All this Dupin nonsense had stolen her focus. But she’d never missed a deadline, and she wasn’t about to do so now. Even if it meant turning in the most awful romantic ending she’d ever penned. Marcus Monroe would make her rewrite it, but hopefully this Dupin mess would be behind her by then. It had better be. A dead rat had more life than her creativity, and her new Billy Poe novel was due next month.
She glanced from her manuscript to the picketers and clenched her jaw. There was nothing for it. She’d just have to keep her head down and cut straight through the group. Once she turned in the manuscript, she’d visit the newsstand for the latest on the Dupin investigation.
Mind made up, she exited the hack and braced for insults.
“Well, if it isn’t the clown from the police station.”
That hadn’t been the insult she’d expected. That reporter—Mr. Clemens, wasn’t it?—approached her from the edge of the crowd.
“I almost didn’t recognize you without welts on your face. What brings you to O’Dell Publishing?” His sharp-minded gaze dipped to the manuscript pages in her hands, and he grinned. “Ah, so you’re one of my uncle’s authors.”
“Your uncle?” That wasn’t good. What if Mr. Clemens told Mr. O’Dell of her arrest? Even though the charges were dropped, he could still use it as grounds to dismiss her or, more likely, decrease what he offered her per submission.
“Don’t look so disconcerted. I find it as unfortunate a connection as you, but what can you do about family? I assure you, I have no desire to expose your goat thieving to him. It will be our little secret.” He winked as if they were the closest of chums. “What’s your name? Perhaps he’s forced me to read your books.”
“I’m surprised that an astute reporter such as yourself doesn’t know it already.” If he truly didn’t know, she certainly wasn’t going to provide it to him.
Oddly, he seemed to approve of her. “You are as smart as your characters, Miss Pelton. If you were on the case, Dupin’s identity would no longer be a mystery. Please, allow me to escort you safely inside.”
He looped his arm around hers, guided her through the throng of protesters, and then physically shielded her identity from those hurling insults at them. She expected him to release her once inside, but he remained firmly attached.
“So do you have any suspicions, Miss Pelton?”
“Suspicions of you? What sane woman wouldn’t?” She forced a flirtatious lilt to her voice in hopes of throwing the man off his line of questioning.
His chuckle fell flat. “I was referring to Dupin.”
“Mr. Clemens, I was not expecting you so soon.” Marcus strode toward them. “I’m afraid your uncle is with the police just now, but if you go upstairs, Simon’s wife dropped off a large plate of cookies for the printers.”
Lydia didn’t miss Mr. Clemens’s calculating squint before his face smoothed.
He released her arm and offered a duplicitous smile that many probably fell for. “Marcus knows my weakness for sweets and my dislike of idle waiting. If you’ll excuse me.”
That man was not after a cookie. He was probably sneaking off to eavesdrop on Mr. O’Dell and the officers. That’s what she would do, given the opportunity.
She and Marcus watched until he disappeared around the corner. Then her editor took the manuscript pages from her hands, gripped her elbow, and propelled her toward the exit.
“What on earth, Marcus?” The man had never once treated her so forcefully. Normally he was gentle and kind, even bordering on flirtatious.
“You have to leave. Now. Detectives are questioning Mr. O’Dell, and I’m certain it won’t be long before they discover you’re who they’re seeking.”
Lydia stumbled as her stomach vaulted. He couldn’t know her secret. “But I’m not—”
He stopped pulling her and stared her down. “I’ve edited your and Dupin’s manuscripts since the beginning. Did you think I wouldn’t recognize your writing style or, at the very least, your handwriting? I’ve known Dupin’s identity all along.”
Bile burned in her throat, and she covered her mouth. She was going to throw up. Right here in the middle of the foyer and probably on Marcus’s shoes.
Marcus’s fierce stance eased, and unexpected tenderness further softened his manner. “I’ve done everything I can to protect you. Mr. O’Dell might be too arrogant to believe a woman capable of writing the Billy Poe stories, but he can obviously connect you to Dupin. We cannot allow the police to discover Dupin’s identity. Once they know, so will the papers. Do you understand the danger that will place you in?”
He didn’t wait for her answer. “Clemens has no soul. He’ll feed you to the masses and watch the carnage, all the while writing articles that will ruin your family. Those protesters are just the beginning. There are others who are more menacing, who would love nothing more than to do the same violence to you as has been done to those murdered men. Perhaps worse when they discover Dupin is a woman.”
Definitely worse. She well knew the special dangers that lurked for women. She’d used them as plot points in almost every novel.
Still, a tremor ran through her. Everything she’d feared speaking, he’d given voice to. She wasn’t overreacting.
“Go home. Figure out a story to explain your connection to Dupin. I’ll stall them for as long as I can, but they will come. I want you to be ready to say whatever is necessary to protect yourself.”
She’d never thought to write Marcus as a hero, but here he was, acting the part. Maybe she shouldn’t have turned down his invitations to dinner.
