Charon's Crossing (A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel)

by Sandra Marton

  "So, what are you suggesting?"

  "I'm suggesting that you might want to get yourself a different realtor, darling, someone from the mainland with a wealthy, sophisticated clientele who can provide you with a buyer who'll be more than happy to pay for the special cachet of a haunted mansion on a tropical island." He smiled at her. "How's that sound?"

  It sounded as if she might as well have saved her breath, Kathryn thought wearily. There was nothing wrong with Jason's suggestion on how she might sell the house. It was, in fact, damned clever.

  But she hadn't wanted real estate ideas just now, she'd wanted Jason to listen to her. Really listen, instead of proving Matthew right.

  "It sounds brilliant," she said, and shot a dramatic look at her watch. "Oh, just look at the time! When did you say your plane was leaving?"

  Jason's smile wavered. "At eleven. But I thought... I mean, I'd hoped..."

  She knew what he'd thought, that she'd changed her mind and would ask him to stay on for the rest of the weekend. It was what she'd thought, too, only a little while ago.

  But it wasn't going to happen.

  "I know," she said with a big smile, "you hoped we'd be able to have breakfast. But the time just got away from us, didn't it?"

  She didn't give him a chance to answer; she snatched up the keys to the VW and her sunglasses and headed for the foyer. Matthew winked as she rushed past him but Kathryn never paused.

  "You'd better not be around when I get back," she hissed.

  "What did you say, darling?" Jason asked as he retrieved his overnight bag from where he'd left it in the foyer.

  "Nothing," Kathryn said through her teeth. "Absolutely nothing."

  * * *

  They drove to the airport in her rented VW.

  Jason kept up a line of pleasant, meaningless chatter. Kathryn didn't have to do anything except nod from time to time or say an occasional, "Really," which was a good thing because she couldn't get herself to concentrate on anything but what a total fiasco Matthew was making out of her life.

  Jason was really a nice man. He was of her world and of her time, and he had never treated her with anything but kindness and affection. She knew what a stickler he was for routine, that he always planned his schedule well in advance so that there was no chance anything would remain undone, yet he'd flown down here on the spur of the moment, just to be with her.

  And how had she thanked him?

  Her hands tightened on the steering wheel.

  By behaving like a jerk, that was how. By slugging him when he'd tried to show her some affection. By dismissing his perfectly logical ideas about how to sell Charon's Crossing. As for his reaction to what she'd said about ghosts...

  Be honest, Kathryn, if somebody told you they'd been talking to a ghost, what would you do?

  She'd do exactly what Jason had done, of course, take it all as a joke or else wonder if the person were going around the bend...

  Unless someone as helpful as Matthew were standing by, all too ready to try and confuse you more than you already were.

  She glanced at Jason, who was in the middle of a complicated joke about a pair of computers, a cable, and | malfunctioning fax modem.

  Why was she taking him to the airport?

  Why was she letting him leave?

  Only because Matthew had taunted her into it, that was why.

  "Jason," she said, interrupting him in the middle of the not very funny punchline, and then she frowned.

  No. It was better to let him fly back to New York. That would leave the field clear for her to go back to Charon's Crossing and tell Captain Matthew McDowell just what she thought of him.

  Then she'd phone Olive, tell her what she should have told her right away, that when Amos decided to come wandering back to Elizabeth Island he could damn well phone her for authorization on each and every thing Hiram thought needed fixing. Then she'd pack, get on a plane even if she had to charter one, and put this whole disaster of a week behind her.

  "Yes, Kathryn?"

  She shook her head, smiled with all her teeth, and stomped down on the gas.

  "Nothing," she said. "Absolutely nothing."

  * * *

  By the time they reached the airport, the VW was almost flying.

  Kathryn stood on the brakes and tried not to wince as the little car bucked and stalled because she hadn't remembered to disengage the clutch and take it out of gear.

  "Here we are," she said.

  Jason heaved a sigh of relief. "Right. And in one piece." A small, propeller-driven aircraft was standing on the runway. He looked at it and laughed. "That must be my flight. I hope the rubber band is big enough."

