He’d been right. Dime novels were a source of depravation, and Miss Pelton was a prime example of it.
Lawson returned with a glass of water that he offered Miss Pelton, then reclaimed his chair and indicated Abraham should continue.
Abraham obliged, though he wished the man would take the lead and leave him to process the ramifications of this whole fiasco. “Why do you write under Dupin if you already have a successful career as a romance novelist?”
“I actually wrote crime novels first.” She glanced at him and shrugged at whatever response she saw on his face. “I know. It doesn’t fit what a proper woman should read or write. But I’ve always loved Edgar Allan Poe, and with Papa a coroner, my fascination with crime and the human mind only grew.” She wrapped her hands around the glass and stared into its contents. “Papa runs his practice out of our home when not at the morgue, and officers often come in to seek medical attention for themselves or victims of a crime. When I was a child, I’d hide in the office connected to the examination room and eavesdrop on their conversations. The stories of injustice I heard broke my heart, and I wanted to write stories where the hero always won and those who’d been hurt would get the justice denied them. That’s why I write my Billy Poe novels.”
The concept was admirable, but the execution lacked the same nobility. “And you write romances for Mr. O’Dell, because …?”
“Because it was the only option I had at first. When I mailed my first detective novel to Mr. O’Dell, he accepted it eagerly—until he discovered L. R. Pelton was a woman. He accused me of passing off a man’s work as my own. In his opinion, the only thing women are capable of writing is romance. So I took my novel home and wrote a romance instead. They’re fun, but my heart lies with Billy Poe. Eventually, I decided to try again with my crime novels, but this time, I submitted under the pseudonym E. A. Dupin. Mr. O’Dell liked them so well, he agreed to the terms I set for protecting E. A. Dupin’s real identity.”
“So you lied to get what you wanted.”
She frowned at his response. “No. E. A. Dupin is my pseudonym. I made that clear upon the submission. Mr. O’Dell made his own assumptions. I just worked around his prejudice and didn’t reveal that Lydia Pelton and E. A. Dupin are the same person. There are plenty of authors who write under pseudonyms. It’s part of the business.”
Abraham firmed his mouth to keep from pointing out that there was a difference between using a pseudonym and hiding behind one for deceptive purposes.
“It’s true.” Monroe came to her defense. “Even the famous Mark Twain is only a pseudonym. They help protect the identities of writers from unwanted attention, and, in this case, consequences. Dime novels are not well received in many circles. Many of our authors circulate among those who despise them and advocate banning their stories. Having a pseudonym is not a crime. It’s a safety precaution.”
“Perhaps, but Miss Pelton’s reluctance to come forward has cost the department a week or more of investigation.” Abraham turned his attention back to her. “Do you realize the injustice you’ve participated in by keeping silent?”
Her face fell, and her voice turned pleading. “I understand your position, but can you not see mine? I’ve been stuck between providing the justice I desire and ensuring that those who are dearest to me are not hurt. My letter was the best I could offer.”
“No, it wasn’t. You could have told me when I came to the house to inform you the charges were dropped. Instead, you chose to save yourself. Now that we know who Dupin really is, we can act accordingly.”
“You’re not going to reveal who I am to the papers, are you?”
The end of her question tremored with fear, and Abraham felt a prick of compassion.
“We assure you, your secret is safe with us.” Lawson leaned forward and patted her hand in fatherly comfort. “You have nothing to fear. The city will turn its attention elsewhere soon enough. Just hold out until they print their next story.”
“How long will that be?”
He leaned back. “I can’t say for certain, but soon. We need a new lead that will satisfy the city. I don’t suppose you have any theories as to who is claiming to be Detective Billy Poe?”
“No. None.”
Another lie, or does she speak truth on occasion?The harshness of the thought made Abraham shake his head. He would not allow his merciless streak to direct his investigation. Maybe she just didn’t know she likely had an idea of who reenacted her stories.
“Do you have any letters from fans of your Dupin novels?”
“A few, but they’re at home.”
“I’ll need every one of them.”
She shrank in her chair, her voice matching the action of her body. “Could I bring them to you tomorrow while my father is away?”
“You still want to hide that you’re Dupin from him?”
“It’s for the best.”
“The best for whom?” Abraham felt for the man. It would be a hard blow to discover his daughter wrote such dark stories. “Tell him before he finds out through other means.”
“I don’t suppose telling him can be avoided at this point.” She slouched so much it was a wonder she remained in her chair.
Had the woman learned nothing about keeping secrets? “No, it cannot, and you owe it to him to tell him yourself.”
She nodded but said nothing further.
