"Just another day in paradise," she said, and smiled.
Blue sky. Golden sun. Puffy white clouds that might have been painted by Gauguin.
Oh yeah. It was going to be a great day. A busy one, too. The contractor was coming by. Somebody would bring over the rental car she'd requested. The realtor would be along, too. And she was going to make a start at cleaning up this house, just as soon as she got the door of the dilapidated old armoire unstuck so she could get dressed.
Kathryn rolled her eyes, banged on one door with the heel of her hand while she yanked hard with her other until both sprang open. Her old denim cut-offs and a ratty pink tank top would do. The shorts bore permanent smears of the yellow paint she'd used on the walls of her Greenwich Village kitchen and countless washings had rendered the top almost white, but they were perfect for how she intended to spend her morning.
When you were knee-deep in buckets of hot water laced with Mr. Clean, you didn't worry too much about your appearance. And if there was one thing she was sure of, it was that scrubbing away some of the accumulated grime that marred the house would go a long way towards reducing the spookiness quotient that had probably helped bring on that awful dr—
"Miss Russell?"
Kathryn gave a wild shriek. The shorts and tank top fell from her hands as she whirled around.
A woman was standing in the open bedroom doorway. She was small, slender, and her skin was the color of coffee that has been stirred with a light dollop of cream.
"Oh, I am so sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to—"
"Who in hell are you?"
"My name is Olive Potter. Amos Carter sent me."
"To do what?" Kathryn said furiously. Her hands were shaking as if she had a fever. She reached behind her, felt for the cotton robe she'd hung in the armoire, and pulled it on. "Scare me half to death?"
Olive Potter bit her lip. "Truly, I apologize. But I assumed you were expecting me and I rang and rang the doorbell, but—"
"You thought I was expecting you?"
"Yes." The woman made a face. "I'm making a mess of this, I'm afraid. I own Potter Realty, you see. In Hawkins Bay."
"Oh." Kathryn swallowed, then cleared her throat. "Oh. Of course."
The realtor made a helpless gesture. "I rang the bell at least half a dozen times but there was no answer. So I walked around back and checked to see if you might be in the garden, enjoyin' the sun."
Kathryn tied the belt of her robe. Her hands had stopped shaking but her heart still galloped at a hundred miles a minute.
"I should be, I suppose." She gave a little laugh and hoped it didn't sound like a squeak. "I mean, I've no idea what time it is but I'm sure it's terribly late."
"No, no, it's not late at all. It's just goin' on eight o'clock. I did try callin', to say I'd be comin' over, but your telephone doesn't seem to work."
"Among other things," Kathryn said dryly. She lifted her hands to her hair and smoothed it back from her face. "Well, Miss Potter, I do appreciate your stopping by so promptly."
"Amos said you wanted to get Charon's Crossin' on the market as soon as possible."
"Yes. I certainly do." Kathryn's brows lifted. "How did you get in, Miss Potter?"
"Well, the gates were open."
"Right. I forgot that."
"As for gettin' into the house... well, when you didn't answer, I, ah, I thought I'd best see if you were all right. As I say, I checked out back and then tried the rear door, the one that leads into the kitchen. It was unlocked, so in I came."
"Was it?" Kathryn frowned. "I could have sworn I'd made a point of locking all the doors before I went to bed last night."
"I don't think you need worry. Our little island may be short on—"
"Amenities," Kathryn said with a little smile. "Yes, so I've been told before."
"It's also wonderfully short on crime."
"Well, that's a relief to hear, considering that this house is stuck out on a cliff, smack in the middle of nowhere."
"Oh, greathouses always were put up on the highest, biggest piece of land. Folks back then were no different than they are now. If you were goin' to spend lots of money buildin' a home, you didn't want it surrounded by other houses not anywhere near so grand."
Kathryn nodded. "That makes sense." She hesitated. "But if it's so safe on Elizabeth Island, why were you worried when I didn't answer the door?"
