Finally Harris turned, a thin smile on his lips. He placed a hand on Kelly’s shoulder and then took a deep breath.
“If it’s any consolation, after the broadcast test two weeks ago, I really thought this place was special too. I thought we had a chance to really prove something. I don’t blame anyone for this mess but myself.” On monitor number three, Gabriel Kennedy had just reached the bottom floor behind Julie Reilly. The lights came on throughout the house. Lionel Peterson was standing in the center of the foyer with his hands on his hips. Wallace Lindemann was walking past him toward his favorite spot in the house — the ballroom. “What’s going to happen to him,” Harris said, pointing at the image of Professor Kennedy.
“Sir, the network is on the phone. They’re pulling the plug and they want Julie Reilly to wrap things up with script describing the hoax attempt. She’s to use her own wording and try to exonerate the network as much as she can.” The assistant was unable to meet the director’s eyes.
Harris nodded his head. “Pass that along to Julie. No, wait. Kelly, take the instructions in to her. You’ll need to make an appearance, anyway. Accusations are going to be flying and I don’t want you to give one inch to that son of a bitch Peterson.”
Kelly bit her lower lip but nodded anyway.
“Explain to the new head of the network that he’s got eight minutes to do his firing. Then we’re back on the air,” Harris said. He shook his head and headed for the door for some much needed air.
Kelly slowly moved past him toward the front portico of Summer Place, now brightly lit. Other technicians were outside the production van taking a break and talking among themselves. Many were not hiding their mirth at what had happened inside the house. They assumed Harris Dalton himself had been in on the hoax.
Dalton was about to turn and walk back into the van when he heard a honking coming from the front gate. He watched a black van pull up to the gates, but shook his head, figuring it was just another nut coming out of the woodwork. Harris started up the steps of the production van just as a security officer stopped him.
“Sir, there’s a couple of gangster-looking men out here in a van that say they have information for Leonard Sickles. They say he’s expecting them.”
Harris looked toward the large front gate.
“No one gets in, I don’t care who they work for. If they have a package for Mr. Sickles, tell them you’ll take it into him.” Harris turned and entered the production van.
The security man returned to the gate and passed on his instructions. The two men cussed but knew they had to give over the yellow envelope. They admonished the security man and told him that Leonard owed them money for their work, and the security man said he would pass on that also.
The black man in the passenger seat reluctantly handed over the large yellow envelope that contained the material they had stolen from the Lindemann Foundation in Philadelphia. The package also included information from a bribed source at the Immigration and Naturalization offices in Washington.
The envelope exchanged hands. Just as the security man locked the gates once more, deep inside Summer Place, in the basement where John Lonetree and his team had just uncovered the hoax of the century, the trapdoor leading to the subbasement lifted on its hinges. The push from below was so strong that the wood cracked and the hasp and lock bent. The dust of a hundred years plumed up from the old wood as the door strained against its restraints.
Upstairs on the third floor, the sewing room door shook in its frame. The crystal doorknob turned once, twice, and then the door shook again.
Suddenly Summer Place was awaking from its sleep. Two kinds of hell wanted to be freed.
Gabriel Kennedy met his team in the large foyer, George caught Kennedy’s eye and shook his head. He stepped up to Gabriel and pulled him aside.
“Gabe, the feelings I was getting down there — I knew there was something going on. I mean, I felt the lie before Lonetree found the speakers.”
Gabriel’s attention was focused past George, trying to hear what Lionel Peterson was saying. Gabriel was surprised to see Julie Reilly arguing with him. If he heard right, she was denying the fact that she had anything to do with planting the speakers. Father Dolan had moved to the bottom step of the stairs and had sat down. Gabriel saw the Father look away, as if the conversation involved him in some way.
“Gabriel, listen to me, goddamn it!”
Lonetree and Jennifer heard George’s loud exclamation and broke away from the group. John pushed the two speakers and transmitter into Peterson’s chest, hard enough that the executive flinched.
Jennifer and Lonetree joined Gabriel and George. “Look,” George was saying, “that wasn’t all I was feeling down there. I was to the point where I couldn’t breathe.”
“What are you saying?” Kennedy overheard Peterson telling Julie that they were pulling the plug on the special. He saw that Kelly Delaphoy had joined them.
“It was like someone had thrown a ton of dirt over my face and I couldn’t get any air.” George took Kennedy by the arm. “Something is down there, Gabriel. And I don’t mean the basement. It’s deeper. Maybe in the root cellar.”
Kennedy turned to Lonetree. “Did you get any feelings down there?”
Lonetree shook his head.
“I got something,” Jenny said. “Bobby Lee popped in for a minute. I just thought it was just my memory of him, but it was like he was curious about something. It went away as soon as it appeared, but it was there.”
“And John’s a Dream Walker; he wouldn’t have picked up on what I did. I’m telling you, something is down there!”
“Professor, can you join us, please?”
Kennedy looked up and saw that Peterson was looking at them. His eyes went from the small group to his watch. Kelly was standing with her head low and Julie Reilly was fuming, ignoring the makeup girl who tried to get her face. Kennedy walked up to the group, followed by the rest of his team. He saw Leonard Sickles standing in the ballroom doorway watching curiously. Not far behind him was Wallace Lindemann, draining a glass of whiskey, content that his house had been proven clean of anything that went bump in the night. One of the security men gave Leonard a large yellow envelope, but Peterson interrupted his thoughts before he could wonder about what was inside. Leonard held the envelope at his side and returned to the ballroom with it.
“Professor, since an embarrassing hoax has been perpetrated on my network, the board has decided to pull the special from the air. Ms. Reilly here will go live and explain that we are having technical problems and cannot continue, and we will switch to alternate programming.”
“You bastard, you know I had nothing to do with this. If it was anyone, it was Kelly,” Julie said. Kelly Delaphoy didn’t make any attempt at denial at this point. Kennedy turned and looked at Father Dolan who was still sitting on the stairs. He was wringing his hands and making a point of not seeing the argument taking place right in front of him.
Julie Reilly held her ground.
“Now, I don’t believe this house is haunted, but I would not have sabotaged what may have been an even bigger story: Professor Kennedy being held responsible for his missing student’s disappearance.”
Kennedy saw Damian Jackson step away from the coat check room with his overcoat in hand, smiling from ear to ear. He stopped short of the group and just listened.
“Look, whoever was responsible, it’s a moot point at this juncture,” Peterson said. “I’m sure the board will want a full investigation — we’ve lost them forty million dollars in revenue alone. For now, let’s get this wrapped up and get the hell back to New York. I want everyone in the office at nine in the morning. And I will not be accepting any resignations.”