Free The Supernaturals by David L. Golemon Page B

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