Olive Potter's mouth opened, then shut. "Well," she said, "well... I wasn't 'worried.' Not exactly. I was, ah... concerned. Amos told me Charon's Crossin' was in need of lots of repairs. I suppose I envisioned you fallin' on a rotted step and sprainin' your ankle or somethin'." She grinned. "Not that Amos would ever permit such a thing to happen to a client of his, of course."
Kathryn laughed. She liked Olive Potter, with her lilting island accent and her easy smile. She had a down-to-earth air about her and that was definitely what she needed this morning.
"You're right," she said lightly. "I can't imagine Mr. Carter letting anything happen to a client that didn't meet with his absolute approval." She smiled. "Look, Miss Potter—"
"Please. Call me Olive."
"And you must call me Kathryn."
Olive smiled and held out her hand. "How do you do, Kathryn? It's a pleasure to meet you."
Kathryn smiled and clasped Olive's outstretched hand.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, too. And to have a visitor on a morning like this."
"Your first in Charon's Crossin'?"
"My first. And, I hope, my worst." Kathryn turned around and slammed shut the doors of the armoire, grunting a little as she forced the right-hand door into place.
"Yes. It can't have been pleasant, wakin' up in a room that looks as if it's fallin' down around your ears," Olive said sympathetically.
"That's true enough." Kathryn puffed out her breath as she swung towards Olive. "But I was talking about... well, I know it sounds silly but I had the most awful dream."
"Dream?"
"A nightmare, really." Kathryn walked to the bed, picked up the pillow and gave it a vigorous plumping before tossing it back onto the sheet. "Nothing worth talking about." She gave a laugh that sounded forced, even to her own ears. "Just a costume drama, brought on, I suppose, by this spooky old house."
She turned and smiled at Olive, but Olive didn't smile back.
"A costume drama, Kathryn?"
"Yeah. You know, opulent settings, a guy in a shirt open to his navel... Don't look so worried, Olive. It wasn't all that bad, now that I think about it."
"Kathryn, you know, I was tellin' Amos, I have a nice little house for rent right on the beach in town. It's clean and modern and you could stay in it while you are on the island."
"Thanks, but I'm fine out here."
"Are you sure? This house is so big. And it's such a... well, it isn't in the best shape."
"It's a mess," Kathryn said cheerfully. "And I do thank you for your suggestion but really, I'll manage. I'm only going to be here a week and I'll get lots more accomplished if I stay at Charon's Crossing." She wrinkled her nose. "Like scrubbing it out. I'm going to get a start on that this morning."
"And I've interrupted you."
"No, don't be silly. You're a very welcome sight, believe me. Look, why don't you give me a couple of minutes to put myself together? Then I'll make some tea—I'd offer you coffee, but I haven't got any. We can sit down and have a cup while we chat."
Olive nodded. "That sounds fine, Kathryn. How would it be if I took a quick look through the house while you're gettin' yourself dressed? That way, I'll have a bit of an idea what it might bring if we put it on the market."
"Not 'if,'" Kathryn said. "When. Sure. You do that. Take the fifty-cent tour and I'll be down in a couple of minutes."
* * *
Kathryn came trotting down the stairs fifteen minutes later, her hair loose and still wet from the shower. She was dressed in the denim cut-offs, the pink tank top, and a pair of sandals.
"Am I havi
ng another dream, or do I really smell coffee brewing?" she said as she entered the kitchen.
Olive, who'd been standing at the back door looking out over the terrace, turned around.
"It is. I thought I'd surprise you with a pot. Is hope you don't mind."
"Mind?" Kathryn plucked two mugs from a shelf and filled them to the brim with the hot, fragrant brew. "I'd have sold my soul for a cup of coffee last night. I looked everywhere for a can or even a jar of instant. Where was it hiding?"
Olive smiled as she took the mug Kathryn handed her.
"It wasn't. I stopped at Whitbridge's before I drove over. It's a little shop on Front Street. Everybody shops there for their groceries." She lifted her mug in salute and tapped it lightly against Kathryn's. "Thought you might appreciate somethin' like this, considerin' what I know of Amos's idea of stockin' groceries. I suppose he saw to it that you have some tea, a box or two of crackers, and a wedge of cheese, hmm?"
