He spat on the ground then returned to his seat inside the vehicle. Sputtering, the car wheeled down a lane that must lead to Wilderness Heights, kicking up dust in its wake.
Stella released a puff of oxygen. She would wait a moment longer, in case he returned. Birds flitted overhead and squirrels argued on a tree branch. One held a nut, and the other stood empty-handed. Never had she possessed so much in common with woodland creatures, but the intrinsic desire for food made her sympathize with the poor little squirrel who had none.
Once the road dust settled, Stella stepped out of the woods and strode toward the mercantile. She pressed open the wooden door, the effort making her bruised, tired muscles scream. A bell jangled.
“Can I help—” The plump, smiling woman behind the counter pulled in a sharp breath, studying Stella from her feet to her crown. She shook her head, clicking her tongue.
The same sound Jane made when displeasure set in. Homesickness choked the greeting from Stella’s throat, and she blinked once then again to quell the tingle in her eyes.
“You’re hungry.” A statement, not a question.
Stella glanced down. Her dress may as well have been hanging off the shapeless form of a clothespin doll. How frightening she must appear. She ran a hand over her cheek. So hollow and gaunt. She nodded to the shopkeeper and fished in her pocket for the few coins she had brought from San Francisco. A mercy the Hazzards hadn’t found them. “I have money.”
The woman offered a tight nod. “What would you like?”
Stella scanned the bounty behind the glass display case, mouth watering. Her stomach punctuated the silence with a cry of either pain or delight at the prospect of food. She laid her money on the counter. “Would this be enough for two rolls?”
“Of course.” The shopkeeper didn’t bother looking at the coins. It may not have been the right amount, but she was kind enough to make the sacrifice.
“Then I’d like two, please.”
“How long has it been since you last ate?”
Stella eyed the shopkeeper as she dropped steaming rolls into a paper bag. How close was this woman to Sam Hazzard or Dr. Hazzard herself for that matter? Could she be trusted not to tell either of them Stella had hiked to her mercantile for food? She licked her dry, cracked lips. “I ate a little something yesterday. Or the day before.” Stella shook her head and massaged her temple. “I don’t quite remember.”
“You’re from Starvation Heights, I take it?” She handed Stella the bag.
Stella tilted her chin. Was that what the townspeople called the place? “You mean Wilderness Heights.” If word somehow trickled to the Hazzards that Stella had come to Olalla, the punishment for speaking ill of the sanatorium would far outweigh the consequences of eating a bit of food. And Sam had lingered so long then left with only a briefcase, not a month’s worth of supplies. He must have some connection to the store’s proprietor. The paper bag crinkled beneath her fingers, and she fought the urge to devour the rolls without a thought for manners or etiquette.
“Yes. Yes, of course.” The woman’s gaze dropped to the floor then traveled back to Stella. “Can I ask you something?”
Stella nodded slowly and took a step back. The shopkeeper’s prying eyes left her with the sensation of beetles crawling on her skin.
“Why do you stay? Are her methods really helping?”
Chewing the inside of her cheek, Stella tumbled the question through her mind. Simple questions typically merited simple answers, but this case was so far removed from ordinary. She opened her mouth to speak but snapped it closed. Could she trust this woman with the dark truth? The fact that no one left Wilderness Heights without Dr. Hazzard’s permission?
Wendell. She ought to go to the police and tell them of his death.
“Where is the sheriff’s office?”
The woman’s eyes widened at the abrupt change in topic. “Just down the street three doors.” She scoffed, shaking her head. “But you’ve likely missed him.”
“Where has he gone?” The warm bread screamed for Stella to take a bite. No. Better to wait.
“He goes into Seattle on Tuesdays. And the deputy has been out of town caring for his ailing mother since last month.” The woman wiped work-worn hands on her apron. “This is a sleepy town. Not much happens here. If you’d like me to give him a message for—”
“No.” The word sounded cold as it landed in the space between them. Though the woman had been nothing but kind, doubt feasted on Stella’s mind. How close was this woman to the Hazzards? Until Stella knew for certain, there was no way she could trust her. “Thank you.” She moved to the door. “Have a nice day.”
