Charon's Crossing (A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel) (5 page)

When it came to those things, Elizabeth Island delivered on all counts. The scenery, so far, anyway, was spectacular.

But where were the hotels? The charming villas that should have dotted the gently sloping hillside they were climbing? Above all else, where were the people?

Not that there weren't people. There were, and lots of them, but even Kathryn could tell they were islanders, not American and European tourists.

Her heart sank, but she citing to hope.

Amos Carter had described Charon's Crossing as a mansion. Surely, no one would have built a mansion on an island that didn't get its fair share of tourists?

"The house your father left you was built over two hundred years ago," Carter said, as if she'd spoken aloud. "At that time, the island was an important link in the British Empire."

"And now?"

The Rover was flying along at high speed and the wind was playing havoc with her hair, trying to tug it from the confinement of its usual French braid. She put her hand up to her head and pushed the errant dark strands back from her forehead.

"And now," Carter replied with a shrug of his narrow shoulders, "the Empire is no more."

"I know that," Kathryn said, trying not to sound impatient. "I meant—"

"I know what you meant. What of the island? Have tourists discovered it? Do they flock to its beaches? Do they befoul its waters with diesel fuel, do hotels threaten our limited supply of water?"

Kathryn looked at him. "Why do I get the feeling I know the answers to those questions, Mr. Carter?"

"We who live here are blessed, Miss Russell. We lead an idyllic, almost forgotten, existence."

Kathryn scarcely missed a beat. "Well, then, that's what the realtor's ads for the house must emphasize, that this is a perfect place to get away from it all and enjoy blissful peace and quiet."

Amos laughed. He had to admit, this young woman was not one to be put off easily.

"Perhaps you ought to offer to write the ad for Olive yourself," he said.

"Olive?"

"Olive Potter. She's the local realtor. I told her you'd want to see her."

"The
local realtor," Kathryn said.

Amos heard the question in the words and nodded.

"That is correct. I told you, we are—"

"A backwater. Yes. I know." She sighed. "Is there anything else you should tell me before..."

Kathryn broke off in midsentence. There was a house in the distance, standing alone on a cliff that overlooked the sea. Its multipaned windows caught the sunlight and reflected it back to the waves beating against the shore. Made of white stone, with a slate grey tile roof, the house seemed enormous even from here.

"Charon's Crossing," Amos Carter said.

Kathryn nodded. She had known that instinctively. The house was an impressive sight. And yet, there was something about it she didn't like. Despite the hot glare of the sun and the sharpness of the bright blue sky, there was a sense of brooding darkness here, something that sent a chill up her spine.

The engine of the Land Rover protested as Amos jammed down on the gears.

"Steep incline," he muttered.

Kathryn nodded again, but without really hearing his words. She edged forward on her seat as they started up a twisting dirt road, heavily overgrown with shrubbery and palm trees. Branches beat against the sides of the Rover as they climbed; leafy fronds sighed as they tapped the window glass.

The house was out of sight now but Kathryn still felt uneasy. It was as if she'd been here before, which was ridiculous. She'd never been to this island, never been in this part of the world.

But she knew that the road ahead would suddenly take a sharp turn to the left, that it would then angle back towards a cascade of bright red and pink flowers that tumbled in almost obscene profusion down a high stone wall.

"Kathryn."

Kathryn's heart thumped. She swung towards Amos Carter.

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what, Miss Russell?"

"A voice," she said, fighting to keep her tone calm. "A man's voice."

"You must have heard the wind. It plays tricks, up here on the cliffs."

The wind. Of course, that was what it had been, the wind, sighing as it swept through the palm fronds. Or the sea, perhaps, whispering as it brushed the white sand below.

Kathryn sat back again. She was edgy, but who wouldn't be? Once they reached Charon's Crossing and she saw exactly what kind of albatross she'd inherited, she'd feel better. And there was always the hope that she'd judged it wrong. Now that she'd seen its size, the way it stood on the cliff, looking out over the sea...

The Rover came to a shuddering halt. Kathryn looked up. Tall, rusty iron gates loomed ahead.

"Number one on your repair list," the attorney said wryly as he opened his door. "The entry gates need to be sanded, primed and painted. They've almost rusted shut." Carter dropped stiffly to the ground. "I'll only be a moment."

Kathryn stared at the house through the gates. A structure like this would have seemed more at home on an English moor or lost in the mists of a Scottish highland.

"Might as well leave the gates open," Carter said as he climbed back inside the Land Rover. "Is that all right with you?"

"Yes, that's fine." Kathryn cleared her throat. "Charon's Crossing doesn't suit the landscape very well, does it?"

For the first time, Amos wondered if there might not be hope for his new client.

"That's true. But the people who built it weren't interested in adapting to these islands. They were English, and they wanted to remain that way."

Kathryn smiled. "Some things never change, I guess."

Amos permitted himself a faint smile. "We'll be at the house in a moment. I'm sure you'll be glad to get out of the heat."

"Yes. And I'm really curious to see the place. It's looks very impressive."

The old man's smile faded. From the outside, perhaps. But he suspected she would not be quite so pleased with her inheritance, once she'd gotten a closer look at it.

* * *

The house was impressive, all right. Kathryn blew out her breath as the front door shut behind them.

Martha Stewart probably would have loved it.

But she wasn't Martha Stewart. She didn't have unlimited resources and endless time to turn a sow's ear back into the silk purse it must have been a long, long time ago.

