David Golemon - The Supernaturals

“Must be hell.” Kelly caught herself. “I mean, it must be hard to get the kids to school, living way out here.”

“My oldest girl is going to Penn State, thanks to the Lindemann Foundation. My children, like myself and their father, and my parents before, are homeschooled. We don’t take to the townspeople around here much, just as they don’t take to us. Never have.”

“Why is that?” Kelly asked.

“When our family was chosen long ago to caretake this place, others around here didn’t take too kindly to old man Lindemann’s choice; steady income, and all that. With the hard winters, jobs become scarce if you don’t work for one of the ski resorts. The Bright Waters folk keep clear of this place and spread their gossip, and lord knows if gossiping was a paying job there would be more than a fair share of other rich people here ‘bouts.”

“I see,” Kelly said.

“I’m sure you do, Miss. Now, if you’d like to follow me, I’ve set your lunch out in the formal dining room.”

“Thank you.”

Kelly, Greg, Jason and Paul entered the house for the first time. An immediate feeling of hominess came to them in the huge and comfortable foyer. Large landscape paintings of the local area were hung on thick, rich wood paneling around the welcoming entrance. Even a picture of George Washington hung above the large cloakroom that had obviously seen busier times. The smell of wood was everywhere and the bright sunshine was dispelling every bad thought the four may have had.

“Boy, this is something you would see in New York. These people had taste, simple but elegant.”

“Yes, it’s nice until you have to oil all of this wood and dust all the picture frames. Then it brings itself into perspective,” Eunice Johansson answered. She gestured for them to follow her. “You can just leave your coats on the cloak counter — I’ll hang them up later.”

They passed through the grand living room. Every piece of furniture was impeccably cleaned and dusted. The massive stone fireplace — twenty feet wide and twelve feet high — was cold and empty, but looked as if it would have been very warm and inviting in the early spring and late summer. Kelly could picture guests congregating here, drinking brandy and smoking cigars.

“I’m surprised there aren’t any animal head trophies on the walls,” Paul said.

“The Lindemann family didn’t hunt on the property after the house was built. The entire estate is free of hunters, and the animals here ‘bouts know they’re safe anywhere in the valley. That was always one rule that was, and is, strictly enforced.”

Kelly wondered who did the enforcing of the Lindemann laws. She decided she would ask later and wrote down the thought on her notepad.

They followed the housekeeper through the arched doorway and into the formal dining room. They all had to stop as they took in the fifty-foot cherry table centered in the room. The ceiling that hung over it was forty feet above them and had etched flowers in the plaster. Down at the far end of this expansive table was their lunch. A silver service waited on a large credenza with gleaming white china stacked beside it.

“Oh, something a little less troubling would have been fine,” said Kelly turning to Mrs. Johansson.

“Was no trouble, I enjoy cooking for guests of Mr. Lindemann. I hope you like brook trout; I also have a nice Chicken Kiev for anyone who doesn’t like fish. There is a bar to your left, and water on the table. Please keep to the main floor until Mr. Lindemann arrives.” She looked at her wristwatch. “He should be along any time now. I have to excuse myself, my family and I must be—”

“Leaving before it gets dark?” Greg asked with a mysterious air to his voice.

The woman smiled at Greg as if he were just an obstinate child.

“Not at all. We still have chores to do before three, and tonight is American Idol night. We like to leave at three and get our own chores done at home, and then eat early so we can watch people make fools of themselves.”

“Oh, I…”

“Thank you, Mrs. Johansson, we appreciate it,” Kelly said with a smile. She eyed Greg, who turned away, feeling rather stupid for what he had said about the darkness. Still, Kelly caught the drift when the housekeeper said watching people makes fools of themselves. She had given away her true thoughts on Hunters of the Paranormal.

“Mrs. Johansson, can I ask one more question?”

The woman stopped and turned with her smile still in place, but Kelly could tell that the housekeeper had anticipated her question and put on her happy face for the answer that was to come.

“Young lady, I don’t know anything about what has gone on here. To us this is just a house. We have from time to time had some excitement out here, and have had to clean up some god-awful messes by vandals and such — and that man, Professor Kennedy. However, if you’re going to ask me if this place bothers us, or if we have ever experienced anything like what your show investigates, the answer is no. We love this house and the property. It provides for my family, so how could that be bad?”

Kelly smiled and nodded. “Thank you.”

The housekeeper nodded her head and then turned away. “Just leave everything on the table and I’ll clean up in the morning. The refrigerator and pantry are full. If you would like something to eat this evening, just help yourselves.”

“Mr. Lindemann can afford all of this? I thought his money was tight?” Sanborn asked.

“We’re paid through the Lindemann Foundation,” Eunice said. “The upkeep, the food, the repairs, our paychecks, all of it comes from an office in Philadelphia. Now,” she said looking at her watch, “have a good evening.”

The four of them watched her leave. Jason slapped his hands together and started for the table. He stopped when Kelly placed her manicured fingers on his shoulder.

“Do you for one minute think we’re going to eat when we have this place to ourselves?”

“But the food—”

“The housekeeper said to stay put until Mr. Lindemann—” Greg started to say but stopped when he saw the mischievous look on Kelly’s face.

She smiled and started pulling at Jason’s sleeve, tugging him away from the food and cutting off Greg’s concern.

“I checked. Wallace Lindemann has already cashed the check from the network. What’s he going to do, give back the money because we went exploring?”

The men exchanged uneasy looks.

“Okay, guys. It’s time to introduce ourselves to Summer Place.”

Lionel Peterson listened to the voices of the Chairman of the Board, Abe Feuerstein, and CEO Garth Timberline, who had initiated the conference call from corporate headquarters in New York. He had to assume Kelly Delaphoy had called them to say she had received grief from him in the production meeting, and that they had waited a few days to call in order to cover the fact that she had done so.

He gestured for his assistant to pour him a drink from his private bar in the corner of the spacious office, even though it was only ten-thirty in the morning.

“I understand you’ve given her a blank check for this Halloween special. That doesn’t alleviate the fact that we have concerns about covering the cost through sponsorship. With the high price of ad time, we’ve already had three sponsors decline. Eight hours of uninterrupted feed is going to cost us in revenue, and it will totally wipe out our late night lineup.”

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.”