With a clink of the bell above the door, she stepped into the sunshine, moving at a half run, half walk to the tree line. I will let the authorities know of your death, Wendell. Of your murder.
Henry should arrive this afternoon, tomorrow at the latest. He would bring her into town to speak with the police.
Once beneath the cover of leafy boughs and pine branches, she rammed her hand into the paper bag and pulled out a roll. The soft bread warmed her fingers. How fresh it was.
She held it under her nose, savoring it for a moment, but another audible complaint from her stomach threw self-control out the window. Without so much as a real taste, the first bite landed in her stomach barely chewed. Stella chastised herself. To eat this roll without savoring it was like throwing diamonds into a pigsty. She schooled her mouth into temperance as she tasted, chewed, and swallowed the next morsel.
With half the roll consumed, Stella stowed the remaining portion. Best to save some for later. If Henry didn’t make it to Wilderness Heights until tomorrow, it would be wise to hold on to the rest for breakfast.
Did the people of Olalla really call Dr. Hazzard’s sanatorium Starvation Heights? Unease slithered down Stella’s spine. How much did the townspeople know about what happened behind those closed doors? Her mind jumped to the story the boy had told of walking skeletons. If anything, the people of Olalla had seen firsthand the results of the treatments Dr. Hazzard touted as medical but that Wendell had more accurately described as Chinese water torture. If the townspeople knew the truth, why had they done nothing? Said nothing? If the sheriff had seen the skeletons, why had he not stopped by the clinic and checked on the poor souls who wandered the walking trails?
Stella shook off the despair that pressed on her shoulders.
Time to bring Tilda the other roll.
She gazed into the bag. Her chest warmed. Along with her half roll, two others lay untouched. She glanced over her shoulder toward the shop. Maybe she’d judged the storekeeper too harshly. If she sided with Dr. Hazzard, she wouldn’t have gone out of her way to help the patients break their fasts with so much indulgence.
The way back to the sanatorium didn’t feel as endless as the trip to the shop. When Stella stepped through the trees onto the trail that led to Tilda’s cabin, she tucked the bag of contraband beneath her arm. She knocked on the door.
“Come in.” Tilda’s faint voice sounded weak.
Stella pushed open the door, stepped inside, then closed it tightly behind her. The curtains at the tiny windows were drawn, and gloom shrouded the room. “Are you quite all right, Tilda? I brought you a roll. It should help you get your strength back.” She kept her voice a whisper. If poor Tilda suffered another migraine, Stella wouldn’t be the one to make matters worse. She knew the excruciating pain too well.
Her friend groaned from her position on the bed and planted a hand over her eyes. “Keep it. I never should have eaten that bread.” Tears hung thick in her soft voice.
“You think the bread did this?” How could she believe such lies after falling into the clutches of several headaches while strictly adhering to the fast?
“What else could it be?” Tilda rolled onto her side, pulling the pillow over her head. “Dr. Hazzard said she would tell me when my body was rested enough for digestion. I didn’t trust her, and now look at me. Will I have to
start over? I don’t think I can.” Cracks formed in her voice.
“It won’t come to that.” Stella knelt beside her, rubbing her arm. “Everything will turn out well in the end, I’m sure of it.”
Was she? If Henry didn’t arrive and Linda Hazzard found out she’d broken her fast, would anything ever be all right again?
Chapter Twenty-Three
Stella stashed the rolls in her jewelry casket. The burglars had already emptied it, so if they returned, what reason would they find to look again? Though she’d given her itemized list of missing valuables to Dr. Hazzard, the woman’s chilly, noncommittal demeanor left Stella less than certain the matter would be handed over to the authorities. Why did the doctor insist on covering and overlooking every crime that occurred under her roof?
The skin on Stella’s neck tingled. What if the doctor was at the heart of everything? Wendell’s blood dripped from Dr. Hazzard’s hands. No doubts remained on that score. But the other deaths? The robbery? They may share common threads.
