Charon's Crossing (A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel) (10 page)

"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."

"No need. You want to present a buyer with a structurally sound house. Aesthetics are not the issue."

"I'm delighted to hear it."

Olive smiled. "Same goes for things like redoin' floors and windows and such." She paused and frowned at the foyer walls. "Of course, it doesn't make such a good first impression, seein' that moldin' lookin' as if the termites have been at it."

"Yes," Kathryn said, sighing as she kicked a piece of molding aside. "I figured that."

"Well, check with Hiram. Ask him what he can do that will make things look better without it costin' you an arm and a leg."

"Right."

"You should probably also ask him to see to any leaks in the roof. And to check the plumbin' and electrical systems."

"I will. The first time the pipes began rumbling, I almost jumped out of my skin. And the lights have a really wonderful way of flickering on and off. The ones that work at all, that is."

"Anythin' else you've noticed that I've overlooked?"

Kathryn shook her head. "I don't think so. If you'll put me in touch with somebody who'll pitch in and help me scrub things down, it will help. I'd like to get rid of most of the grime and the yuck. And the spiders." She shuddered. "New York roaches are one thing, but spiders that build trampolines instead of webs are another."

Olive chuckled. "Fine. Well, is that it, then?"

They had wandered to the foot of the great staircase. Kathryn paused and looked up, to where the sunlit dust motes disappeared in the darkness of the second floor.

"Just about, except for that miserable draft. Feel it?"

Olive's gaze followed Kathryn's. "No. No, I can't say that I do."

"Really?" Kathryn gave a dramatic shudder and wrapped her arms around herself. "Boy, I certainly do."

"Maybe there's a broken window somewhere."

"I told that to our friend Amos. He assured me there wasn't. And I checked, after he left. He was right. The windows are fine."

Olive's head tilted further back. "Maybe the draft's comin' from the attic."

"The attic? You might be right. I never thought of looking there."

"Well, don't." Kathryn's brows shot up at the other woman's emphatic statement and Olive laughed. "Attics are always full of mice. And in this house, the trampoline-buildin' spiders are probably havin' themselves a fine time up in the attic, as well. Let Hiram do the lookin' for you, when he comes. Now, what can we say about Charon's Crossin' that will make it appealin' to a buyer?"

" 'For sale,' " Kathryn said in a mincing tone as they made their way out to the terrace again. " 'Handyman's special. All you need is a fat checkbook, a little imagination and a couple of dozen years and you'll have the vacation hideaway of your dreams.' "

Olive laughed as they leaned back against the rusted wrought-iron railing that rimmed the terrace.

"You're supposed to be tellin' me what a wonderful buy this house is, Kathryn. Don't you know that?" She turned and gazed out over the garden. "We can start by emphasizin' the beauty of the surroundin's."

"I agree. And the privacy. Seriously, I've been thinking about it, the fact that the house is pretty much off the beaten track, and it seems to me that our best bet is to deal with that head-on, turn it into an asset."

Olive gave Kathryn a wry look. "You sure you're not lookin' to take my job?"

Kathryn smiled and leaned her arms on the railing.

"What we need is a buyer with lots of money who's looking for a very private getaway. Right?"

Olive nodded. "Right."
What an old fool you are, Amos, not to recognize how bright and quick this young woman is.
"We want a man of discerning tastes and great wealth."

"A man," Kathryn said, "or a woman."

The realtor laughed. "Oh, I can just see how you must have jolted poor Amos."

Kathryn reached out and plucked a flower from a vine that had twined itself around the railing.

"It really is lovely here," she said, twirling the flower in her fingers. "Is the weather always this perfect?"

"Not always. We get storms sometimes, blowin' in across the sea. In late summer, mostly, but sometimes in the winter, too."

Kathryn spread her fingers and let the breeze carry the flower to the grass.

"I'll have to phone my fiancé and torture him a little," she said, and smiled. "Give him a first-hand weather report, you know? I'd have done it last night, but the phone doesn't work."

Olive nodded. "It is a problem on the island. I will speak with Hiram, see if he can think of a way to improve things."

"Hiram certainly has his work cut out for him.£ When he comes by later... What's the matter?"

"I wouldn't count on seein' Hiram today, I'm afraid. It is Saturday, and the bonefish are runnin' just off Coronado Cay."

"Tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow is Sunday. No one on Elizabeth Island works on Sunday."

"Then, he's got to stop by Monday morning, first thing." Kathryn's voice took on a pleasant but firm tone. "I only have a week to devote to getting things sorted out here. That isn't very long."

"Especially not on this island. As I said before, things move at a slower pace than you are accustomed to." Olive dug into her shoulder bag and took out a pen and a small notebook. "Let's write down what we've agreed needs checkin', yes? So far, we've got the plumbin'. The heatin'. The electricity. The roof, maybe. The moldin'. The phone..."

"I think there's probably some wainscoting needs doing, too. Oh, and we'll have to deal with whatever it is that's turning the place into Siberia." Kathryn sighed. "Sounds like a year's salary to me—in which case, I'm up the creek without a paddle."

"Sorry?"

She smiled. "Never mind." Kathryn hesitated. "Olive? Why would Amos have said what he did to me?"

"About what?" Olive said, capping her pen and tucking it away with the pad.

"About the house being haunted."

"Because he's an old fool, just as I told you."

"Yes, but he couldn't have just come up with something like that off the top of his head, could he? I mean, is there some sort of local folklore about Charon's Crossing?"

"Well," Olive said slowly, "I suppose there is. We islanders are a superstitious lot, and Charon's Crossin' is very old. No one has lived in it for a very long time."

"My father did."

"Not really. He had this old sailboat, used to come sailin' in here a couple of times a year, dock at Hawkins Bay harbor, and put in some work on the house—you didn't know that?"

"No. No, I didn't. Did he ever ask you to sell the place?"

"Never."

"Well," Kathryn said decisively, "I certainly want to. Do I need to sign a contract or something?"

"It's not necessary. Amos vouched for you and that's good enough for me."

"You trust his judgment, hmm?" Kathryn said, smiling.

Olive nodded. "I know he didn't make a good first impression, but you can trust him too, Kathryn. He really is a fine lawyer. As for me—I'm goin' to do my best to sell Charon's Crossin' for you. It may need some attention, but the house itself is still sturdy."

"We hope," Kathryn said without conviction.

"Oh, I'm sure it is. These old greathouses were built to last. The English had every intention of stayin' in these islands forever."

"Well, I suppose the house was great, at one time, but—"

"No, no." Olive smiled and patted Kathryn's arm. " 'Great-house' is the name for houses such as this. But time has taken its toll."

"Time," Kathryn said wryly, "and neglect."

The other woman nodded. "Neglect is the worst enemy. It gives the natural world the chance to reclaim what was taken from it. It's a special shame in this case, considerin' that Charon's Crossin' has been in the same family..." She smiled. "Your family, Kathryn, for almost two hundred years."

Kathryn looked at Olive with interest. "Is it really that old?"

"Oh my, yes."

"And why was it named Charon's Crossing? Do you know?"

Olive's smile tilted. "I'm afraid I don't."

"Are you sure? I have this feeling I should know what the name means, but I just can't place it."

"Certainly, I'm sure."

Certainly, she wasn't. Kathryn knew she was getting the brush-off, but there wasn't much she could do about it.

"Now," Olive said briskly, "where was I? Oh yes. I was tellin' you the history of your house. Well, it was built in 1799 by Lord Arthur Russell." Olive smiled. "Your great-granddaddy, I suppose, several times removed."