Charon's Crossing

"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?"