Charon's Crossing

"Miss Russell?"

Kathryn swung around. A small man in a white suit was striding towards her. The wide brim of a Panama hat shaded his eyes but she could see the glint of perspiration on his fine-boned, ebony face.

"Good," she said. "I'd begun to think Mr. Carter had forgotten to send a taxi to meet me."

"Miss Russell, I am Amos Carter."

Kathryn's brows lifted. She had formed an image of the man from his voice. Amos Carter should have been tall, slender, and young. This man was slender but he was also short and he had left youth behind decades before. And he was looking at her with something that could only be described as polite hostility. That didn't surprise her. He'd done everything during their phone conversations but tell her, flat out, that her arrival on Elizabeth Island was going to be one huge imposition.

Kathryn smiled politely and held out her hand.

"Mr. Carter. How kind of you to meet me."

Carter's hand clasped hers. His fingers were bony but his grasp was surprisingly strong.

"A matter of simple expediency, Miss Russell." He dropped her hand and reached for her suitcase. "This is yours, I take it?"

"Yes, but I can manage it myself."

"Nonsense." Carter gave her another thin-lipped smile. "You will find we are somewhat old-fashioned, here in the islands. Men believe in being courteous even if women do not wish it."

It was Kathryn's turn to smile thinly. The putdown was subtle but it was a putdown nevertheless. Terrific, she thought, as Carter set off along a rutted track that led through the scrub. That was just what she needed, an attorney who was an aging male chauvinist. Well, at least now she knew why he'd seemed hostile over the telephone.

She thought of a couple of sharp-tongued rejoinders, then decided against them. She would only be here a week and she needed this man's help. There were negative vibrations in the air already. Why make things worse?

Carter led her to a dusty Land Rover. He put her suitcase in the rear, then opened the passenger door and motioned her inside. When he was settled behind the wheel, Kathryn cleared her throat.

"It really was very kind of you to meet me yourself," she said.

Carter swung the wheel sharply to the right, swerving around the goats that were once again fleeing their pursuers. The Rover shuddered as its tires hit a bumpy dirt track that Kathryn assumed was the road.

"I told you, Miss Russell, it was a matter of expediency." He shot her a faintly amused smile. "I know you expected a taxi to meet you, but I am afraid we have none here on the island."

Kathryn looked at him. "No taxis? On the entire island?"

"I am afraid we lack many amenities."

He didn't sound "afraid" at all, Kathryn thought, her eyes narrowing. What he sounded was damned well smug.

"That's quite all right," she said politely. "I haven't come here for a vacation."

"No. You've come to sell Charon's Crossing. I understand that." Carter glanced over at her. "But I would hope you will understand that your expectations for the house may not quite be in accord with reality."

Kathryn had already been thinking the same thing.

She had never been in the Caribbean before but, like almost everyone else, she'd come here with an image in mind.

Islands in the sun were supposed to be dazzlingly beautiful, with lots of lush, green vegetation, tall palm trees and bright flowers. The sky was supposed to be fairy-tale blue, the clouds puffs of white cotton, the sea emerald green and the sand anything from bone white to flamingo pink to lava black.

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?