Drafty, antiquated, falling-down-around-your-ears New York apartments were bad enough. Drafty, antiquated, tumbledown houses built on sand spits in the middle of nowhere were impossible.

She put her hands on her hips and turned in a slow circle, taking in what must once have been an elegant octagonal foyer. Now, if you wanted to be charitable, you could best call it a disaster.

Doorways sagged, window frames tilted. The floor was encrusted with filth. The walls sprouted irregular splotches of damp rot. The woodwork, ornate where it still existed, had been mostly reduced to splinters.

"Termites," Carter said, when Kathryn bent down to take a closer look.

"Termites?" She snatched back her hand. "In a stone house?"

"The house is stone but the trim is wood." Carter strolled the perimeter of the room, running his hand lightly over what was left of the wainscoting. "Termites dine where they can, Miss Russell. Fortunately, they seem to have spared most of the furniture."

Kathryn looked at the lumpy, sheet-draped shapes that had been shoved against the stained walls.

"What an oversight," she said dryly.

Carter's narrow shoulders rose and fell in an eloquent shrug.

"Charon's Crossing needs repair. I told you that when first we spoke."

Repair? What it needed was a miracle or a bottomless bank account, and Kathryn didn't have either.

She peered into a huge room that opened onto the foyer.

"The ballroom," Amos Carter said.

She nodded and looked up at the chandelier that hung in the center of the ceiling. The crystals were grimy and the whole thing looked as if a strong breeze might send it crashing to the floor. She was no fan of antiques but even she could see that it was beautiful. She supposed there were some who'd say that of the entire building.

Well, perhaps there was hope. The house stood in an absolutely magnificent location. The view from the foyer alone was impressive. And the old man was right about the furniture. Kathryn pulled the sheet from the nearest piece, revealing a small, delicately inlaid table. Some of it, perhaps most of it, might be pretty good.

Charon's Crossing had possibilities. It needed scrubbing from top to bottom, the furniture needed polishing, and she supposed it would be wise to make some basic repairs. Re-hang the doors, maybe, and replace the missing woodwork.

And then she'd put the house on the market. There had to be a buyer somewhere who'd want it. An eccentric millionaire, maybe, seeking privacy. Or one of those spas that were cropping up in the most unexpected corners of the globe and catered to the rich...

"I am sorry that you are disappointed, Miss Russell."

Kathryn turned around. Amos Carter had spoken politely, but she knew his words were empty of meaning.

"Disappointed?" Kathryn's smile was as polite as his tone. "Don't be silly, Mr. Carter. The house is pretty much what I expected. You said it needed work, and it does." She unbuttoned the jacket of her yellow linen suit. "Now it's time to do something about it. You've arranged for me to meet with some contractors, I hope?"

"We have only one, Miss Russell. I told him you'd be flying down and asked him to get in touch, yes."

"That's fine. And the realtor... What did you say her name was?"

"Olive Potter. Yes, she will contact you, too." Amos hesitated. "I hope you're aware that it may not be easy to find a buyer for a house such as this. Elizabeth Island is not a name on everyone's lips."

"And you like it that way, Mr. Carter. Yes, I understand." Kathryn smiled. "Well, maybe that's for the best. Any investor with enough money to buy this property would want privacy."

Amos smiled. That was twice this young woman had surprised him.

"That's true enough."

"We'll just have to make the most of Charon Crossing's strong points." Kathryn scuffed her toe across the floor. A swath of flecked white appeared in the dirt. "Marble?" she asked.

Carter nodded. "I should think so."

"And the upstairs? What's it like?"

"No better and no worse than what you see here."

Kathryn walked to the foot of the wide staircase that rose towards the second floor. The banisters and newel posts were handsome. Mahogany, she thought, and reached out to touch the old wood...

Cold. Cold so deep that it was almost painful, played across her fingers.

Kathryn snatched back her hand. "Is there an open window upstairs?"

"I don't know, Miss Russell. I didn't notice any, from outside."

"Neither did I, but there must be. Don't you feel that chill?"

Amos's brows lifted. "Chill?"

"Yes. And—"

Kathryn.

"Did you hear that?"

"Did I hear what?"

That voice, she almost said. But that would have been silly. It was the wind, just as the attorney had said, rustling through the palms and blowing in through an open window somewhere in the house.

"Never mind," she said briskly. "Let's see the rest of the downstairs, shall we? Does the electricity work?"

"I assume so." Amos touched the light switch. A pair of wall sconces near the front door flickered, then blazed to life. "Yes, Miss Russell. It works."

"The heating?"

"I assume that works, as well."

"And the plumbing?"

"I assume—"

"Are we playing some sort of game here, Mr. Carter?"

"No game, Miss Russell. I offered to find out what needed doing at Charon's Crossing but you said you would see to it all yourself." He smiled coolly. "And so you shall."

Kathryn sighed. Enough was enough. "Mr. Carter," she said, "why don't you tell me the problem?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Come on, don't be coy. You don't like me and I'd like to know the reason."

Amos looked her straight in the eye. "I see no need for me to like you or for you to like me."

"You're right. But I'd still appreciate an answer."

"Very well, if you insist. I am accustomed to holding the trust of my clients."

"I've no idea what my father thought of you, one way or the other."

"I am not referring to him. I resent the way you reacted when I offered to determine the need for repairs here."

A lawyer with a tender ego. Just her luck.

"Fair enough. Is there anything else?"

Amos shrugged his shoulders. "I am not accustomed to taking orders from females."

Kathryn nodded. Somehow, that revelation came as no great surprise but that didn't make it any the less infuriating.