  Kathryn laughed, too. "Yeah, but you're lucky. You get to fly with a load of mail. I flew in with pigs and chickens for company."

  He took his valise out of the back seat and they made their way through the knee-high grass. Butterflies and tiny birds fluttered up ahead of them. When they were a few yards from the plane, Jason put down his bag.

  "I'm sorry this visit didn't work out," he said softly.

  Kathryn sighed. "Me, too."

  "Kathryn?" Dark tendrils of hair had come loose around her face. He reached out and took one between his fingers. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay?"

  She smiled and clasped his hand in hers. "You were right," she said. "My nerves are as tight as guitar strings. I'm better off just being by myself down here. That way, I can roil up my sleeves and finish what needs finishing."

  "Cleaning Charon's Crossing?"

  "Among other things."

  He smiled, brought her hand to his mouth, and kissed the wrist.

  "Don't work too hard, okay?"

  "I won't."

  "You'll remember about Miami?"

  For a second, she looked at him blankly. Then she caught her lip between her teeth.

  "The conference, you mean."

  "Right. You're going to meet me, remember?"

  "Uh huh."

  "Promise?"

  She smiled and held up her right hand in a three-finger salute.

  "Scout's oath," she said. "I'll be there, I swear."

  Jason's smile slipped from his face. He clasped her shoulders and looked deep into her eyes.

  "Are you sure you're okay?" His fingers massaged her shoulders. "I've had this feeling, ever since yesterday, that there's something you're not telling me."

  She stiffened a little and almost said, well, I tried to tell you...

  But she didn't.

  "Only about the house being haunted," she said briskly.

  He grinned and tipped her chin up with one finger.

  "Yeah."

  A sudden gust of wind swept over the airstrip. Kathryn put her hand to her hair to keep it from whipping loose from its knot.

  "Have a safe flight, Jason."

  He nodded. Then he bent and kissed her gently on the mouth.

  "I'll see you in two weeks."

  She smiled and laid her hand against his cheek. "You bet you will."

  The sudden sputter of the plane's engine roared into the silence. A man in a leather bomber jacket scooted around its tail. He pointed at Jason, then at the plane. Jason nodded and picked up his overnight case. He kissed Kathryn again, turned and trotted towards the plane. Halfway there, he stopped, waved, and said something.

  Kathryn shook her head. "I can't hear you."

  Jason repeated the words, mouthing them with slow exaggeration.

  She shook her head again, smiled, and flung her arms into the air.

  "I still can't hear you," she shouted.

  He grinned, shrugged, and climbed into the plane. The door shut, and the little craft began taxiing down the runway.

  Kathryn sighed. She walked back to the VW, got inside, and slouched down in her seat.

  She knew what Jason had been saying.

  "I love you, Kathryn."

  So, why hadn't she been able to say it in return?

  Because her unwanted and unwelcome ghost ha
d screwed up her head, that was why.

  She turned the ignition key, shot the car into a tottering U-turn, and headed back to Charon's Crossing and a final showdown.

  * * *

  By the time she reached the house, her anger had turned to sizzling rage.

  She parked, slammed her way out of the car, and marched into the foyer.

  "Matthew?" she yelled. Her keys clinked as she tossed them onto a table. "Matthew, where are you?"

  She stalked into the drawing room, then into the library. Both rooms were empty.

  "Dammit, Matthew, show yourself!"

  Were they going to play games? Jaw set, Kathryn marched into the kitchen. There was a shortwave-band radio over the stove. She had no idea if it worked but now she switched it on, hoping against hope it would play and fill the mocking silence!

  Static hissed from the speaker. She fooled with the dial, sweeping past a station playing reggae and another playing tangos until she picked up some station in the midst of a commercial.

  "...from sunny St. George on Grenada," a booming voice said, "your favorite station playing nothing but the best of the oldies."

  The best of the oldies. That, plus an afternoon of keeping busy until the estimable captain decided to show himself, should do the trick. Kathryn filled the sink with hot, sudsy water. Then she took the coffee pot from the stove, tossed the grounds into the garbage can, and dumped the pot into the sink.

