The morning sun cast golden light over the tall pines as Henry pulled the address from his pocket—the one Stella had enclosed in the last letter she’d written for the man he’d pretended to be. Water spots marred the ink, blurring the street name. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. The last thing he needed was a setback.
A sign that read WELCOME TO OLALLA, WASHINGTON—POPULATION 407 flashed past. Quaint storefronts lined the town’s main street. He pulled up to a general store and hopped out of the automobile on legs that wobbled from disuse.
He pushed the door open, and a man behind the counter greeted him. “Good morning.” A German accent colored the words.
“Morning.” Henry strode to the counter. “Could you give me directions to Dr. Hazzard’s clinic?”
“To Starvation Heights? Sure.” The man rubbed his bearded chin. A sick sensation curled in Henry’s gut. “What did you call it?” He rubbed the back of his neck. What had Stella fallen into?
“Starvation Heights.” The proprietor poked his thumbs through his belt loops. “Always wondered what sort of hoity-toity fools would check into a place like that. Or stay long enough to look as ghastly as they do.”
“You’ve seen the patients?” Henry raked a hand through his hair.
“Yah. Not long ago, a woman stopped by the shop. My wife gave her a bit of bread. Looked like she hadn’t seen food in months, or so Betsy told me.” He shook his head. “They could leave anytime, so why choose to stay?”
Why indeed? Stella, headstrong as she was, would never stay in such a place willingly. She’d march out, giving Linda Hazzard an earful as the door swung shut behind her. If the quack doctor’s methods weren’t working, or worse, if they were killing her, why not walk out? But Stella’s message had been urgent. Maybe she was too frightened to leave—or too weak.
What if Dr. Hazzard’s patients weren’t able to leave? Perhaps Stella had found herself in trouble when she asked to check out. If the old Buzzard insisted she stay, or worse, held her prisoner—
His breath hitched. “I need the directions immediately. My friend is there, and she sent word for help.”
The shopkeeper checked the clock. “If you wait twenty minutes, the doctor’s husband will be in. Sam could take you. He’s a regular around this place.”
“I don’t have twenty minutes to wait.” Henry splayed his fingers across the counter, his heart rate speeding like a car at the Grand Prix. “Please. I need to go now.”
The shopkeeper scribbled the route to Wilderness Heights on a notepad, tore off the sheet, and handed it to Henry. “It’s not far.”
Paper in hand, Henry darted for the door.
“Hope your friend’s all right,” the man called after him.
Henry’s feet pounded across the gravel toward the automobile. With a jerk of the crank, the motor sputtered to life, and he jumped behind the wheel. Heart slamming against his ribs, he followed the hand-drawn map. God, please, let Stella be okay.
Starvation Heights. The name rippled through his chest, leaving a dark swirl of dread. Did Linda Hazzard really betray her patients’ confidence and starve them? The idea seemed too shocking to be true.
But the little boy from the bank—Jack—his talk of walking skeletons begging for bread. He’d said his aunt had seen them, that she ran a shop in Olalla. Could the proprietor’s wife, Betsy, be the boy’s aunt? And she’d given food to a woman recently. Might it have been Stella?
His gut twisted. What would he find when he finally laid eyes on her? Would he even recognize her, or would she be too altered?
He cut a sharp left turn, and a rambling white house came into view. Cabins dotted the hills behind the structure. At this distance, they looked like the little houses Robby fashioned from twigs when he wasn’t terrorizing his sisters.
Angry clouds gathered overhead, signaling an impending storm.
As he ground to a stop, pebbles crunched beneath the tires and thunder grumbled in the distance. A few stray drops fell, splattering the windscreen. He leapt from the automobile, dashed up the porch, and pushed open the front door. The foyer showed no signs of life. His boots thudded against the wood floors with each step. She was close. He swallowed the knot in his throat. She had to be. Unless he was too late.
No time to think about that now.
“Stella!” His voice hit the sterile white walls and fell dead to the floor. Had Dr. Hazzard left the premises?
A door overhead slammed, jolting Henry’s nerves. As heavy footsteps creaked down the stairs, he strode to meet whoever was coming to greet him. If only it were that old Buzzard. He’d had two days on the road to fashion the words he wished to spit at her, and they were both stern and eloquent. If he was allowed to think such a thing of his abilities. His hands clenched.
A dark-haired man stood before him, brows raised. “What’s all the hollering about? Dr. Hazzard is treating a patient, and she’d thank you to keep your voice down.”
“I don’t care what Dr. Hazzard would thank me to do.” Henry squared his shoulders. Vanilla clung to the man like an overcoat. Probably the Buzzard’s husband, Sam. He looked like the man who’d driven Stella away from the office in Seattle. “Miss Burke sent for me. I’d like to see her.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Sam Hazzard’s lips slanted in an unsettling smile.
