Finally, he stood and shook his head. “I do not understand why you would sacrifice your family for this man. You cannot be Dupin.”
The door clicked shut behind her.
Detective Lawson dropped two stacks of manuscripts on the table. “I am afraid she is. Apparently Miss Pelton has a murderous streak.”
CHAPTER11
ABRAHAM GAWKED AT THE MANUSCRIPTSbefore lifting his gaze to a suddenly green Miss Pelton.
“I’m going to be sick.” She lunged from her chair toward the waste bin in the corner.
Though she did not retch, she clung to it like a beloved doll.
Monroe strode to her side and placed a hand on her shoulder, proclaiming apologies for his inability to protect her.
But it couldn’t be true. The deaths Dupin outlined in his novels were as vile and sinister as the crimes committed by his villains. Only a soul as dark as the evil lurking in the world could contrive such endings. Miss Pelton’s romance novels had been far-fetched, yes, but full of light and laughter. They’d been beyond reproach. But Dupin’s novels …
They couldn’t be written by the same person.
“Come now, Miss Pelton,” Lawson spoke in soothing tones. “Calm yourself. You’re not in trouble, but I have quite a few questions that need answered.”
She moaned, and heaving followed.
A gag choked the back of Abraham’s throat, and Lawson fled the room under the excuse of obtaining water for her. Even Monroe patted her shoulder while facing away.
By her physical response, the revelation was true. Somehow both dark and light lived inside that woman, and yet God had declared that an impossibility. Good trees could not yield bad fruit, and bad trees could not yield good. Just who was this woman who’d managed to yield both in her writing?
Abraham ran a hand through his hair and momentarily tugged.
This could not be real. Miss Pelton’s character revelation aside, Dupin was their only lead.
Was.
Miss Pelton couldn’t possibly be physically capable of murder. She was by no means a small woman, but she lacked the height and strength necessary to kill those men. Joseph Keaton had been dragged a considerable distance through back alleys before being staged to match his original crime. But even if she’d had help, she couldn’t be in two places at once. Stealing that goat had given her an alibi that no one could question.
The heaves in the corner subsided, and Monroe aided Miss Pelton to her seat.
With Lawson gone, it was up to Abraham to continue the line of questioning—and he had plenty he wanted to ask. Not all relevant to the case. But he was a professional. Now was not the time to succumb to the personal shock of having fallen prey to the idea of a woman rather than the reality.
He withdrew his notebook and pencil from his coat and focused.
This must be like any other interview. Collect the facts, identify new suspects, and determine how she had gained access to details she shouldn’t have had.
Monroe sat close to Miss Pelton, his arm stretched across the back of her chair like she was his. For all Abraham knew, she could be. The woman had proven herself a criminal through and through. Con women flirted and used their wiles, beau or not. Still, it irked him that he’d assumed her unattached and allowed even the beginnings of attraction to set in. He should have known better.
Abraham cleared his throat. “Given the details included in your Billy Poe stories, you are far more acquainted with the crimes of these men than what the papers shared. How did you come by your information? Did your father provide it?”
She jerked upright. “No! He would never share such things. He doesn’t know that I’m Dupin.”
“Then how did you gain access to details you shouldn’t have?”
The large splinter sticking up from the edge of the table suddenly had her full attention. “I … sneaked peeks into his files whenever I visited him at the morgue. If I couldn’t get the information I needed there, I flirted with a couple of the officers who’d worked the cases and used their bragging to fill in the missing pieces.”
Only further proof that she was a good confidence woman. She must have chosen her targets well. Not many officers fell for the wiles of a woman who frequented a police station, even if she were the daughter of their coroner. Once the news reached Superintendent Carson’s desk, reprimands would echo through the hallway for hours.
Miss Pelton continued. “For writing the settings of each book, I visited the crime scene locations to collect details that I couldn’t determine from the photos.”
Of course she’d examined the photos. Scenes that he’d rather never see again were forever carved into his memory because of his job. But for her to seek them out and revel in them? What hardness of heart did it take for a person to find enjoyment in such a thing? Had she pursued something honorable with such persistence, cunning, and resourcefulness, he’d admire her. But this only served to turn his admiration to ashes.
