But he wasn’t a woman. He had no idea what the ramifications of admitting she was Dupin would be. She had a pseudonym for a reason. Being a romance writer had its own societal risks, but nothing worse than a turned-up nose or denial of entry to some pretentious ladies’ club she hadn’t really wanted admittance to anyway. Murder mysteries, on the other hand, especially when surrounded by scandal and accompanied by a manhunt—that posed a very real danger. Marcus’s description of Mr. Clemens’s soulless delight in the carnage only added to the certainty that it would be a fatal mistake to reveal herself.
“Mr. O’Dell tells us that you and Dupin have a close relationship.” Detective Lawson folded his hands over his stomach, looking for all the world that this was merely a casual conversation. “Is that true?”
In the chair next to her, Marcus disguised his head shake with a chin rub.
It would be so easy to go along with him—to deny any connection and allow him to step in as her hero. But lies worked like a deck of cards. You might be able to build a house out of them for a little while, but at some point, the whole construction would collapse.
But if she were careful, she needn’t fabricate anything. All she had to do was convince them Dupin was incapable of committing those crimes without divulging the full truth of her identity.
“That is true, and I can personally assure you he is innocent of murder.”
There. She’d been honest.
Detective Lawson tilted his head, an underlying skepticism revealed in the action. “May I ask how you can be so certain? These murders were committed at night. A time you should have been abed.”
The ball might account for late-night knowledge, but not the lecture. And Detective Hall would question her if she revealed she’d been with Dupin at the station. How could she truthfully account for Dupin’s whereabouts without revealing herself? She tapped a finger against her leg until a moment of brilliance struck her.
“As I rarely sleep before three in the morning, I would know if Dupin was not in bed when he should be.”
There. Let them refute that.
She smiled until she noticed Detective Hall stiffen in the corner, his eyes wide.
Marcus sank back in his chair and covered his face. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
His mumbled words reached her but didn’t make sense. What was wrong with what she’d said? If she was awake and able to verify Dupin’s whereabouts, that should clear him of suspicion.
Detective Lawson leaned forward. “Are you insinuating that you share a room with the man and that is how you can account for his whereabouts?”
Heat blazed into her face.That’swhat they thought she meant?
But of course they did.
She should have known better than to say the first thing that came to mind. Her first ideas always needed tossed and completely rewritten.
How could she explain that she knew exactly where Dupin was at every moment of every day without revealing herself or impugning her reputation? Yes, she shared a bed with Dupin, but it wasn’t as scandalous as it sounded.
“I assure you as an unwed woman living in her father’s home that I have never shared a room with a man.”
“Then the question stands, how can you know for certain that he wasn’t involved?”
“You’ll just have to trust me that I can.”
Detective Hall’s shrewd and calculating stare warned that he wouldn’t allow her answer to stand. “Are you protecting your father? He’s the only other man I can imagine whose whereabouts you could track at night.”
Oh dear. Implicating Papa was the last thing she wanted to do. “No. My father would never, ever break the law.”
“He knows specific details of the crimes. Details that made it into Dupin’s books but not into public record.”
Her stomach churned. Papahadhelped with her research, albeit without his knowledge. “Anyone with access to the justice system might be able to obtain those particulars. I’ll vow on a Bible that my father is not Dupin.”
“Are you saying that Dupin has access to the justice system? What kind of access?”
Evasive answers were more difficult to devise than she’d assumed they’d be. She picked at one of the many splinters on the table’s edge. “He knows people and is an impeccable researcher.”
Detective Lawson redirected his poorly veiled interrogation. “Are you romantically involved with Dupin?”
Lydia couldn’t help the laugh that escaped at the absurdity of the question. Romantically involved with herself? Oh yes, she could see that now. Walking through Burnet Woods at sunset, holding her own hand as she admired her reflection in the water’s edge. Hugging herself was possible, but kissing might prove interesting. Although she did buy herself chocolates and flowers on occasion to help spur romantic ideas for her stories. So maybe that counted.
