Charon's Crossing

Just like the dream.

The coffee mug trembled in Kathryn's hand.

"Kathryn?" Olive put her hand over Kathryn's. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Kathryn said quickly. "It's—it's nothing. I just—It must be the heat. I'm not used to it."

"Of course you aren't. How foolish of me, not |o think of that." The realtor put her arm lightly around Kathryn's waist. "Let's go back inside, where it's cooler."

"No. No, really, I'm okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Look, why don't we sit on that bench? The one under that tree."

"Well..."

"There's plenty of shade there. Really, I'd rather sit out here than go inside the house."

Olive nodded. "Very well. But you tell me if you begin to feel ill, okay?" She smiled. "Amos would have me horsewhipped if I let his client faint right under my nose."

Kathryn laughed. "Amos might not feel quite so proprietorial if he knew that his client was letting her imagination run away with her."

Olive's brows lifted as the women settled themselves on the bench.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, it's not worth going into, believe me. It's just... I don't know, exactly. I've had these ridiculous dreams lately about—about..."

"About Charon's Crossin'?"

Kathryn swung towards the other woman. Olive had put on a pair of big sunglasses she'd pulled from her shoulder bag. With them on, her face was unreadable.

"Why would you say that?" Kathryn asked sharply.

Olive shrugged. "Just a good guess. From what Amos says, I got the feelin' you've had Charon's Crossin' on your mind a bit. And now here you are, alone in this big, spooky house stuck away out in the middle of nowhere. I tell you, Kathryn, if it were me, I'd be havin' nightmares, not dreams!"

Kathryn stared at her and then she began to laugh.

"You'll never know how glad I am you came by this morning, Olive. You're like a breath of fresh air, whisking the cobwebs out of my very foggy brain!"

Olive grinned. "Not as many cobwebs as I saw inside the house, I'll wager. My goodness, whoever did Amos hire to clean it? She must have been sleepin' on the job."

"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—"