The woman—Claire—her neck had been peppered with bruises, but Dr. Hazzard didn’t seem concerned or even surprised. She’d wanted to wait until after dinner to call the funeral parlor. Why?
Stella slipped her jewelry casket into a dresser drawer.
Then there was Sue Chandler. The doctor had said medication in childhood had directly caused her death, but what sense did that make? Even if tonics had made her health fragile, they wouldn’t have killed her, would they? If Sue had never come to Wilderness Heights—Starvation Heights felt more fitting—would she still be alive?
And Dr. Hazzard’s use of the handsaw on poor Sue. A lump knotted Stella’s throat. No amount of verbal finagling could justify cutting her into pieces. Even if the undertaker had planned to cremate her.
And now Stella’s cabin had been burglarized and her valuables stolen. She eased onto the bed. The jewelry. That was the only thing missing. While she hadn’t brought her family’s most precious pieces, what she had brought was worth at least five hundred dollars. But the amethyst earrings were priceless for sentimental reasons.
Her brain churned through the scant facts of each of the crimes. Wendell had said that the doctor asked to put his items of value in safekeeping. Then she’d tried forcing him to sign legal papers. Had she wanted to hold on to his belongings with the hope of keeping some for herself? Would the papers requiring his signature have given Dr. Hazzard some claim on Wendell’s wealth?
It seemed too much like fiction to be true. What sort of woman would go to so much trouble for money? But Rollie had blackmailed her, threatening to reveal her secrets if she didn’t pay him. How much did he know? Stella might know only a small portion of what had transpired on these grounds.
And what of Sue and Claire? Dr. Hazzard hadn’t grown rich after their deaths. Had she? Or had she insisted they sign the same paperwork she had thrust upon Wendell? Could all of this be a scheme to fill her bank accounts to bursting?
Stella let her head droop into her hands. Her brain struggled to process the possibilities. There was no proof. She sighed. But the pieces seemed to fit.
“Argh!” She flopped back onto the pillow. “How could I have been so deceived?” The promise of perfect health mocked her. Dr. Linda Hazzard didn’t give the slightest care for her health. Money was the force that drove her forward.
Stella pushed off the bed and moved to a chair. If someone ever made her a promise that sounded too wonderful to be true, she’d never believe them again. Why were people so cruel?
She checked the wall clock. Time for her massage, and the doctor expected punctuality.
As she trudged to the main house, the breeze pulled wisps of hair from her braid and blew them in her face. The shopkeeper had asked why she stayed. Because she had no friends close by with the means to take her far away. She knew no one in Olalla. And if she went to one of the townspeople for help, how could she be certain they wouldn’t bring her back to face the Hazzards’ wrath?
Until someone who knew her and cared for her arrived, how could she feel safe? It wasn’t as if she could run into the woods and live off the land. She knew nothing of survival on rugged terrain.
She strode into the house. A hush permeated the foyer, and her footsteps echoed through the space. Where had everyone gone? As she neared the stairwell, the office door beside the dining room caught her eye. Dr. Hazzard usually kept it locked, but it stood ajar.
Stella strained at the stairs, listening for signs the doctor or her family was nearby. Nothing.
She grasped the doorknob.
The hinges groaned. Light spilled through a window behind the desk. Papers stood in a neat stack before the desk chair. Stella tiptoed closer to examine the sheets. The first contained notes from a medical journal by a man named Dr. Tanner. She perused the words. This doctor touted fasting as strongly as Dr. Hazzard with one exception. He didn’t feel internal baths were necessary for healing. Brilliant man. Stella rolled her eyes.
She turned the page over. Her hand flew to her throat. Squinting, she leaned in for a closer look. Surely she’d read wrong. LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT stood out in bold letters across the top of the paper. Was this what the doctor had urged Wendell to sign? She scanned the lines, and fear clamped its talons around her heart.
Her name. Stella Burke.
Someone had written her name in the blank. She tried replacing the documents in order, but she fumbled the pile. Papers fluttered to the floor.
