The Supernaturals (9 page)

Peterson accepted the drink without so much as a nod in thanks.

“Yes,” he answered, “I understand the company’s position on how this will cement viewership for years to come. My main concern here, Mr. Timberline, is that Ms. Delaphoy’s inexperience makes this a risky proposition at best. My sentiments will not change, despite the faith the board has placed in her.”

Lionel sipped his drink with a scowl.

“Yes, sir, her advance team arrived on-site this afternoon eastern time. They’re going to set up camera angles and…well…
other
things at the house, and they’ll be running a line and air test from the valley to be sure we can go out live from the location on Halloween. I’ll be monitoring the test from here.”

Peterson avoided mentioning the fact that Kelly and her technical team, along with the show’s two hosts, were there to explore the areas of the house that would best serve the faked part of her risky business. He was saving that small tidbit. A few days before the show, he would announce to the board in New York that Kelly had done the planning for her little con on her own. That might get the special stopped, and Kelly out of his hair for good. Then New York would look to him as their savior from this eight-hour live fiasco.

The CEO informed him that all of corporate in New York would also be watching the live test feed from the house in Pennsylvania this evening. Lionel frowned. He hated it when New York looked over his shoulder for any reason.

“Well, it should be pretty boring, but the test is a must. So, if you want to doze off, please feel free to watch.”

Peterson hung up the phone with a bad taste in his mouth.

Bright River, Pennsylvania

The four of them stood before the grand staircase. It was impressively wide—at least fifty feet at the bottom, and tapering to about thirty feet at the top. The broad risers were covered in an expensive Persian rug. At the top, the landing spread out left and right, leading to the thirteen bedrooms on the second floor. A smaller staircase led to the third floor and the other twelve rooms there. The two sides were separated by a deep, high valley, through which you could see down to the first floor, sixty feet below. The direct center of the house climbed to two hundred feet above their heads, culminating in a cathedral ceiling made up of the thickest wood beams any of them had ever seen. To the right of the grand staircase on the first floor was the expansive ballroom, complete with sixty-foot bar and raised stage for a band. To their left was the entertainment room with one of the old fashioned silver movie screens. The small, ornate room was outfitted with fifty theater-style red velvet seats, and even boasted a small half-round concession stand with popcorn popper.

As they slowly climbed the beautiful staircase, they examined the portraits of the Lindemann family lining the wood paneling that faced the stairs. These were arranged from the great-great grand nephew, Wallace Lindemann, all the way to the founding member of the sewing machine empire, Frederic Lindemann, and his wife, resplendent in a white gown and diamond-laced tiara.

“What a line,” Paul said. He held tightly to the curving wooden banister. “She must have been one of the lucky ones to get out of Russia with some of the jewelry, before the Communist revolution started.”

“The interesting thing about the old family line after Frederic and his wife, and one that we have to stress in the script, is that their eight children all died before the age of twenty-two.”

Jason Sanborn pulled a folded packet of papers from inside his jacket.

“Well, according to your research, four of them died in the influenza epidemic of 1937. So there’s nothing mysterious there. Then another two in 1939 from a measles outbreak at their boarding school in upstate New York. Again, tragic, but explainable. The last two—the oldest, a boy and a girl—died together in a house fire in Orono, Maine, where they had gone to University. The house was leased by the Lindemanns for the kids’ privacy. Something we can touch on and maybe even elaborate upon,” he looked up as he slid the papers back into his jacket, “you know, for some creepy innuendo.”

“There is one thing that stands out. Since the attacks here began, the Lindemann family luck kind of went to hell, didn’t it?”

Each of the men looked at Kelly. Indeed, losing that many children to accidents was on the impossible odds side, even if they had lived in a time that tried especially hard to kill kids. They had to catch up with Kelly, who was already moving again.

Soon they found themselves at the very top of the stairs on the second floor landing, looking at the patriarch and matriarch of the family; F.E. and Elena were facing them from on high at the uppermost landing. The great ten-by-eight portrait was one of the most impressive any of them had ever seen outside a museum.

“Well, he doesn’t look like I thought he would,” Greg said. “Maybe we could get that portrait changed out for something that looks a tad more evil. He looks like someone’s kindly grandfather.”

Kelly saw just what Greg meant. The portrait was done in soft tones and bright hues of paint, unlike most paintings from the turn of the century. Often, they were done in dark colors and were styled so that the subject had a stern and determined look. The faces in this one were kindly, and there were none of the harsh brushstrokes associated with that era. He was even smiling, showing white, even teeth. In addition, what could anyone say about Elena? She was picture perfect
.

“We’ll avoid showing these. We need something out of an Edgar Allen Poe poem, not people out of a Dick and Jane children’s book,” Kelly agreed.

They looked both ways down the long carpeted hallway. It wrapped completely around the second floor, with only the larger of the rooms hidden from view beyond the turns.

“This place could be bought up by Marriott and never miss a beat. It’s massive,” Jason said. He sipped from his water bottle.

“Come on, let’s check out the master suite before Lindemann arrives,” Kelly said. She hurried forward, deeper into the house. The others quickly followed.

The bedrooms were hidden behind thick, rich cherry wood doors and were passed by without any concern by the four. The doors were closed soundly against the intrusion of the visitors, except for one. It opened a crack as the padded footsteps moved further into the long hallway. The eyes that moved behind the door watched Kelly as she walked jauntily toward the huge master bedroom at the end of the hall.

