Mr. Real (Code of Shadows #1) (20 page)

But not quite so surprised as when they finally arrived at her parents’ modest little home in Minneapolis and strolled up the front walk, which bisected a postage-stamp-sized yard filled with lawn ornaments.

Sir Kendall stared at the small plaster statues of deer and geese and the mini wooden windmill.

“Lawn decorations,” she said. “Haven’t you ever seen lawn ornaments before?”

He scowled at a plaster rabbit in overalls. Toby. Her favorite lawn ornament from when she was a child. He touched the ground around it. “This statue has been here for years.”

“Well…
yeah
,” she said. “That’s the thing with lawn ornaments.”

He straightened, watching her face in that intense way he sometimes did. “You’re telling me they’ve had these statues on display for years?”

It was as if he found the statues too ridiculous to believe. It stung. She might be the black sheep, might not be following in her parents’ or older sisters’ conservative footsteps, but she felt proud of their little house and the funny lawn statues. This home had been a place of happiness and love. She rubbed a bit of dirt off the chipped nose of Toby the rabbit. Lord knows what Sir Kendall saw, but she saw poignancy in the dirty old statue, and it broke her heart a little bit. It was something real and true.

Did he find it sinister? Or simply trite?

“Alexis!”

Alix turned to see Mr. and Mrs. Seacrist coming up the walk, neighbors she’d always liked.

“You’ll introduce me as Sir Langley Farrell,” Sir Kendall murmured.

“Could you have sprung that on me any later?” She grabbed his hand. “Joe! Dolores! Hello!” She introduced international financier Sir Langley Farrell to the Seacrists, and they walked together the rest of the way to the front door of the small 1950s rambler. The Seacrists quizzed Sir Langley on the whole “sir” thing. Sir Kendall gave them the baronet and King James spiel he’d given Benji, the Bean Central barista, as her mother swung open the door. “Joe, Dolores, welcome! Please, come in. And Alexis…”

“Mom, this is my friend, Sir Langley Farrell. Sir Langley, this is my mom, Joyce.”

Alix’s mother took a moment to eye Alix’s pink hair, then she turned and smiled quizzically at Sir Kendall. The thick frames her glasses were golden brown, the same color as her hair, which she wore in a poofy helmet, a style achieved through the expert use of curlers and hairspray. “Sir Langley Farrell.”

“Madame.” Sir Kendall kissed her hand.

Alix’s mom stiffened and glanced suspiciously at Alix. She didn’t like Sir Kendall. How could she instantly not like him?

“Happy Anniversary!” Alix held up the gift. “You are going to be so surprised at what we found for you, Mom.” Alix kissed her mom, threw her purse in the closet, and pulled Sir Kendall down the entry hall to the gift table. “No more kissing hands. It’s too weird.” Was that what had made her mom suspicious?

Sir Kendall surveyed the guests, two dozen people, mostly in their fifties, gathered into little groups around various floral seating arrangements in the living room and the sunken family room beyond. It was strange for Alix to look at the place through Sir Kendall’s eyes. He wouldn’t approve of the décor, a mixture of old-lady florals, Northwoods duck stuff, and early American antiques. She spotted her two older sisters next to the replica of Martha Washington’s spinning wheel, both gaping at Sir Kendall.

“Alexis!” her father boomed, stalking over.

Alix hugged her father. She introduced him to Sir Kendall. “Sir Langley is an international financier,” she offered.

“Finance!” Her father asked him about the financier trade. He looked older and pinker than usual, and he had put on weight. She worried about him, hated that he was growing old. Sometimes, when she really looked at her parents and all the other people she loved, she felt frightened by how much she loved them, and she worried about what would happen if they died.

In some ways, Sir Kendall had it easier. She thought about what he’d said, about vulnerabilities making him strong.

Sir Kendall went on and on, something complicated about government bonds and monetizing debt, and her dad smiled, though she could tell he didn’t understand. He was an insurance agent and dealt mostly with automobile policies.

More people wandered over, including Jackie and Jenny. They’d kept their hair the mousey Gordon brown and wore summery florals, but otherwise looked pretty much like her.