Kathryn laughed. "Plus a few cans of evaporated milk and soup." She blew gently on her coffee, then took a sip. "Do you know him well? Amos, I mean?"
"About as well as anyone can. He's a fine lawyer, our Amos, but he's not much for socializin'."
"That's all right with me. I didn't come here to socialize, I came to sell this house." Kathryn's eyes flew to Olive's. "Oh, hey. I didn't mean that the way it sounded!"
"No problem, Kathryn." Olive smiled. "I understand."
"It's only that I've just got this week to take care of everything. And I've already got the feeling that—well, that things don't operate quite the same here as they do back home."
Olive chuckled. "Meanin', you've figured out that island time isn't the same as regular time, hmm? Well, you're right. People tend to take things more slowly in these parts. But I assure you, I'll get your house on the market just as soon as it's ready."
"Ready?" Kathryn's brows drew together. "What do you mean, ready?"
"I agree with Amos, Kathryn. You will get a much better price for Charon's Crossin' if you attend to some basic repairs."
Kathryn sighed. She picked up the coffee pot, refilled both their mugs, then gestured towards the door.
"I was afraid of that. Look, why don't we sit outside while we talk?" She smiled a little. "I might as well soak up all the sun I can while I'm down here."
Olive followed Kathryn out into the clear morning.
"Mmm," Kathryn said, tilting her face to the sun. "Oh, that feels wonderful. It must be seventy-five degrees out here."
"Eighty," Olive said modestly. "A typical Elizabeth Island midwinter temperature readin'."
The women strolled across the old brick terrace, down the wide, shallow steps that led into what remained of a garden.
Kathryn sighed as she looked around her.
"This must have been a beautiful place, once upon a time," she said softly.
"A showplace it was," Olive said, just as softly. "I never saw it myself, of course. By the time I was born, Charon's Crossin' was long past its prime but all the old stories say..."
Kathryn glanced at her when she fell silent. "What do they say?"
Olive shrugged. "Oh, you know. This and that. Mostly that the house was spectacular. The grounds, too." She jerked her head. "That garden, most especially."
Ahead, rising like a splendid ruin against the pale blue sky, pink roses climbed in rich, almost obscene profusion over an arched trellis. The trellis had probably once been painted white. Now, all that remained were patches of color clinging to the grey wood.
Beyond the arch, framed within it, was a curving wrought-iron gate.
Just like the dream.
The coffee mug trembled in Kathryn's hand.
"Kathryn?" Olive put her hand over Kathryn's. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing," Kathryn said quickly. "It's—it's nothing. I just—It must be the heat. I'm not used to it."
"Of course you aren't. How foolish of me, not |o think of that." The realtor put her arm lightly around Kathryn's waist. "Let's go back inside, where it's cooler."
"No. No, really, I'm okay."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive. Look, why don't we sit on that bench? The one under that tree."
"Well..."
"There's plenty of shade there. Really, I'd rather sit out here than go inside the house."
Olive nodded. "Very well. But you tell me if you begin to feel ill, okay?" She smiled. "Amos would have me horsewhipped if I let his client faint right under my nose."
Kathryn laughed. "Amos might not feel quite so proprietorial if he knew that his client was letting her imagination run away with her."
Olive's brows lifted as the women settled themselves on the bench.
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, it's not worth going into, believe me. It's just... I don't know, exactly. I've had these ridiculous dreams lately about—about..."
"About Charon's Crossin'?"
Kathryn swung towards the other woman. Olive had put on a pair of big sunglasses she'd pulled from her shoulder bag. With them on, her face was unreadable.
"Why would you say that?" Kathryn asked sharply.
Olive shrugged. "Just a good guess. From what Amos says, I got the feelin' you've had Charon's Crossin' on your mind a bit. And now here you are, alone in this big, spooky house stuck away out in the middle of nowhere. I tell you, Kathryn, if it were me, I'd be havin' nightmares, not dreams!"
Kathryn stared at her and then she began to laugh.
"You'll never know how glad I am you came by this morning, Olive. You're like a breath of fresh air, whisking the cobwebs out of my very foggy brain!"
