“We were just getting ready to go over the schematics for Summer Place,” Kennedy said, cutting the conversation short. “It seems Mr. Sanborn has something interesting he’s been dying to tell us since he came across the plans. Mr. Sanborn?”
Jason stood on shaky legs. He still had not recovered fully from the experience with Professor Tilden. He was wondering after that if he was up to the tasks that lay ahead of him. For a man who was accustomed to random sounds on a digital recorder or a mere cold spot in a house, he was wondering about the real side of parapsychology for the first time.
“Uh, the plans…” He moved the diagrams over to a large easel. “The originals as drawn up by Mister Lindemann himself back in 1890 were at best crude. However, I did come across something that was not in the later specs for the house.” He rifled through the large schematics until he came to a hand drawn depiction of the lower levels of Summer Place. “Right here,” he said pointing at the lowest part of the page. The drawing was in old fashioned led pencil and was hard to read. “You see Lindemann’s drawing of the basement, and below that on this side view of the diagram, is the root cellar.”
“Your meaning, Jason?” Kelly asked.
“The root cellar is not depicted on the original architectural drawings. It was as if the root cellar was eliminated from the plans, but was built anyway.”
“So?” Peterson said.
“So,” Kelly said for Jason, “we saw the root cellar, it’s there. Why would the cellar be eliminated from the final drawings?”
“Oh, come on, there’s no big mystery there. It’s a root cellar, for Christ’s sake.”
Kennedy looked at Peterson. He was right, of course; on the surface it didn’t seem all that important. But as he thought about it… Most architects were very deliberate in their drawings for legality’s sake. He himself had never explored the lower reaches of Summer Place seven years ago, due to their short term lease of the property.
“Ms. Delaphoy, I think we need to make time in the schedule for a trip down to the root cellar. Maybe Mr. Sanborn has something here.”
“This seems like a waste of time and equipment,” Peterson said.
“We will have trouble broadcasting from there,” Harris Dalton said. “We discussed this earlier— it’s far below ground and it’s covered by concrete and dirt, the best signal blocker there is.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem, my man. I could rig up a relay system to boost your signal out of the basement, no matter how far down you go — to hell and back if need be.”
All eyes went to Leonard Sickles. He pushed forward a quickly drawn schematic of a series of relay antennas he had sketched on his notepad. He looked at Kennedy, the only person he was really trying his best to impress. The professor smiled.
“Okay, that takes care of that.”
Peterson even smiled, but it was an alligator’s smile. Control was slipping even further away from him.
Jennifer Tilden opened her eyes. The brightness of the office lights made her blink and roll over on the couch.
“The lights, please. I can’t see,” she said to the presence she felt beside her. Her voice was harsh and barely audible.
John Lonetree stood quickly and shut off the overhead fluorescents, and then he closed the drapes halfway.
“You had a rough go of it, about an hour ago. How are you feeling now?” John eased himself back into the chair next to the couch.
“Like shit.” She slowly rolled over, keeping her arm over her eyes. “Who are you?”
“My name’s John.”
“I didn’t ask you that, I asked who you were.”
“I’m a friend of Gabriel Kennedy’s.”
Jennifer slowly moved her arm away from her face and blinked several times.
“Do you know how long it’s been since I saw sunlight that wasn’t through the lenses of dark glasses?”
John didn’t answer; he just watched her facial features as her eyes took in the office and then finally, him.
“Well, neither do I,” she said with a smile as she sat up. She looked at the clothes she was wearing and then at John. “May I assume you didn’t change my clothes for me?”
Lonetree was taken back for the first time in many years. He prided himself on knowing what people were going to say or do within a few seconds of meeting them. However, this question took him off guard.
“Why…uh…no, I didn’t—”
“Easy does it, big fella. I wasn’t accusing you of peaking at my underwear.” She placed her small feet on the floor. “But someone did get my bra size wrong, I’m afraid I am the victim of someone’s wishful thinking.” She smiled at Lonetree and adjusted her blouse and bra.
“You’re — in — New — York,” John said very slowly and deliberately.
Jenny looked at the large man and smiled, then leaned closer to him like she was conveying a conspiracy.
“I — know. I — have been — in — here,” she said tapping her temple, “and — I—remember — most — everything.”
“Everything?” John asked, becoming a little concerned. But he was even more embarrassed at the dumb way he’d handled things thus far.
“Yes, everything. Bobby Lee isn’t as bad as he tries to make out. He doesn’t torture me all that much. He allows me to control a few things — by the way, I love your aftershave.”
Again John Lonetree was taken back.
“Don’t look so shocked, I smelled it when I was sitting on your lap.”
“You have a beautiful voice,” he said, to hide his further embarrassment.
She looked at John for the longest moment of his life, and then she smiled.
“Thank you, but you have to give the credit to Bobby Lee, not me. Listen to me…I’m not exactly capable of singing like that. I sound like like Janice Joplin with her vocal chords cut.”
John smiled for the first time since bringing her into Kelly’s office. “Is he….is he—?”
“He kept his word. He’s going to let me sleep.” She stood, wobbled, and allowed John to steady her. “I’ll tell you right now, he’s not too happy with what Gabriel has in mind.” She took John’s strong arm and leaned into him.
“You’ll have to take that up with Gabe; I don’t think he’ll let Mr. McKinnon off the hook that easy.”
“Well, where is he? I would like to see him before I sleep forever.”
“He’s right down the hall,” John started leading her to the door, but stopped. “Can I ask you something?”
“Since you have the advantage of brute masculinity and I don’t have the strength to swat a fly, I’m think you can brave your question.”
“Why did you choose me to sing to?”
Jennifer looked up and into John’s dark eyes. Then she swallowed and stepped toward the door.
“Because I thought you were safe, and you were thinking good thoughts about me. That’s why I sang to you.”
“Oh.”
Abe Feuerstein was the first to notice the door slowly opening, and Jennifer Tilden’s entrance. She pulled her sweater close to her body and crossed her arms over her chest. John Lonetree followed and gestured toward Kennedy.
“She wanted to see you, Gabe.” He steered the small, exhausted looking woman toward the professor.
Kennedy went immediately to her and she took him in her arms. He could feel Jennifer sobbing while he held onto her closely.
“Where have you been?” she said low enough that only he and Lonetree could hear.
“Oh, Jenny, I’ve been hiding away from the world. I’m so sorry I left you out there.” Gabriel finally broke the embrace and looked her over. Her eyes were red and puffy but he could see that Bobby Lee McKinnon had kept his word — he was tucked somewhere far back in her subconscious. Gabriel hoped the dead songwriter would stay there for the next twenty-four hours, letting Jennifer regain her strength. “Do you forgive me?” he asked with a sad smile.