Charon's Crossing

Kathryn dreams again. She is within the circle of Matthew's arms. He has shifted them both on the narrow settee so that they lie full length, together. His body is hard and warm; it shields her from any harm.

She is safe, forever safe, in his embrace.

Chapter 10

Hiram's red pickup truck came rattling up the drive promptly at seven.

Kathryn was waiting for him on the outside steps. She'd been half-convinced he wouldn't show up. Now, as he climbed down from the cab, it was all she could do to keep from racing up and throwing her arms around him.

" 'Morning, Kathryn. Isn't it a lovely day?"

Was it? She hadn't noticed. She'd been too caught up in trying to decide where last night's dreams of lying in Matthew's arms while he caressed her had ended and today's reality had begun.

She smiled brightly. "It is, now that you're here. Thanks for agreeing to stop by this morning. I know it was really short notice and you have lots to do."

"Well, you made this sound urgent."

"It is urgent." Kathryn tucked her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. "I, ah, I think there might be somebody sneaking around out here."

"A prowler, at Charon's Crossing?" Hiram smiled, as if she'd suggested an ocean liner had docked down in the cove. "What makes you think so?"

Careful how you phrase this, Kathryn.

"Well... well, I heard noises."

"Last night?"

"Yes."

The old man wiped his forehead with a red handkerchief, tucked it into the back pocket of his denim overalls, and lifted a battered toolbox from the bed of the pickup.

"I'm not surprised."

"You're not?"

" 'Course not." He grunted as he set the toolbox on the verandah and knelt down in front of it. "Old house like this, get a bad rain storm, it's bound to rattle the doors and the windows."

Kathryn shook her head. "This had nothing to do with the storm."

"Wind slips under the shutters, sends them bangin' against the walls—"

"No. No, it wasn't the wind, Hiram. In fact, I phoned you before the storm hit, remember?"

"Mmm. So you did." The old man grimaced as he creaked to his feet. "Well, there's still lots of funny sounds in an old house, Kathryn." He looked at her and smiled. "The joints creak and groan, just like mine."

"Look, I know you think I'm crazy, but—"

"Not crazy. Just nervous, maybe, way out here all by yourself. I can understand that but truly, there isn't anything to worry about. There's no crime to speak of on this island." He chuckled. "Nobody's got anythin' worth stealin' and even if they did, who'd do it? Everybody knows everybody else. Why, if somebody showed up wearin' a watch wasn't his—"

"I'm not talking about a burglar," Kathryn said sharply. "I—I saw something, too."

She hadn't meant to let that bit of panic edge into her voice but now, at least, she had the old man's attention.

"Saw what?" he asked, turning towards her.

Matthew McDowell. And someone else. Or something else, something that still makes my blood run cold just to think about it...

"Kathryn? What did you see?"