“Look at those doors,” she said. “They look like they belong in a church.”

They all came to a stop. The double doors rose to a height of twenty feet. Carved into the wood was a scene from the Nativity. Christ was depicted lying in Mary’s arms, with all the animals looking on, and Mary and Joseph smiling down at what they and God had created. The carving had to have taken the hand of a master artisan. The face of the Christ child was done in such exquisite detail that it seemed to be alive. The soft features and eyes seemed to be looking down at them from over his mother’s loving arm.

 
“We’ll have to have an infrared camera angled down the hallway and aimed right at these doors. This we can definitely work with,” Kelly said as she ran her small hand over the polished wood. “Just by using a handheld, we can get these shadows in the crevices on the carvings to literally move.”

“I agree. I want close-ups of these doors, maybe from one of the rooms nearby,” Jason said. He turned, thinking he heard the creak of an opening door behind them. Light shone down on them, supplied by a floor-to-ceiling window at the opposite end of the long hallway. All the doors were closed and still.

Kelly tried the left side door of the master suite and found it locked. The large and ornate cut glass handles gleamed under her touch as she transferred her hand to the opposite handle. It too was unmovable.

“Damn,” she muttered, frowning. She looked to the top of the door and the etched window perched there. She thought she saw a shadow pass by beneath the gilded glass on the other side. “Did you—”

“That door is locked for a reason, Ms. Delaphoy.”

Kelly jumped and Jason let out a girlish yelp, spilling his water on his blue shirt.

Standing five feet away, making Greg and Paul wonder how he had approached without any of them aware of his presence, stood Wallace Lindemann. He wore a black suit with a scarlet tie over a silken white shirt. His blond hair was combed straight back and cruelly parted on the right side. He stood only five-foot-six, but commanded a presence of a man much larger. He looked directly into Kelly’s eyes. One hand was in his coat pocket and the other twirled a set of keys.

“You scared us. We were just—”

“Snooping on your own?” he asked, though he clearly had no expectation that they might answer truthfully. He stepped forward with the large set of keys and unlocked the large doors of the master suite. “As I said, this room is locked for good reason.” He swung both doors open and gestured inside. “There are many valuable pieces of furniture and paintings in this room, of which my family is very fond.”

As Kelly and the others stepped inside, they could see the truth of his words. Kelly saw several paintings, one of them an original Rembrandt. The furniture was antique, with names had never heard of, but just by looking at the rich polished wood she knew them to be old-world and expensive. The large twin beds were spaced ten feet apart and the Persian rugs were worth more than the combined salaries of Kelly and her crew.

“We didn’t mean to—”

“Yes, you did. You come with a reputation, Ms. Delaphoy, and even before you signed the papers for the rental of Summer Place, I had you checked out. You’re used to following your own rules. But here, I call the shots and make
all
the rules.”

“Well, I just—”

“Just follow the parameters of our agreement and this little transaction should go off without a hitch.” He waited for them to vacate his great-great-uncle and aunt’s room, and then locked the doors again. “The only reason I am allowing you in Summer Place is that I can’t get rid of this property, thanks to the reputation it garnered after I rented it to Professor Kennedy and his students. Therefore, I may as well try to make the best of a bad situation and get what I can out of this place. Who knows? When you find nothing here, maybe I will be able to clear up some of the misconceptions surrounding this property and get it sold.”

“It really is a beautiful house, Mr. Lindemann, really not at all what we expected,” Greg said. Kelly appreciated the way he tried to ease the tension.

“It is splendid,” agreed Paul. “I can’t wait to set up and run the transmission test.”

“Your technical crew is here. I directed them to the main foyer.” He faced Kelly once again. “We do understand each other? There will be no damage inflicted upon the house; the insurance you bought will not adequately cover anything here for its real value. Whatever fallacies you intend to lay on the American public are your concern, but I stress again:
no damage
.”

“No damage to the house. Will you be staying for the test feed?” Kelly asked with her best and most condescending smile.

“If I may. Maybe from your control van, if that’s all right?”

“Yes, of course,” Kelly answered.

“And you should be safe here, Ms. Delaphoy, as I’m afraid everything that you’ve heard about Summer Place is a blatant lie. The house has been, and always will be, a wonderful place to stay. Now, since you have decided to forgo your lunch, maybe I should let you get to work.”

“How many times have you personally stayed at Summer Place, Mr. Lindemann?” Kelly asked, watching his face.

Wallace twirled the set of keys once, and then a second time.

“I’ve never spent one night in the house,” he said finally. “I’m more what you would call a city boy.”

Kelly started to ask why, but Lindemann had already turned away. After a few feet, he slowed and turned back.

“As I said to you in New York, you have the complete run of the place, except for those locked rooms where family keepsakes are stored.”

“Wait. You mean we’re denied total access to the house? We never agreed to that,” Paul said. He turned to Greg for support.

“That’s right, we—”

“This is not your normal house, gentlemen. Summer Place is
my
house, and certain private areas will not be exposed to the public.” He looked at his wristwatch. “The day grows short. If you have any questions, I’ll be in the bar until dark.”

The four watched Wallace Lindemann walk down the expansive hallway and then turn at the staircase. Before they could look back at each other, a man with long hair and a beard bounded up the steps, nodded at Lindemann, and then smiled when he saw Kelly, Paul, Greg and Jason.