Olive grinned. "Not as many cobwebs as I saw inside the house, I'll wager. My goodness, whoever did Amos hire to clean it? She must have been sleepin' on the job."
"Amos." Kathryn made a face. "He may be a good lawyer but he certainly hasn't got any bedside manner."
"Well, he's not known for his diplomacy, no."
"That's putting it mildly. He and I didn't hit it off. But that's no excuse for the really cheap parting shot he got in when he left yesterday." Kathryn crossed her legs and wiggled her foot from side to side. "Not that I believe in such nonsense, of course, but I have to admit, it's not the kind of thing you want to hear before you spend the night in a house where the floors creak and the pipes gurgle and a draft that feels like it's blowing in straight from Alaska comes whistling down the stairs."
"What did that impossible old man tell you?"
"Oh, it was so silly I hate to even repeat it. He said Charon's Crossing was haunted."
She waited for Olive to laugh or at least to smile. Instead, the realtor's head jerked up as if she were a puppet on a string. She put down her empty coffee mug and laid her hand over Kathryn's.
"That foolish old man! Listen to me, Kathryn. Amos Carter will draw up all the legal papers you need, do 'em right, you can bet on that, give you good legal advice, too, if you ask. But anything else he tells you is claptrap. You understand?"
"Well, sure. I didn't think—"
"This house you've got here is old. It's going to need a lot of work. But that's all."
"I know that."
"You start talkin' about ghosts and spirits, you won't ever get a buyer."
"Olive, really, I don't believe in such things."
"Maybe not. But other folks do, especially in these parts. You hear me, girl?"
Kathryn nodded. She knew it was true. Even some of the most sophisticated of the Caribbean islands were home to sects that believed in exotic combinations of Christianity and far older, darker religions.
"I've no intention of going around saying anything about Charon's Crossing." Kathryn smiled. "Except that it's going to make some rich person very, very happy."
It took a second or two before Olive smiled in return.
"Good." She gave Kathryn's hand one last squeeze and then she let go and rose to her feet. "Suppose we go inside now, walk through the place together, and I'll tell you what I think needs
doin'."
Kathryn sighed as she collected the mugs. "What doesn't need doing, you mean."
The house was cool, almost cold compared to the outside heat. "One of the nice things about these old houses," Olive said pleasantly. "They're comfortable even without air conditionin'."
"And a good thing," Kathryn said as she dumped the mugs into the sink. "I'll just bet the electrical system's too old to handle AC."
Olive smiled. "You're probably right. Most everythin's outdated here, I'm afraid."
"Which brings us to the bad news, I guess." Kathryn leaned back against the sink. "What do I have to spend to put the place into saleable condition?"
"Well, startin' right here, in the kitchen, you'll have to have the hot water system checked." Olive walked to the sink and turned on the tap. "Cold," she said, lifting her brows as she dangled her fingers beneath the flow. "Cold as can be, finally workin' up to lukewarm."
"Yeah." Kathryn sighed and folded her arms. "So I noticed. But it's no worse than what I live with, back in my New York apartment."
"Maybe. But lots of these old houses have problems with their heatin' systems. I'm not talkin' about the comfort of a warm bath, you see, I'm talkin' safety. Be sure and ask Hiram to check, okay?"
Kathryn blew out her breath. "I will."
"There's more, I'm afraid."
"I figured that. To tell you the truth, I had no idea the house would be quite this bad. I mean, Amos tried to warn me, but I never dreamed so much would need doing."
"Didn't your father tell you anythin' about Charon's Crossin'?" Olive asked curiously as they walked through the kitchen and into the hallway.
Kathryn tucked her hands into the rear pockets of her shorts.
"My parents were divorced years ago. I didn't have much contact with him after that."
"Ah." The realtor's eyes darkened with sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear it."
"No need to be. It's just a fact of life."
"A sad one, though."
"The house is what's sad. What else needs doing, do you think?" Kathryn reached out a hand and ran it lightly over a wall where what looked like blue silk hung in shreds. "I can't afford to have these walls redone. Considering the size of this place, I don't even know if I can afford to have than painted."
Charon's Crossing (A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel) Page 6
