“And that’s not all,” said Mr. McDaniels with a sly wink. He slipped an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to Max.
Max tore it open and read the enclosed certificate.
“It says twice a month, I’ll be receiving a shipment of assorted meats…. Thanks again, Dad.”
“That’s a great present, Mr. McDaniels,” said David, his hand positioned oddly in front of his face. “Awesome.”
The McDanielses left David to change and walked back to the foyer, but Mr. Lukens and Nigel had not yet returned. The sounds of supper could be heard from the back stairs off the great hall.
“Let’s go take a peek down there, Max,” said Mr. McDaniels, veering toward the stairwell. “It’d be fun to meet some more of your classmates!”
“Uh, we’d better not. David will be here in a minute, and so will Mr. Lukens.”
“Aw, c’mon,” chided Mr. McDaniels, already disappearing down the stairs.
In desperation, Max looked once more for Nigel before scurrying after his father. He froze at the bottom of the stairs as he heard his father’s voice call out.
“Miss Aloha! How are you?”
Max hurried around the corner to see Mr. McDaniels standing by the head table, shaking the hand of a very surprised Miss Awolowo. His broad face was beaming as he surveyed the large hall full of students, who had stopped eating to gape at the unexpected intrusion.
“Hi, everyone,” Mr. McDaniels boomed, giving a friendly wave. “I’m Scott McDaniels—Max McDaniels’s dad!”
The room was silent; a few students gave awkward waves. Max saw Alex Muñoz doubled up with laughter at one of the tables. Catching Max’s eye, he puffed out his cheeks to mock Mr. McDaniels’s girth. Anna and Sasha were red and shaking with laughter.
Undaunted by the silence, Mr. McDaniels rocked back and forth.
“Visiting from Chicago,” he explained with his usual good cheer. “Max’s birthday’s coming up—the big thirteen!”
Max felt hundreds of eyes shift from his father to him. Ears burning, he nodded and tugged at his father’s sleeve. Suddenly, Nigel descended the stairs accompanied by Mr. Lukens and David.
“I thought you might have stolen down here,” Nigel chided, looking at his watch. “I told the Grove we’d try to be there by seven, so we’d better be on the move.”
As Nigel finished his sentence, the dining hall was illuminated by a flash of light. Mr. Lukens smiled and placed a small camera back in his pocket.
“Wonderful shot,” he explained, upon seeing Nigel’s frown. “My niece will love getting a sense of daily life—”
“I’ll be happy to send you some brochures, Mr. Lukens,” Nigel replied tersely. “Please do not take any more photographs of the students; it is illegal to do so without their parents’ permission.”
“Of course,” said Mr. Lukens. “Please accept my sincere apologies.”
“Apology accepted,” said Nigel, taking Mr. Lukens by the arm and lightly steering him toward the stairs.
Four unfamiliar adults were waiting in the foyer. As Max reached the top of the stairs, Ms. Richter’s voice called to the new arrivals from the hallway that led to her office. They nodded at Nigel and filed past Mr. Lukens to disappear down the hallway.
“Well, now,” Mr. Lukens quipped, as though speaking to himself. “Someone quite important must be down that hall….”
As Nigel held the door for Max and David, another flash illuminated the foyer.
“Mr. Lukens,” Nigel snapped. “I thought we’d agreed that photographs are not permitted.”
Mr. Lukens held up his hands in a defensive gesture.
“I thought the prohibition was against having students in the photographs. Surely you don’t object to a photo of this magnificent chateau?”
Nigel said nothing, but Max saw a vein throb in his forehead. Mr. Lukens breezed past him and down the steps to the fountain.
Dinner was a tale of two conversations, with Mr. McDaniels entertaining Max and David at one end of the table while Nigel and Mr. Lukens were engaged at the other. Mr. McDaniels was describing the many merits of Bedford Bros. Crispy Soup Wafers to an attentive David when Mr. Lukens called over.
“Scott, Mr. Bristow just asked what it takes to be successful in advertising. What do you think?” “That’s easy,” chortled Mr. McDaniels, wiping his mouth before continuing to speak. “You’ve got to love your client and love their products! Without that, it’s just a job, and if it’s just a job, you won’t be successful.”
