The Guest House Hauntings Boxset by Hazel Holmes (novel books to read txt) 📕

it is to get rest at my age? Might as well try and run up this mountain in my bare feet, that’s how impossible. So whatever ended my chance at some peace and rest better be good.”

Dell shut the door behind him, examining the bare-bones interior of the living room. A single reclining chair with a tabletop next to it was positioned directly in front of a television that had to have been more than thirty years old. The face of the box still had dials on it, and a pair of rabbit ears stuck out the back, sagging like everything else in the house.

A few pictures lined the walls, and Dell spotted one of a young woman, the picture black and white, but even the lack of color couldn’t hide her beauty.

“My wife,” Wagner said, reappearing from the kitchen without a sound, his tone gentler than his earlier greeting. “God rest her soul. Passed away for nearly ten years now, and I still can’t figure out what the hell the bastard is keeping us apart for. I was ready to go when she did, but—” He shrugged and shuffled toward the recliner. “Here I am.”

Wagner transitioned from the walker to the recliner with a practiced motion, though it still took some time. Dell nearly asked if the old man needed help but thought better of it. The elderly didn’t need reminding of their own frailty. They lived with it every day.

“Doctor Wagner—”

“I haven’t practiced medicine for over thirty years,” he said. “Mister will do just fine.”

“Mister Wagner,” Dell said. “I’m here because of a patient you treated back in the early eighties.”

Wagner laughed, folding his swollen, arthritic, liver-spotted hands. “Deputy, do you have any idea how many patients I’ve had over the years?”

Without any other place to sit, Dell stood, arms crossed. “But you only had one case that made headlines.”

Wagner sank deeper into the back of his chair, the already sagging features of his face slackening. He nodded, his jowls wobbling like a turkey neck. “No, I don’t remember that.” He worked his fingers over one another, wincing from the arthritis, and lowered his head, the lamp to his right illuminating half his face while casting the rest into darkness.

“The patient was Iris Bell,” Dell continued, knowing that the doctor was lying. “She had a rare infection spreading up her leg.” He stepped closer. “You were reported as saying that it was a new disease.”

“Which the Maine medical board denied and nearly voted to suspend my license to practice medicine,” Wagner replied.

“So you do remember the case,” Dell said.

Wagner kept his head down, still fumbling with his fingers as he fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat. “I have always prided myself on being a man of science and reason. I’ve never believed in legends and myths, though I must concede that I am not above the fear of evil.” He lifted his eyes to meet Dell’s. “Of true evil.”

“That infection you treated,” Dell said. “Another person has come down with it, and she needs your help.”

Wagner remained seated, staring at Dell with curiosity and a healthy dose of skepticism. A smile crept up the left side of his face, triggering a ripple of wrinkles that faded into his balding scalp. “That’s not possible.”

“It is.” Dell reached into his jacket and removed the article they’d found in Pat’s trunk. “Everything that you describe in that article is happening to another woman.”

Wagner examined the article, the paper as brittle as the trembling pair of hands that held it. After a moment, he set it aside, head still down, and only nodded to himself but said nothing.

“Doctor Wagner,” Dell said, his tone growing impatient. “I need you to come with me so you can fix this woman like you did Iris Bell.”

Wagner shook his head, finally looking up from his lap. “You don’t understand, boy.” He tightened his hands into fists and pounded the armrests of his chair. “Whatever’s happened to this woman is beyond my help.”

Dell shook his head. “But you said in the article—”

“I know what I said.” Wagner dismissively waved his hands toward Dell, the gesture meant to shoo him away. “I was there. I think I would remember what I said.” He rolled his eyes around, which were the only sharp thing left about him besides perhaps his mind. “The article doesn’t tell the whole story.”

Dell snatched the article from his lap then shoved it in the old man’s face. “You said you cured it! You even brought it to the Maine medical board!”

“To advance my career!” Wagner barked back. “Do you have any idea what the mundane life of a family physician in this tiny little town was like? I studied at Johns Hopkins under some of the best minds in the field. I could have gone anywhere, but I got a woman pregnant who happened to live in this godforsaken town, and back in my day, when you did something like that you had to take responsibility!”

Spittle fell onto his chin, and he hastily wiped it away.

“Why did you lie?”

“The kind of attention a new disease receives can put its discoverer on the map.” Wagner held out his hand, extending an arthritic finger for every disease that he ticked off. “Polio, malaria, hepatitis, all of them global killers with the potential to bring humanity to its knees. And each of them with a mind behind the cure that made them famous. Rich.” He pressed his finger into his chest. “I could have been one of those people. But I stayed here to be with my wife and my son. Instead of greatness, I had a family.” He grimaced as if something sour had touched his tongue.

“Then how is Iris Bell still alive?” Dell asked.

Wagner shrugged and exhaled a breath that rattled his bones. “She cured herself.”

Dell stepped backward, the uniform growing tight beneath his chest and constricting his movements. “Oh my god.”

“You and I both know the extraordinary circumstances that have surrounded that family over the