“Praise the Lord! Your father will be so relieved, but don’t think you are free of punishment, young lady. It doesn’t change what you did. Now head to the table. I’ll grab your father’s paper and be there in a moment.”
At the mention of the newspaper, Lydia’s stomach dropped. They might celebrate her freedom tonight, but Cincinnati was hunting her.
CHAPTER6
IN THE FIVE DAYS SINCEtheCincinnati Commercialhad declared a manhunt, all of Cincinnati’s newspapers had frothed with hate and threats toward Dupin. Lydia shouldn’t have, but she’d read every word. Many editorials blamed Dupin for the Billy Poe murders and called for Dupin to be dragged into the street and given the same treatment as his victims. The few editorials that had come to Dupin’s defense and pointed out anyone could have claimed to be Billy Poe were met with rebuttal. Whether Dupin killed them or not, they said, he was responsible. His books had been the catalyst. The plan for action. He should suffer, and this city would not rest until he’d been pulled from whatever sewage gutter he’d hidden himself in.
Even worse, notices of criminal activity began to include brawls over Dupin accusations and citizens taking out their frustrations on innocent officers. Questions over potential rioting arose. Cincinnati was a city divided.
Something needed to be done.
Lydia could no longer pretend the whole situation would sputter out like a candle’s last spark. No, this flame was burning its way down a fuse of unknown length, threatening an explosion that would leave Cincinnati forever marred.
She rubbed her gritty eyes and surveyed Nora Davis’s late-afternoon sunlit parlor. Piles of newspapers littered the room. Flossie Gibson sat cross-legged on the floor with her pampered spaniel puppy, a Cavalier named Harold, in her lap, scouring the columns while trying to keep the interested pooch from shredding the pages. Nora sat primly on the settee with her ever-present knitting needles beside her, turning the pages so quietly it was easy to forget she was there. Theresa, who had sneaked out to join them, lay sprawled out on the floor, tossing the papers aside as she finished each one.
These were the Guardians—a secret society turned friendship, born from an oath during their school days to protect their defenseless peers from a lecher and tormentor. Now, years later, they continued in their mission. Only, today, Lydia was the one in need instead of a stranger. Somehow they had to come up with a way to prove Dupin innocent while protecting her identity from the police and Cincinnati.
She returned her attention to the page in front of her—theCincinnati Commercial’s original exposé article. Thanks to it, they had the dates of the murders, but so far, they’d been unable to find one article that provided more details than what theCincinnati Commercialhad shared.
With a frustrated huff, she tossed the paper to the table in front of her. “I just don’t understand it. How is there so little information on the murders of men whose trials were front-page news for weeks?”
“TheCincinnati Commercialdid say that the police had encouraged their silence.” Nora set aside her newspaper and took up knitting a sock as she spoke. “Besides, Billy Poe didn’t lay claim to the murders until Daniel Finn’s. The first two deaths looked the same as every other murder in town. Why waste the space?”
Out of the puppy’s reach, Flossie held up a front page with the illustration of a burning building on it. “Especially when the toy factory fire overshadowed Mr. Wakefield’s death. No one cared about him when the factory fire meant the loss of hundreds of jobs.”
Theresa wadded her paper into a ball and tossed it across the room, catching Harold’s attention. Smiling at him as he sprang across the room and pounced on it, Theresa added her findings to the mix. “Benjamin Patterson’s death was next, but it was overshadowed by the Republican National Convention.”
Nora’s needles stopped clicking. “I wonder if that’s why, when Billy Poe killed next, he claimed their deaths and Daniel Finn’s. Do you think he was hoping their deaths would make a bigger impact on the news? Hedidinclude a warning to those who escaped justice.”
That made sense, but it was frustratingly unhelpful in determining a way to prove Dupin’s innocence.
“Oh no you don’t.” Flossie grabbed for her ruby-haired pooch as he pounced on Nora’s yarn ball, then held him against her shoulder. “I think it’s possible, but his motivation means little. You must prove that Dupin had neither the means nor the opportunity to murder those men.”
“I doubt they will take my word that Dupin doesn’t have the strength to overpower Mr. Wakefield or the gun mastery to shoot Benjamin Patterson. All I can offer are my alibis for the dates theCincinnati Commerciallisted.” Lydia frowned at the diary next to her that contained her explanations for each date.
“I still don’t see why that is a problem.” Nora spoke as if it were as simple as binding off one of her knitted socks.
“Because the number of people present at each alibi could reveal my identity.”
“What are your alibis?” Theresa scooped up an armload of newspapers and deposited them in the kindling basket. “Maybe we can discover a way to give them what they need without implicating you.”
“I was at a private ball of only a dozen or so couples when Otis Wakefield was murdered. The public lecture given by the Honorable Joseph Kelley during Patterson’s death drew a crowd, but I have notes from the lecture to prove I was there. Unfortunately I don’t have an alibi for Daniel Finn’s death. My next Dupin novel was due the following day, so I was holed up in my room, frantically finishing it. For Joseph Keaton’s murder, Theresa and I were either in the process of rescuing Tipsy or sitting in the station, but I can’t very well admit that.”
Evidently bored with the conversation and being held, Harold lunged at the bow in Flossie’s brown hair.
“Not now, Harold.” Flossie set him down, then removed and dangled the ribbon for him to chase. With the dog appeased, Flossie returned her attention to the problem at hand. “I think you’re safe. Even if you identify which ball you attended, they’ll probably only suspect the men.”
Nora nodded. “Then they would have to determine whether any of those men attended the lectureandwere seen at the station before they would have enough to even consider that man a suspect—which is highly unlikely.”
But Lydia hadn’t attended those events on her own. Papa had been present at the ball, the lecture, and the jail. Papa also had the intelligence to plan and write those books, was in a position that would require a pseudonym to protect himself, and had in-depth knowledge of the cases—she’d gotten most of her details from his files.
He could easily be mistaken for Dupin.
“Not highly unlikely. Highlyprobable. They’ll think Papa is Dupin.” Her friends looked at each other, surprised and dismayed, as Lydia offered a brief explanation.
Theresa nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a real possibility.” Then she grinned and elbowed Lydia. “Especially if that handsome Officer Hall is the one who investigates.”
Heat crept up Lydia’s neck. By Flossie’s and Nora’s knowing smirks, they’d noticed. She hadn’t told them about Officer Hall or the flirtation she’d indulged in. Of course, the fact he hadn’t returned to share his thoughts on her novel probably meant there was no more story to tell. And that was probably for the best. After all, did she really want to continue flirting with a man who thought her novels were immoral twaddle? She’d dismissed nearly a dozen potential suitors for lesser reasons.