Alix tried not to smile too broadly as she introduced dashing Sir Langley to Jenny, who’d been on the Olympic women’s soccer team, and Jackie, who owned a hugely successful recruitment firm, but smile she did; she felt so proud, especially the way Jenny’s eyes widened as Sir Kendall spoke in his smart, charming way. Sir Kendall was such a far cry from the musicians and bartenders Alix usually dated. Hell, none of Alix’s old boyfriends even owned a suit coat. Sure, the whole thing was fake, but Alix enjoyed the sudden feeling of being a winner for once, like she had something to hold up for comparison to what her sisters always had.

Jackie made her famous
ooh
face from behind Sir Kendall’s back and went to help her mother. Jenny pulled her aside. “Dish.”

Alix grinned. “We’re not serious,” she said. “But let me just say, he’s everything you might imagine. Everything and
more
.”

“And he lives in
Malcolmsberg
?”

“Passing through. He’s an informal, sort of pre-guest at my B and B.” It was fun to say that, too—my B and B.

Meanwhile, Sir Kendall was peppered with questions. He spoke vaguely of jolly old England and talked a few people into trying a Denali sour, including Jenny. “Always just the thing,” he assured everybody.

Alix bit her lip, fervently hoping that nobody here had been in Australia and caught that commercial. Was it even running anymore?

The family card table was set out with a paper tablecloth, plastic cups, an ice bucket, and bottles of booze. A cooler holding ice and bottles of beer sat on the floor next to it. Sir Kendall was pressed to repeat the King James spiel once again, and he had, as it turned out, financier business cards. Within minutes, he’d gathered over half the party around him, maybe twenty people. He shook more hands and kissed more hands.

Alix grabbed a beer from the cooler and stood back, taken with Sir Kendall’s power just then—his heft, his solidity, his presence. It was almost eerie. Ironic, too.

Her mother came out with a plate of mini pigs-in-blankets, bristling with colorful toothpicks, and stood next to her.

“Thanks,” Alix took one.

“How did you and Sir Langley meet?” she asked.

“It was sort of this strange happenstance that brought us together.”

“What kind of happenstance?”

“He just…came to the door,” Alix said.

“And he lives in Malcolmsberg?”

“No, he’s just visiting.”

“He’s visiting somebody in Malcolmsberg, Minnesota?” Alix’s mother eyed her through her thick lenses.

“Do you see a problem with that?”

“That a very handsome and debonair titled Englishman, this knight or baron or what have you, is vacationing in Malcolmsberg Minnesota? And he turned up at Aunt Veronica’s door?”

“
My
door,” Alix corrected. Uh, why hadn’t they thought of a better story? Of course she’d had her hands full, what with a guy’s thumbs getting fed to crows and making sure Sir Kendall didn’t bring a loaded semi-automatic to the party.

“Are you two dating now?”

“Sort of. He’s kind of alienated from his people, and I’m trying to help him meet new people.”

Her mother raised a single brow.

“What?”

“It’s just that your great aunt Veronica was often turning up with strange men. Exotic men. Like this one.”

Alix’s heart skipped a beat. Leave it to her mom to bust her. “And cavorting?” she joked.

Her mother’s lips compressed into a line. “I want you to be careful, honey.”

“You think I can’t get a fabulous date without resorting to the dark arts?” Alix grinned. “Is that what you’re saying, Mom?”

Her mother smiled, finally, and squeezed her. “Of course not. You’re a lovable girl.”

“That’s more like it,” Alix said.

Her mother continued onward with the pigs-in-blankets. Alix visited the bathroom and then stopped in the kitchen to load up a cracker with pepperjack cheese.

Another neighbor, Mr. Hendrik, sidled up next to her. “Your baronet’s got the liquor store delivering an emergency supply of that Denali of his. Got half the party drinking it.” He asked how they met, and Alix told the story of Sir Kendall turning up at her door. Mr. Hendrik left the kitchen to join the group.

Alix stayed in the kitchen, thankful for the breather from all the spy hijinks and her mom’s interrogations. She stared at the arrangement of parsley sprigs on the cheese plate. Jenny’s work. Alix re-arranged the sprigs into a vaguely dirty configuration, thinking how funny it would be when Jenny noticed. Then she stopped herself. What was wrong with her? Had she not changed at all? She put them back where they had been.

By the time she emerged from the kitchen, everybody had crowded into the sunken living room area at the far end of the place—nearly the whole party, all gathered around dapper Sir Kendall, who was ensconced on the couch, legs crossed, drink in hand, radiating pure charisma. He looked infinitely at ease in his expensive jacket.
Larger than life,
she thought. Such a cliché, but it seemed true of him at this moment. He wasn’t physically larger; he was larger in some ineffable way.

