Charon's Crossing (A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel) (17 page)

"It's fine," Kathryn said brightly. "Just fine."

"Glad to hear it. As for me, I don't think I could get a wink of sleep in a place like that."

"Listen," Kathryn said, grinding out the words through her teeth, "there's nothing wrong with that house that hard work won't cure."

"Oh, surely not," Ada said quickly. "I only meant that the stories about it... well, you know. And the name..."

"Charon's Crossing?"

"Well, it's peculiar, isn't it?" The woman's voice fell to a conspiratorial whisper and she leaned towards Kathryn. "Namin' a place for an old-time
loa,
I mean."

"A what?"

"A spirit, your people would call him. You know. The one used to sail dead folks over the sea to hell."

Kathryn's mouth dropped open. Ada wasn't talking about some voodoo spirit, she was talking about an ancient Greek god. Charon, whose job it had been to ferry the newly dead across the river Styx to the afterlife that awaited them.

How come she hadn't remembered that?

Her house, the house where she'd had such incredible dreams, where the cold came sweeping down the stairs, was a nineteenth-century metaphor for the river that separated the living from the dead?

The sun was high, the air hot. Despite that, a sudden chill swept the length of Kathryn's spine and she gave a little shudder. Ada, reading the swift play of emotions on her face, reached out a comforting hand but Kathryn forced a smile to her lips.

"Oh," she said, "of course. I should have realized."

She wanted to say more, something light and airy that would make it clear that she was above such nonsense, but she was too angry.

Damn her father for leaving her saddled with such a mess.

Damn Olive. And Amos, too, for not having told her about the house and whatever dark legends surrounded it, legends everyone but she seemed to know.

"Miss Russell? Are you okay?"

Kathryn smiled brightly. "I'm just fine," she said, and set off to find Hiram Bonnyeman.

* * *

It was easy, just as Ada had promised it would be.

The house was blue, its door and shutters pale pink. A sign hung out front, neatly lettered.

Hiram Bonnyeman, Plumbing, Heating, Electrical Work, Carpentry, and General Repairs.

It looked as if the era of specialization had not yet reached Elizabeth Island.

The door stood partly open. Kathryn knocked and waited.

"Yes, yes," a voice called. "Come in."

The interior of the shop was shadowy, almost dark compared to the brightness outside. She stood still, letting her eyes adjust, breathing in the pleasant mixture of smells that filled the air: new wood and wax, machine oil and something spicy. Cinnamon, perhaps, or nutmeg.

"Yes? May I help you?"

A man was coming towards her, stepping through a swaying curtain of small wooden beads. He was tall and wiry, with grizzled hair and ebony skin. A pair of wire-rimmed eyeglasses perched on the bridge of his aquiline nose, and was smiling so pleasantly that Kathryn immediately smiled back.

"I hope so. Would you be Hiram Bonnyeman, the building contractor?"

He smiled. "I would surely be Hiram Bonnyeman. And you would surely be Miss Kathryn Russell."

"Yes. Yes, I am, Mr. Bonnyeman. I've been hoping to make your acquaintance for some time."

The old man chuckled. "A polite way of askin' me where I've been keepin' myself, hmm?" He stepped forward, scooped a dozing ginger cat from a straight-backed wooded chair, and motioned Kathryn to sit. "Please, make yourself comfortable. I'll get us somethin' cool to drink."

"Oh, no. That's not necessary."

"It isn't. But it's what I'd like to do—unless you're in a hurry, Miss Russell?"

Kathryn sighed. "There's no sense in being in a hurry in these parts, Mr. Bonnyeman. I've learned that much already."

The old man grinned and ducked behind the curtain. Moments later, he reappeared bearing a round wooden tray on which he'd placed two tall glasses and a pitcher filled with a pale yellow liquid.

"Lemonade," he said, setting the tray down on a small table. "My wife makes it fresh, every mornin'. Best in town, if I do say so myself. She adds a touch of passion fruit. Give it a special sweetness."

Kathryn accepted the glass he held out to her.

"Thank you, Mr. Bonnyeman."

"Hiram."

She smiled. "And I'm Kathryn."

"How's the lemonade, Kathryn? Good?"

Kathryn sighed. When in Rome, she thought, and she took a sip.

"Delicious. Mr. Bonnyeman... Hiram. Look, I don't mean to seem rude, but—"

"But you want to know where I've been and why I haven't shown up and when I'm goin' to come by Charon's Crossin' and get to work. Am I right?"

Kathryn nodded. "I've only got a week, you see, well, not even that anymore. I'm flying back to New York Friday, and... what's the matter?"

"If you're flyin' home Friday, we have a problem."

"What do you mean, we have a problem?"

"I can't possibly get out to Charon's Crossin' until next week, the soonest."

Kathryn put down her glass. "I distinctly told Amos Carter I'd be here just for the week."

"Well, Amos never told me."

"I don't believe this! The whole reason for this visit was to find out what repairs the house needs and now—"

"I don't need to come by your house to tell you that."

Kathryn blinked. "You don't?"

"No. I don't."

"Olive spoke to you, then?"

"Your father spoke to me, before his death. He asked me to come over, check things, tell him what I thought." Hiram smiled. "He was a nice man, your father. And he had great plans for that house."

"Expensive plans, I'll bet. What did you tell him?"

"That it was sad, the condition of Charon's Crossin'. But that it was repairable, dependin' on what he wished to spend." He smiled gently. "Sad to say, he didn't have the money to do very much."

"A situation that runs in the family," Kathryn said crisply. "Not that I have any great plans for the place. I just want to do whatever needs doing so that Olive can sell it."

