“As a matter of fact, Ms. Reilly, I don’t account for it at all. Our research has only indicated that there are no photos of Elena that we have yet found. You must remember, she was a part of a very tightly protected royal family. Sometimes daughters, beautiful though they were, were not photographed for security reasons. We should know more later in the evening.”
Julie was silent for the briefest of moments. The cameraman zeroed in on the face of Elena Lindemann, casting her features in the ghostly green and grays of the ambient light system. Behind them, even Jackson had to stifle a chuckle at the way Kennedy had turned the tables on the reporter.
“I’m sure our viewers will be waiting with anticipation,” Julie said in the lowest tone of voice she could muster. “For right now, we will pause on the second floor landing and view the extraordinary hallway from here. As you know from the tour, the Lindemanns placed the second tier guests on this floor, where the rooms were much smaller. Royalty from Europe and guests from Hollywood stayed upstairs on the third floor. If there were any incidents on this floor, they were kept quiet by the family. Let’s listen.”
Inside the production van, Harris Dalton shook his head. He knew that Kelly could see Julie setting herself up to be the firm and sound mind on this little experiment — she would leave Kelly and Kennedy holding the bag for its failure.
“You have to hand it to her, she’s like a clairvoyant when it comes to sensing danger to her career,” Harris mumbled.
“Harris, New York is on the line. Mr. Feuerstein would like you to call him at the next commercial break,” one of his assistants said, lightly placing a phone back in its cradle.
“Jesus, this better not happen all the way through the next eight hours. The damn woman was his choice, not mine.”
In the corner, Lionel Peterson watched without comment. His eyes never left the low light photography of the second floor, but he heard all.
The camera swiveled and caught Father Dolan as he tried his best to peer into the blackness of the second floor. Gabriel turned a low-power flashlight on, casting a pinpoint beam of soft light ahead of them down the hallway. They saw the still cameras and the digital audio equipment right where they had been placed. Kennedy slowly walked up to the equipment and the camera followed with the soundman in tow. Julie squeezed past them to see what Kennedy was doing. Then she spoke softly into the mic clipped to her blouse.
“The professor is checking the activity of the digital sound recorders and the infrared still cameras. Professor, exactly what do you hope to find on this very expensive equipment?”
Gabriel was leaning over the sound devices, hiding his frown of annoyance at Julie. After checking both the cameras and the digital sound recorder, Kennedy straightened and looked into the camera. He would explain once more to the viewing audience and ignore Julie completely. Down in the ballroom, Lonetree, Cordero and Jennifer smiled at the slight.
“As we explained earlier, with the infrared cameras we hope to pick up any variations in heat and cold emanating from this floor. That could be an indicator of paranormal activity. The digital sound recorders are something totally different. They can pick up sounds that the human ear cannot, or will not, hear.”
“And have we caught anything on either the cameras or the sound equipment, Professor?” Julie asked, though she knew the answer.
“Not at this time. The cameras have not been activated by any sudden changes in temperature, and the digital recorders have detected only us coming up the stairs, and our own voices.”
“I see. So that means there is no activity on this floor.”
“Not as of yet, Ms. Reilly.”
The cameraman zoomed in on Kennedy as he answered. Damian Jackson watched as his eyes grew more and more accustomed to the darkness around them. He had also guessed the answer to Julie’s question. Any mysterious sounds or sights detected by this equipment would have been placed there by Kennedy, Kelly Delaphoy, or both. He saw Gabriel look up at him in the darkness and though he couldn’t see well, he knew the man was smiling at him. That made Jackson lose his own sense of humor.
Inside the production van, Lionel Peterson raised his eyebrow. Was Feuerstein’s own girl going to throw a monkey wrench into this whole thing and save him the trouble? He looked over at Kelly, who was seething. She gripped her clipboard tightly.
“Okay, we go to commercial in ten. Julie wrap up the second floor and try not to lose any more viewers than you already have,” Harris Dalton said. He, too, was seething at the way Julie Reilly was handling Professor Kennedy. “The second we go to black, I want the CEO on the line. If he sent Reilly here to sabotage his own special, we need to know right now.”
Kelly looked over at Peterson who returned her look with a shrug of his shoulders. Then he smiled and leaned toward her, ignoring the questioning look from Wallace Lindemann. The owner of the house tilted a stainless steel flask to his lips and drank deeply.
“She’s your girl in there. I suspect that her agenda is entirely from yours and old Abe’s.”
“I swear to God, Lionel, if you had anything to do with this turncoat bullshit, I’ll go straight to the board with it.”
“Honey, I’ve been threatened by far better people than you, and guess what? I’m still standing, and they’re back at their old cable channels with handheld cameras.”
Abe Feuerstein accepted the phone from his assistant. His eyes lingered on several of the board as they stepped away from their seats at the commercial break. Their eyes wandered over to the old man sitting stoically in his large chair, but quickly moved away when they saw him looking at them. It seemed Lionel had far more supporters than even the CEO had realized.
“Harris, what is that woman doing to my special?”
Feuerstein listened as Harris Dalton asked him the same question from the Poconos. The CEO kept his smile on his face so the others would see him in control.
“I was just handed the ratings for the first hour. We started at sixty-two five — that’s over sixty million viewers — and in a single half an hour we lost ten million. There is a cutoff point, Dalton, when I have to pull the plug on this thing. We cannot sit through seven more hours of nothing; I want you to pass Ms. Reilly a little note from me. You tell her that if she thinks she’ll escape this thing unharmed, she’s sorely mistaken. Tell her she better appear to be giving Kennedy the benefit of the doubt, because he’s the star of the show, not her.”
The old man adjusted his bowtie and listened to Harris Dalton on the other end of the phone. Several members of the board started returning to their seats with fresh drinks in their hands.
“I never said that. Nothing gets faked, Harris. She can make it far tenser with her delivery. Explain to her that as of right now, the loss of viewers is on her head.” He smiled and handed the phone back to his assistant. “Get a message to the entertainment division, and for God’s sake bypass Lionel Peterson. Talk to LA directly. Have them get alternate programming ready in case this thing goes bad on us.”
“Yes, sir.”
Feuerstein smiled again, nodding as though he had been given good news. He nodded his head at the men and women of the board as they waited for the disaster from the Poconos to start once again.
The CEO knew he was facing another kind of horror if this special fell flat on its face. He would not only lose the confidence of the shareholders, he could possibly lose the backing of many for control of the manufacturing divisions. As this thought crossed his mind, he absentmindedly accepted a drink from his assistant. She nodded her head, letting him know that his message had been passed to the entertainment division. Abe sipped his drink and regained his confident air. The commercial — a small green lizard pushing car insurance — ended, and the show started again from Summer Place.