Monroe rose from his seat. “I assume Miss Pelton is free to go?”
Lawson rose as well. “We’ll have more questions later, I’m sure, but for now I think Detective Hall and I will return to the station.”
Monroe offered his arm to Miss Pelton. “I’ll take you home and tell your father that it was at my insistence you used the pseudonym and kept it secret.”
Another snake. Abraham’s world was filled with them, but at least he could step on this one. “I’d be wary of the man who encourages you to lie, Miss Pelton. He’s no hero.”
Monroe’s face darkened. “A true hero does what is necessary to protect those he loves.”
“And he does so without breaking God’s law. I’d bear that in mind, Mr. Monroe.” Those two deserved each other, one liar to another. “You may leave now. I’ll be by this evening to collect the notes.”
Monroe huffed in response, but Miss Pelton’s chin dipped toward her chest.
When Monroe opened the door, Clemens leaned against the frame with a smug serpent’s smile.
“Well, I’ll say, Miss Pelton. You are one talented woman. A romance authoranda crime novelist? Won’t that just shock my readers. I can see it now.” He swiped his hand across the air like reading the headline. “‘The Queen of Romance Is a Killer at Heart.’ Can I have a quote for tomorrow’s edition?”
“You can quote this.” Monroe drew back a fist and landed it against Clemens’s mouth.
Abraham tried not to grin. How often had he desired to punch Clemens? Too bad he would need to arrest Monroe for assault now.
Lawson beat him to it. “It appears I’ll be taking you down to booking, Monroe. Clemens, you’re with me. I’ll have to write up a report for this, and I’ll need your statement.”
“I don’t want to press charges.” Clemens spoke through a bloody lip.
“That’s fine, but I’ll still have to fill out a report. Hall, escort Miss Pelton home. I’ll take Clemens’s statement here and then meet you at the station.”
That was one way to keep Monroe and Clemens away from Miss Pelton. Not that she didn’t deserve the consequences of her deception, but Lawson and Abraham had promised to protect her, and Abraham was a man of his word—even if she wasn’t a woman of hers.
CHAPTER12
THE RIDE HOME WAS UNCOMFORTABLYsilent as they bounced along in a hack that smelled of stale sweat and unwashed bodies. Lydia had no idea what to say to the man who’d obviously lost all regard for her. No more smiles or banter graced his lips, just stern scowls and silence. Given his opinion of Dupin before he knew it to be her, he must now viewheras a vile, selfish coward.
And she was beginning to agree with him. At least in part.
If she had come forward the moment she’d heard about the Dupin murders, Cincinnati might not have reached the boiling point it was at now. Tomorrow, instead of settling into a simmer with the revelation, Cincinnati’s chaos would likely spill over to burn her and those she loved. What would Papa think when she told him she’d not only written stories capable of being used to plan murders but hidden it from him for three years? Her stomach twisted again, but thankfully there was nothing in it left to heave. She was indeed a coward.
And maybe alittleselfish.
She’d wanted it all. The ability to write, the satisfaction of making a difference, and the anonymity needed to do so without facing any consequences. But she wasn’t completely selfish. Those stories had been written for others. The victims deserved justice, and they weren’t going to get it any other way.
But she was not vile. Yes, her stories were dark, but they weren’t immoral. And her pseudonym was nothing more than protection. It wasn’t a form of deception. Detective Hall could think what he wanted. His opinion didn’t matter to her.
Except that it did. A perplexing nuisance. She’d not cared one whit about the other good men she’d encountered in her life, but for some reason Detective Hall’s disdain felt as crushing as a lost dream. Maybe because he’d become Detective Darcy to her, and now she didn’t think she’d be able to write that story without seeing the contempt on his face. How could she not mourn the loss of a man who, though he was repulsed by her, spoke up to warn her about heroes not encouraging those around them to lie like Marcus had?
The hack stopped before the combined row house and physician’s office she called home. Inside, her unsuspecting father waited, about to learn of her secrets. Secrets that would affect his position as coroner if Cincinnati ever discovered he was the unwitting source of much of her research.
“I’ll need those letters now, please.”
The use ofpleasesoftened his cold tone. He was upset with her, but he still treated her with respect. Why did that make her feel like a chastised child?
“I’ll return with them immediately.”
She slipped inside and noted that Papa was taking inventory of his supplies in the converted examination room. Good. She wouldn’t have to explain herself just yet. Sneaking past, she went upstairs to her room and retrieved the locked box where she kept her paperwork related to Dupin. The stack of letters was small, but she smiled at them nonetheless. These were confirmation that writing those stories had been part of her calling. Granted, none of the letters were from the families of actual victims, but the readers had thanked her for holding the justice system accountable. She hated to relinquish them, but if they helped the police find the real murderer, then she would do her part.
When she returned outside, Detective Hall was pacing the sidewalk in front of the hack.
This was her last chance to say something to him, for he’d no doubt avoid her after this. There would be no mending his good opinion now, but she could at least offer an apology. “Before we part ways, I’m sorry for having delayed your investigation of the right suspect.”