A voice from behind. “Always
just
the thing.”

Karen!
Alix spun around. “Oh my god.” Alix embraced her. “How long have you been here?”

Karen pushed her glasses higher on her nose. “Long enough to learn that Sir Kendall speaks Russian. Did you know that? He was speaking fluent Russian with one of your parents’ friends.”

“He speaks Chinese, too,” Alix said. “But, Karen—get this—”

“Wait.” Karen held up a finger, watching Sir Kendall across the room, eyes sparkling. “Let me hear this.”

Alix folded her arms and waited as Sir Kendall went on with his story—something about his chateau in Luxemburg. “It’s fake,” she said.

“Shhh.” A barrette sparkled in Karen’s short, dark hair. Karen loved shiny little barrettes; Alix felt that she wore them, not quite ironically, but in the way a tough motorcycle thug might have a “Mom” tattoo. Her dress was green and prim on her slender frame, and her shoes were a different shade of green than her dress—one of her famous monochromatic outfits. She looked a little bit like a librarian, but not the kind who might be sexy underneath. More the kind who might be badass underneath.

Alix said, “You are not going to believe who else is at my house. Who else showed up after I called you this morning.”

Karen turned to her. “Who?”

Alix grinned. “Fella who goes by the name of Hardass Paul.”

“What?”

“That’s right. Hardass Paul.”

“Both at your house?”

“Except Paul came later. He drove.”

Karen scrunched up her face. “He
drove
.”

“Yup.” Alix filled her friend in on everything that had happened, though she very much glossed over the handcuffs and tickling.

“It’s like the magic called both of them,” Karen said. “Both the character and the man who played him.” Karen loved a puzzle. “So interesting. Do you think Hardass Paul’ll take off once he sees the stuff appear?”

“He’d better,” Alix said. “And he’ll have an awesome new truck to do it in. Probably.”

The group around Sir Kendall burst into laughter. One of the men patted him roughly on the back.

“Apparently a fictional, two-dimensional man makes the ideal party guest,” Alix said.

“That is no two-dimensional man,” Karen said. “I was over there. He can talk money. Geopolitics. He’s collecting names and travel dates.”

“He is?”

Karen smoothed the front of her dress. “Not overtly. But he’ll come away from this party with more information on the guests then you ever had. Damn. I wish my flight wasn’t tonight. I wish I were staying. We have to think of what to do. He’s here
forever
, Alix. When are you going to tell him what he is?”

“I don’t know. He’s not ready. He needs something...”

Karen squinted in the way she often did when she disagreed.

“He has nothing,” Alix said. “He couldn’t name his favorite book, or like, any book. He doesn’t even know what soap he uses. I don’t think he even knows his parents. Just that he has some. And he thinks he has this enemy, Hyko? His whole mission in life is to fight Hyko. Well, guess what? Hyko doesn’t exist. Earlier, he was telling me about how delicious life felt when he thought he was going to be executed and then wasn’t. He has all these memories that are really important to him. How am I supposed to tell him he’s a big zero?” She settled into a nearby chair and grabbed a handful of mixed nuts.

Karen took the couch next to Alix. “Are you sure you’re not holding him back by not telling him? Infantilizing him? Not to be harsh, but shit happens. Part of being human is suffering.”

Alix thought again about what Sir Kendall said about pain. Not minding that it hurts. She munched a nut, feeling sorry for him, suddenly. “I think he has suffered a great deal.”

Voices from the far end. Calls for Denali. Karen grabbed a handful of potato chips from a bowl on a nearby table and regarded her thoughtfully.

Alix leaned in. “It’s not as if he can get a job as a spy here in Minnesota. He doesn’t even have a social security number. What does he fall back on?”

Karen nodded, crunching thoughtfully.

“He can’t be a spy here at all. Or even a P.I., really. He doesn’t know music, he doesn’t know nuances of culture. Does he know, for example, that a person is supposed to leave her umbrella outside when she enters a home as a guest? That sort of little cultural thing could be the key to busting a case wide open. A spy who can’t notice little things like that has a problem.” Alix swigged her beer.

A low voice from behind them. “Perhaps.”

Alix nearly spit it all out. “Nick!” How long had he been standing there?