  The fruit salad she'd prepared had begun to wilt in its bowl and it went into the trash, too. It was a waste of perfectly good food, yet another reminder of what a mess the weekend had turned out to be, courtesy of Captain Matthew McDowell. The pantry and refrigerator were full of still more stuff, butter and eggs and all kinds of goodies, stuff she'd never use with Jason gone.

  Well, at least one thing had come out of his visit. He was right about not trying to cover up the fact that the house was haunted. The right buyer would probably lap up the tale of a man who'd been so in love he'd given up his life for a woman.

  A woman who had not deserved him.

  Kathryn made a face.

  "Oh, stop it," she muttered. She snatched up the coffee mug she'd been drinking from hours before and lifted it to her lips. The coffee was cold and bitter, and she shuddered as she swallowed it.

  It was all nonsense. There was nothing romantic in any of this. She'd let her emotions get out of hand, that was all, and it was Matthew's fault.

  "Oh, hell!" she said fiercely, and flung the mug at the wall.

  The mug and the wall never connected. Matthew appeared before she could blink and plucked the mug out of the air.

  "A temper is not becoming in a woman," he said primly.

  Kathryn's heart did an untidy little two-step at the sight of him, which only sharpened her anger.

  "Where have you been?" she demanded.

  He grinned at her. "Ah," he said, "I am touched. I didn't think you cared."

  "I know you think nothing of materializing at will, but I find it infuriating!"

  "That's unkind, madam." His tone was still proper and formal but she could see that his green eyes glinted with laughter. "It is not my idea to make such dramatic entrances but being a ghost leaves me with little choice in the matter."

  Kathryn glared at him. "Give me that," she said, snatching the mug from his hand and dropping it into the sink. Then she wiped her hands on her bottom, turned and glared at him again. "It's time we had a talk, Captain McDowell."

  "Such formality, and after all we've shared together."

  "We've shared nothing," she said, her eyes snapping.

  "You call sharing living quarters 'nothing'?" He frowned at the radio. Elton John was complaining about candles in the wind. "What is that noisy thing?"

  "A radio."

  "Another peculiar invention of your time?"

  "Does it bother you?" Kathryn said sweetly. "Because if it does, I can always make it louder."

  Matthew's brows arched. "I see you are not in a good mood today, Kathryn."

  "My goodness, but you are perceptive!"

  He moved past her, his arm just brushing hers. It sent an unnerving tremor up her spine.

  "What are you doing?" she asked irritably.

  "Looking for something to eat," he said, peering into the refrigerator.

  She reached out and slammed the door shut. "You see? That's exactly what I mean about unbecoming behavior."

  "If you're referring to the fact that you don't think ghosts are supposed to have appetites—"

  "I'm referring to the way you think nothing of popping into rooms and doing whatever comes into your head without so much as a by-your-leave." Elton John had given up and Bruce Springsteen had taken over. Somehow, she wasn't in the mood for "Born in the USA." She shut the radio off and turned back to Matthew. "I called you when I came in a little while ago," she said crossly. "Didn't you hear me?"

  "I assure you, Kathryn, if I really popped into rooms, as you call it, and did whatever comes into my head, last evening would have ended far differently than it did."

  Kathryn went very still. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Only that a woman who expects to share her bed with a man shouldn't end up sleeping alone."

  Crimson streaks swept into her face.

  "You were spying on us!"

  "I was not."

  "You were sneaking around in my bedroom, waiting to see if—if..."

  "I was not in the house at all," he said, his tone filled with indignation. "I spent the night at the foot of the cliff, beside the sea. When I returned this morning, you were in one bedroom and your betrothed was in another."

  Kathryn frowned. "Why did you spend the night on the beach?"

  A tiny muscle leaped in Matthew's jaw. Until now, it had been easy to keep a bantering tone.

  "I thought I owed you privacy," he said stiffly.

  Kathryn folded her arms. "How gallant."