Hiram nodded. "Well, there's a long enough list of things to fix. The wallboard needs replacin' in some of the rooms. The wainscotin', too, in the entry and in the dinin' room, as well as the moldin'. Roof needs patchin' before the rains come. And it might be a good idea to shore up a couple of beams in the cellar. But the biggest problem is the hot-water heater."

Kathryn sighed. "Don't I know it. Well, the next owner can deal with that."

The old man shook his head. "Maybe. And maybe not."

"Look, I know an outdated heater will take away from the value of the house, but—"

"I'm not talkin' value. I'm tellin' you that old heater is a cranky son of a gun and you'd best fix it, or..."

"Or what?"

"Who knows? The best that could happen would be for it to quit for good."

"And the worst?"

Hiram sighed. "Fire. Explosion. Anythin' is possible."

Kathryn felt like burying her head in her hands. She'd been wrong thinking of Charon's Crossing as an albatross. It was an anchor, and if she weren't careful, it would pull her down and drown her in debt.

"Look, Hiram," she said, "maybe I didn't make myself clear. I don't have any money to waste on Charon's Crossing."

"And I won't ask you to waste any. Once I do a thorough check of the heatin' system, I'll tell you what your choices are."

"Oh. I didn't... I thought you meant you were going to have to replace the entire system."

"Maybe. Maybe not. I cannot tell until I take a closer look, which I can do in a week's time." The old man smiled. "You can stand right by my side, sayin' 'yes, Hiram, do that' or 'no, Hiram, let that stay as it is.' How's that sound?"

"It sounds fine... except I won't be here in a week's time."

"Might be you could sign a paper, let Amos make those decisions for you."

"Might be—if he were on the island." Kathryn's nostrils flared. "But he isn't."

"Oh yes. Now that you mention it, seems to me I heard somethin' about that this mornin', at the market." The old man pushed back his chair and put his hands on his knees. "Well, I don't know what to suggest, Kathryn, except to tell you I wouldn't take the responsibility for makin' those decisions for you, even if you asked."

Kathryn stood up. "Wonderful," she said bitterly. "I don't seem to have much choice, do I? I'm going to have to waste another week!"

Hiram rose, too. "I am sorry. But I promise, I'll get to you as quickly as I can." He followed after her to the door. Just as she was about to open it, he put his hand lightly on her shoulder. "Kathryn? I never did ask. How are you doin' out at that house, all by yourself?"

Her eyes narrowed as she turned and faced him. "What do you mean?"

"Just what I said. The house is so big, and you're not used to it."

"To what? The rattles? The moans? The cries in the night?" Kathryn glared at him. "Isn't that what you're really asking, Hiram? How am I doing, all alone in a haunted house?"

He swallowed dryly. "Kathryn, I never meant—"

"Yes, you did. You and everybody else who wants to know how I'm doing. Well, I'll tell you how. There are ice cold drafts that come from nowhere, there's some guy popping in and out of my head, chains rattle, things go thump in the middle of the night and if skeletons start coming out of the walls I'll probably just stand there and say, 'Hi, how're you doing?' " Kathryn jabbed her index finger into her own chest. "I am angry as hell, Hiram! It turns out that the only person on this whole island who didn't know that Casper the Not-So-Friendly Ghost was living at Charon's Crossing was me!"

"Kathryn, please..."

"Is there a phone in this town?"

"A what?"

"A phone. One that works. Is there any such thing on all the island?"

"There is one on the next corner, near the Post Office. Kathryn, if you would just listen..."

"Good-bye, Mr. Bonnyeman. I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know exactly what day you'll be coming by. If my phone doesn't work, try sending a message by spook express!"

Eyes flashing, Kathryn stormed from the repair shop and headed for the Post Office. There was a phone, all right. Just one. Fortunately, it worked.

Jason answered on the first ring.

"It's me," she snapped. "Kathryn."

"Kathryn! Are you okay? I've been going crazy, waiting to hear from you. Your phone doesn't work, do you know that? I called information, got your number, but—"

"I know. Believe me, I know. Nothing works in this place."

"But you're okay? You sure? You don't sound it."

Kathryn sighed and sagged against the wall of the telephone booth.

"I am, really. It's just that... look, I can't go into details now. I just called to let you know I'm fine. And that I won't be home Friday after all. I'm going to have to hang in another week."

"Hell!"

"Yeah, I know."

"Why? What's the problem?"

"The guy who's going to give me a rundown on what needs to be done to the house can't get over to see me until next week."

"Well, get somebody else."

Kathryn shut her eyes wearily. "You don't understand. There isn't anybody else."

"You're right. I don't understand. You said you'd be gone a week."

Static crackled through the line. Kathryn shifted the telephone to her other ear.

"Jason, it's too complicated to explain right now. I'm standing in the middle of what passes for downtown, there are trucks and cars going by... Look, don't worry, okay? I know I'm losing a lot of time from work, but—"

"I don't care about work, Kathryn. I'm thinking of us being apart for another week."

Kathryn rubbed her forehead. "Of course," she said quickly. "I meant that, too."

"Look, I've got an idea. How'd you like me to fly down for the weekend?"

"It isn't necessary. Really."

"I know it isn't necessary. I just figured it was a nice idea but if you don't think so..."

"Of course it's a nice idea," she said quickly, hearing the hurt in his voice. "It's a wonderful idea. I just don't want you to go to all that trouble."

"It's no trouble, darling. I'll let you know when..."

The connection suddenly went dead.

"Jason? Jason, can you hear me?"

Kathryn hung the phone up with a bang.

Great. Just great. Jason was flying down; he was going to see for himself that Charon's Crossing was a mess, not a mansion. Not that she cared. It was just that...

"Kathryn? Oh, I'm so glad I caught you."

Kathryn looked around. Olive Potter was coming towards her. She hooked her arm though Kathryn's and drew her aside.