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“On the far end of the hospital. On the top floor. I do not believe he harms them, if it’s any consolation to you. But while isolation can lead to moments of spiritual reflection, it can also be the cruelest punishment of all.”

I swallowed hard and took another sip of tea. “Do you think you could help me speak with Félix?”

Father Crawford shook his head. “I cannot. For even if I could take you there, I could not get you in. The door is locked and only the physician on duty has access to it.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, grateful for the bracing tea and the kindness of the old priest. There was something about him that reminded me of my childhood in New York. “Father, can I ask you something in confidence?”

His expression sobered as he came around the desk, resting himself upon it. “Anything, child.”

“In the village, there was talk of a man who died in a storm. A newspaperman who’d come looking for information about my mother. Do you recall that man?”

The old priest rubbed his eyes, placing his spectacles on the table beside him. “I cannot forget him. He’d come here the very morning he died asking questions about your mother. I told him what I knew, which was very little. Only that she was a gentlehearted woman and very devout. I still have trouble reconciling the flesh-and-bone reality to the tales the papers wove about her. Rusalka.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Your mother was a woman, not some nonsense folktale. But the press could not let it rest. I told the newspaperman the very same, then I went to hear confessions for the morning. The next time I saw him he was in the middle of the priory green arguing with Dr. Peterson. I feared the two would come to blows.”

I paused, having misunderstood. “You mean he was arguing with Dr. von Keller?”

“No. It was Dr. Peterson. A strange thing—even now—as I’ve never known the young doctor to raise his voice to anyone at all. He’s a well-liked chap. Even-tempered. But whatever that reporter asked was not at all to his liking.”

I blew out a breath, uncertain what to make of that newfound bit of information. Could the reporter have discovered what was happening within the walls of Saint Oda’s? If so, he’d been a far sight further along in his investigation than I was. I leaned forward on my knees, terribly curious to see what else the old priest knew. “Was von Keller upset by the reporter’s presence here?”

Father Crawford let out a startled laugh. “Not at all. He disregarded him entirely, ignoring him like one would a fly upon the wall. But that is von Keller for you. An odd one.”

The comparison made me wrinkle my nose and not for the first time. I wondered what I would find beneath the veneer von Keller had worked tirelessly to build here at Saint Oda’s. Was he villain, victim, or something somewhere between the two? And what, most perplexingly of all, had the reporter been arguing about with the good-humored Dr. Peterson?

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVEAn Electrifying Discovery

MY headache lingered as I left the priory grounds, puzzling over my morning’s discoveries at the hospital. For while I didn’t speak to Sister Marie-Thérèse, I’d learned a great deal about von Keller and what he was doing with the patients. What sort of a man collected patients like scientific specimens? Picking them one by one to move them to his hospital for study. I feared I already knew the answer. It would be an easy thing to consign von Keller the role of villain, however the sticky fact remained it was Dr. Peterson, not von Keller, that Father Crawford had witnessed arguing with the reporter in the hours before the man’s peculiar death. That clue did not fit. Was Peterson in league with his colleague to collect patients for study? It was possible, I supposed—all things are. But from what I’d seen and the way Peterson spoke of von Keller, I did not think the former cared much for the latter. Not at all.

The day was shaping up to be golden and delicious—a stark contrast to my increasingly clouded thoughts—and I needed the walk. Moving always served to clear my head and help me make sense of clues. And today was the perfect one for it. One of those glorious late-winter mornings that became more and more frequent before seamlessly blurring into the first blush of spring. I followed the sound of rushing water until I reached the old dam across the river. The strength of the water provided all the energy needed to run the priory hospital and children’s home. The powerhouse was a squat stone construction, likely built during the war once the Germans requisitioned a portion of the priory grounds to serve as a military hospital.

A narrow, railed walkway ran alongside the dam, leading to the far shore. High grass and reeds grew on both banks of the river. I checked my watch and blew out a breath, debating whether to wait for Ruan or go ahead without him. Time was slipping by like the water over this very dam. Rushing so swiftly I feared I’d lose my grasp on this mystery if I didn’t hold fast to the clues.

Before I could make up my mind to go ahead alone, I noticed a flash of movement from the opposite shore. I dropped to my knees into the undergrowth, watching through the foliage as Violet Devereaux stepped out of the powerhouse. Now what was she doing here? Violet reached into the pocket of her trousers, locking the door before turning and darting off into the woods having not noticed me at all. Palm on the wet ground, I pushed myself to standing and started across the river after her. I longed to follow her and demand answers about what she knew about my mother and the patients here, but I needed to know what was in that building more.

With her in the woods, I might never have a better chance to explore the powerhouse undisturbed. As she had no qualms about searching my rooms, I certainly had none about finding out what she had to hide. Turnabout is fair play, after all.

I looked over my shoulder along the path to the village. Still no sign of Ruan.

In for a penny …

I fiddled in my coat pocket for my roll of lockpicks and I hurried to the green door. The battered paint peeled off in large flakes, revealing a sickening shade of yellow beneath. I crouched down before the lock, pick in hand, determined to learn what Violet Devereaux was hiding. Within seconds the mechanism gave. The door swung open.

The groaning of the turbine within the powerhouse was far worse than anything I’d imagined. A bone-deep whirring set my teeth on edge. The lights were off, the room illuminated by whatever sun managed to filter in through the small high windows that cast narrow shafts of light onto the floor. I reached into my pocket for my flashlight and flicked it on, shining it over the pipes and conduits, dust dancing in the glow before me.

An image flickered back to mind of Violet and Dr. Peterson in hushed conversation. What had they been arguing about that day on the priory green? A sick sensation clawed at my belly. Dr. Peterson had also been seen arguing with the very first reporter just before the fellow’s death as well. The scales were tipping ever so slightly toward Dr. Peterson, though I still did not see what reason he’d have to commit murder. But perhaps the powerhouse would provide the final clue.

I crept deeper into the building, audible vibrations growing with each step. It was enough to drive one mad. This was an excellent place to kill someone. One might expire on the spot from the unpleasantness alone. Fear prickled up my spine as I explored the space, finding nothing at all out of the ordinary. At long last, I came upon a utility closet. The words ACHTUNG TODESGEFAHR were stenciled in paint on the wooden door. I stifled an inopportune laugh. Attention, Danger of Death. I could think of no better sign to pique my interest.

I wedged my light beneath my chin and fumbled in my pocket for my lockpicks, determined to see what deadly surprises lurked behind the door. Likely just more equipment.

My muscles strained as I crouched down, testing a medium-sized pick in my fingers. The metal was cool as I started to work on the locking mechanism. It was a stubborn thing, though more likely it was only that I couldn’t hear its internal workings over the sound of the engine. The vibrations of the room were working against me.

With a grunt, I flopped onto my haunches and glared at the lock—as if it gave a damn for my feelings about it.

“I suppose if I ever lose you, I know where to look…” Ruan said, gesturing at the sign on the door.

Startled, I dropped my pick to the wooden floor beneath us. “Couldn’t you warn a girl before you sneak up on her like that?”

He chuckled, leaning down, dropping the small pick into my open palm. His breath close to my ear. “Where’d be the fun in that?”