  Matthew didn't answer. There was no reason to tell her that gallantry had had nothing to do with his decision to spend the night out of the house, that what he'd really figured was that she had the right to a fiancé who was all in one piece, which would surely not have been the case if he'd caught the son of a bitch in bed with her.

  "How noble." Her tone was frigid. "How out of character."

  He couldn't keep from grinning. "Yes, it was. And unnecessary, as it turned out. Not that I was surprised. I could tell from the way things had gone between you yesterday that you were not about to succumb to your Jason's manly charms."

  Color blazed in Kathryn's face again. She turned her back and began scrubbing out the coffee pot.

  "I should have known better than to think you could be polite."

  Matthew hitched one hip on the table and folded his arms over his chest.

  "Where did your Jason take you last night?"

  "Don't call him that!"

  "Isn't he yours? You said he was."

  "I said we were engaged to be married. As for where we went... it's none of your business."

  "Nowhere special, I suppose."

  "Well, you suppose wrong. We went out to dinner."

  "Dinner, then home? Nothing more imaginative?"

  "What would you suggest? This is Elizabeth Island, in case you'd forgotten. There are no concert halls or museums or movies."

  "Movies?"

  "Yes. Movies." She puffed out her breath, refilled the coffee pot, and set it on the burner. "Take my word for it, okay? There aren't any."

  "It sounds like a very exciting evening," Matthew said politely.

  "It was a very pleasant evening."

  "And then you came back to Charon's Crossing and sent Jason to bed alone."

  Kathryn flushed. "I am not going to discuss my private life with you," she said coldly. "In fact, I'm not going to discuss anything with you, anymore. From now on, you are to keep out of my way."

  Matthew clapped his hand to his heart. "For shame, Kathryn. You cut me to the quick."

  "I don
't want you talking to me when other people are around, or turning on and off like snow on a TV set."

  "Like snow on a what?"

  "And you're to stop making everything into a bad joke," she said, ignoring the question. "It's bad enough you haunt my house, but to pretend it's funny is unconscionable!"

  "Gallows humor, madam. It helps me deal with my reality but if it offends you, I will do what I can to restrain myself. Is there anything else?"

  "Yes." Kathryn moistened her lips. "I wish you'd leave Charon's Crossing."

  "My wish precisely, madam. Unfortunately, it is not possible."

  "Then at least tell me why you haunt it," she said, turning towards him.

  "I already have. Surely, you do not wish me to repeat the tale."

  "No," she said quickly, "no, I understand about Catherine and Waring and that night. What I don't understand is why you're here instead of wherever it is people go after—after..."

  "After they die?" he said with a twisted smile. "I've no idea where they go, Kathryn, but I do know why I have not gone there. It is because of what I have already told you, that it is against the laws of the cosmos to utter a curse with your dying breath. Fate turned my ill-chosen blasphemy back upon me. I became the accursed, doomed to spend eternity here, knowing neither love nor peace."

  All Kathryn's anger seemed to drain away. "How horrible!"

  "An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, the Bible says. And, it would seem, a curse for a curse."

  "Oh, Matthew, I'm so sorry..."

  "Waste no sympathy on me," he said coldly. "It is a punishment that fits my own stupidity for having believed in love."

  "You were stupid to have believed in Cat. There's a difference."

  "I watched you with Jason," Matthew said bluntly. "You are no one to offer a defense of love, Kathryn."

  She blushed but didn't deny it. "I don't feel any great passion for Jason, that's true, but—"

  "Love is a lie that can cloud a man's mind more than the strongest measure of laudanum. I, of all men, should have known that. I never knew my father, and my mother beat me until the day she died of consumption, when I was nine. I rejoiced in what I thought was my salvation, but when none of her relatives would have me, I was given over to the tender mercies of an orphanage run by a man who called himself a servant of God." He smiled tightly. "After a year of being whipped and starved for the love of the Lord and the instruction of my immortal soul, I ran off to sea, where the cat with nine tails gave instruction to my mortal flesh and the captain was the only God I had to love. I tell you this not to elicit sympathy," he said coldly, when Kathryn started to speak, "but to make certain you understand that I am fully enlightened with regard to the meaning of 'love.' "