“Cheers to that,” said Nigel, raising his glass. “Here’s to doing what you love—what’s that they say? ‘If you love what you do, you’ll never work a day in your life?’ Anything to add, Mr. Lukens?”
Mr. Lukens paused a moment, shooting Nigel a mischievous grin. Max thought he looked like a little boy who had been caught cheating at something trivial.
“Oh, I think Scott said it well enough,” he said. “A bit idealistic, perhaps. My bias is that successful advertising requires you to shock your audience—catch them unaware and, eh, go for that jugular.”
Mr. Lukens beamed and shrugged his shoulders.
“Most of the time, you’ve only got that one shot to get them, so it’d better count,” he added, before glancing at his watch. “My God—is that the time? Scott, I hate to say it, but we’ve got a plane to catch.”
Mr. McDaniels looked at his watch and frowned, looping an arm around Max in the process. “I guess we do,” he said softly, forking a last bite of potato.
Nigel had Mr. Lukens drop them at the gate, insisting that it would save valuable minutes for their trip to the airport. They all piled out of the car and said their good-byes. After Nigel had collected the visitor badges, Mr. McDaniels gave Max a long, fierce hug and whispered that it would not be long until Max would be coming home.
Max watched as the car’s taillights shrank to small red dots before finally disappearing. David waited patiently near the gate as Nigel put a hand on Max’s shoulder. “Happy birthday, Max,” said Nigel. “I’m very glad you could see your father, if just for a few hours. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to tell me anything you know about the irrepressible Mr. Lukens.”
“I don’t know,” said Max, fighting the heaviness in his heart. “He seems nice—he brought me a present.”
Nigel’s smile wavered.
“What was it, if I might pry?” asked the Recruiter.
“I don’t know yet,” said Max, retrieving the slim case from his pocket. “He told me to open it in private.”
“Max,” said Nigel, “that is a decidedly odd request. Do you mind if I have a look?”
Max shook his head. Nigel plucked the box from his hand and removed its silver ribbon. A moment later, Max saw a glint of gold as Nigel flipped open the black velvet lid. Inside was a jeweled dagger with a green handle. Nigel studied it a moment before his eyes widened in apparent recognition. The blood drained from his face.
“Dear God,” he muttered, fumbling in his pocket.
“What?” sa
id Max as Nigel retrieved a slim phone and began frantically punching numbers. Nigel held up a finger for quiet.
“Gabrielle? Nigel. Abort the mission. Dear Lord—abort, abort, abort! I’ll explain everything—have to go!”
“Nigel!” Max yelled, feeling a queasy sense of panic. “What’s going on?”
Nigel ignored him and pressed another button on his phone.
“This is Nigel Bristow, Senior Recruiter. Emergency intercept requested of two subjects in black rental sedan bound for Logan Airport. First four characters of license plate are DL42…. Top priority! Apprehend both subjects—use caution and do not harm them!”
“Nigel!” Max screamed, trying to snatch the phone from the man’s hand.
Nigel hugged Max close to him.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said, herding Max over to where David stood looking petrified. “But we need to get inside immediately.”
Clutching the dagger, Nigel led them toward the Manse, their footsteps spraying wet gravel as they ran.
16
ROWAN’S NEW RESIDENT
Max paced back and forth by the fountain, ignoring Miss Awolowo’s pleas that he sit. For the past two hours, David had sat quietly, trailing his fingers through the mist that rose like little wraiths from the fountain. A murder of crows took flight from the dark woods near the gate just before Max saw headlights emerge into the clearing. A limousine was making its way slowly along the road that bordered the ocean. Max kept his eyes on the approaching car even as he noticed Nigel descending the Manse’s front steps.
“Max, please listen to me,” the Recruiter said. “Your father is in that car, but—” Max bolted up the drive, meeting the car halfway as it turned and made its way toward them. He smacked his hand against the black windows, but the car did not slow until it finally came to a stop near the fountain. Nigel looked helpless as he stepped between Max and the car.
“Max, please—let them do their jobs,” he pleaded.
The back doors to the limousine opened, and an unfamiliar man and woman emerged, followed by Cooper. Max looked through the open door and saw his father lying limp and still inside. Max’s hands shook uncontrollably.