“What did you do to her?” Had he arrived too late? Determined not to exhibit the unrest warring within, Henry flexed his jaw.
Sam raised his hands in surrender. “I’ve done nothing to harm her.” He crossed his arms. “Miss Burke doesn’t wish to see you. She’s not taking visitors.” Thunder cracked, and rain pelted the windows.
Lies.
Did he take Henry for a fool? If this man believed a weak excuse would shoo Henry away, he’d better brace for disappointment.
Heat seared the back of Henry’s neck. “Her message indicated she was in danger. Either you tell me where to find her, or I will rip this place apart searching.”
“Miss Burke is indisposed.” The man’s tone hardened. “This is a place of healing. And I suggest you respect our methods or I’ll summon the police.”
“Sam,” a shrill voice called from upstairs.
“Coming.” Sam’s voice shifted from commanding to submissive. He started to turn then took a step nearer Henry. “This conversation is over.” His finger jabbed Henry’s chest. “Go back where you came from.”
Sam tromped up the stairs, and Henry paced to the front door and back. How could he be expected to leave without seeing Stella? She was in some sort of trouble, and until he discovered what it was, going home wasn’t an option. He raked a hand through his hair.
But the man had flatly refused to allow Henry a visit with Stella. If Sam wouldn’t take him to her, Henry would find her himself. He strode toward the doorway on his left until an accented voice stopped him midstep.
“She’s not in the house.”
Henry turned to the origin of the voice, and a slight, grayhaired woman pinned him with an urgent look. “Where is she? I must find her.”
“You’re Henry? From the telegram?” Her brow wrinkled.
This woman knew about Stella’s message? He nodded. Who was she? How did she know Stella? No time to share life stories. Once he and Stella were safely away, perhaps.
“She’s in a cabin behind the house. Take the path on the right, and she’s in the third.”
Henry gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Thank you.”
He yanked open the door and ran down the porch steps. The sheeting rain soaked him to the bone. His pulse throbbed in his temples as he pressed toward the path on the right. Puddles splashed with each footfall. If Sam Hazzard caught sight of him—well, no doubt he would disapprove, maybe worse—but his threat to call the police could be a blessing. The authorities might be summoned to this place before the day was done. Lightning rent a jagged streak across the darkened sky.
At the door to the third cabin, he stopped short. Rainwater dripped into his eyes, and he dashed the drops away with a fist. A bar positioned over the door held her captive. Why?
He grabbed hold of the beam, grunting under the weight, and shoved it to the side. Then he pulled open the door, eyes closed. God, don’t let me find her dead.
“Henry?” The sound of his name on Stella’s lips snapped his eyes open. He stepped inside the tiny cabin, and his breath caught. She’d grown so thin, just a shell of herself. Could this really be his Stella?
Then the unfamiliar woman smiled. His chest warmed. He would always recognize that beautiful smile. The purple collar of her nightgown peeked from under the shawl she held tight around her shoulders with bony fingers.
“Stella, I’m sorry, I—”
“You came.” Her eyes glistened, and she reached a hand to him.
“Of course I did.” He took a step toward her and grasped her hand, so fragile in his own. Her skin was cool and slick as glass. “You have to forgive me.”
Confusion scrawled lines across her brow. “Why?” The longer he looked at her, glimmers of her old spunk showed him she was still there. Only her exterior was altered. Her heart remained unchanged.
If she knew of his deceit, accusations would replace the questions in her eyes. His heart skipped. Had she not received his letter? He opened his mouth to confess, but concern for her safety and the urge to run from the Hazzards snapped his lips closed.
Later.
“I’ll tell you when we’re safely away from Starvation Heights. If Sam Hazzard discovers I’m out here, he’ll have my hide.” He gave Stella’s hand a gentle tug, but she remained immobile.
Did she still put stock in this crazy notion of fasting? Urgency sent static waves through his nerves. There wasn’t time to convince her, so he’d simply throw her over his shoulder and make her see reason after they’d sped away.
He glanced at Stella, and the fear in her eyes froze the blood in his veins. He followed her gaze to the object of her terror.
His stomach dropped.
His eyes clashed with Sam’s. Rain trickled from the end of the man’s nose. A clap of thunder shook the cabin. Henry balled his fist, prepared to fight for Stella’s freedom, but the doctor’s husband lifted a shovel. Lightning brightened the cabin for a fraction of a second, glinting off the shovel’s blade.
Sam brought it down hard. Pain seared red-hot in Henry’s head.
Stella screamed.
The world faded to black.