She scrambled to retrieve them. How would she ever put them back as she had found them? Would Dr. Hazzard notice if they were out of order? With the pile arranged as best she could, Stella set it down and started for the door.
A glance in the wastebasket halted her steps.
That looked like her handwriting on one of the crumpled pages. She reached into the trash and smoothed the wrinkles.
Her message to Henry.
She couldn’t breathe. Had someone sucked the air out of the room? Eyes burning, she swallowed a sob. He wasn’t coming. Probably didn’t know how desperately she needed him.
A creak from somewhere in the main part of the house sent her pulse rushing in her ears. She had no business in this room. With her lip clamped between her teeth, she hid the message Dr. Hazzard had discarded in her sleeve.
Footsteps thumped on the stairs. “Miss Burke?” The doctor’s voice filtered from above.
Stella slinked out the door, clicking it closed behind her.
“Miss Burke?” Sternness wove through the fiber of Linda Hazzard’s voice.
Punishment for tardiness must be less than for snooping. Stella started up the steps. The doctor emerged from the room Stella had slept in upon arrival. Hands on hips, she glowered at Stella. “What have I told you about punctuality?” Dr. Hazzard ground the question through clenched teeth.
Stella’s hands balled into fists. The nerve of this woman to cover up Claire’s death, to murder Wendell in cold blood—and then to dare to confront her for arriving past her scheduled appointment. And Stella hadn’t been late; Dr. Hazzard had.
As she swallowed the ball of fire forming in her throat, Stella forced a contrite expression. Henry wasn’t coming, and until she found a way to escape, playing along might be her only means of staying alive.
Dr. Hazzard lifted her nose, pulling in a breath. “Do I smell bread?”
Nausea rushed through Stella’s middle, and she prayed she wouldn’t spew her roll all over the doctor’s shoes. “Is the cook baking?” Such a weak response, but she couldn’t very well admit to breaking her fast.
Dr. Hazzard’s eyes narrowed. “Come along. We’re running late enough as it is.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Stella sat at the table in her cabin, head in one hand, fighting to hold her eyes open. Pain surged through her temples, and her fingers traced the outline of her ribs over her nightgown. The curved bones protruded as if preparing to take leave of her body. The ache in her stomach had become a constant companion.
; If she had never experienced true hunger before, this must be it. What else could the unbearable gnawing within her be called? She longed to return to the shop in Olalla and beg for another roll. With her money spent, pleading was her only option. But if Dr. Hazzard found out, there’d be the devil to pay.
She pressed her fist to her middle. The devil would have to stand aside if she came within fifty yards of any kind of food—yes, even that vile lima bean broth. She’d gladly gulp a bowl if it was offered. At the thought of Satan himself, she glanced at the picture on the wall. The wicked child smirked at her pain. “If I ever get out of here, I’ll take great pleasure in breaking you into fragments on my way out the door.”
The painted lips appeared to spread in a macabre smile.
“You laugh now. But your days are numbered.” She scrubbed a hand over her face. Had days without food stolen her senses and left her talking to paintings?
The wall clock chimed. The time for her internal bath drew closer. She groaned. It had been three weeks, and not the slightest variation in the frequency of her migraines. Though they still proved a daily occurrence, maybe they were less severe. Or perhaps the ache in her stomach superseded the one in her head.
She lifted the note she’d penned off the table, tracing Jane’s name with her index finger. Although Henry had not received either of her messages, Stella couldn’t give up. Since he wasn’t able to help her, the responsibility to find another way off the property fell on her shoulders. But she wouldn’t trust Rollie with another telegram. The snake had proved he couldn’t be trusted. And if Henry refused to make the drive, Jane could take the train. But Jane was so much older than Henry, and if Dr. Hazzard made her departure difficult, how much better to have a man like Henry at her side? Stella sighed. Whatever happened, God could work it out. Maybe the doctor wouldn’t give her trouble. She might let Stella leave, no questions asked.
Stella cringed.
The Purple Nightgown Page 17