What?Lydia spun on her heel toward the parlor entrance, where the two men stood behind the maid.Very funny, God. I know my thoughts did not just conjure him any more than my words killed those men.
Detective Hall’s gaze briefly met hers before skipping to Papa’s. By the scowl that deepened at the corners of his mouth, he did not wish to be here.
Papa shook each man’s hand. “You couldn’t have arrived at a better time. I don’t suppose you brought any other officers with you?”
“When we saw the crowd, we called for assistance. The station house informed us men were already on their way. The crowd should be dispersed shortly. Your maid let us in through the back.” Detective Lawson directed his attention at Lydia. “I would not stand so near the window if I were you.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Multiple times.” Momma’s curt tone chastised Lydia. “But Lydia does what Lydia wants.”
“So I’ve learned.” Detective Hall’s words wounded, but no more than she deserved.
Lydia forced a smile. “Gentlemen, please have a seat. We are glad you’ve come. Miranda, would you please make some coffee and bring some molasses cookies?” The ones that matched Detective Hall’s eyes. She was a glutton for punishment.
The maid bobbed her head before exiting the room. Momma set aside her knitting needles and followed, claiming to offer assistance. More likely, she desired to escape the growing tension. Detective Hall took the vacated seat while Detective Lawson joined Lydia.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t stand so near the window.” She gestured toward the growing crowd with her head.
A wry smile curled one side of his mouth. “I said, ‘if I wereyou.’ I’m not the target of hate from those outside. I thought it best that I be close enough to render aid should they decide to do more than shout at your door.”
Some of the tightness in her chest eased. This was why she wrote detective stories. She admired their tenacity, their intelligence to solve crimes, and the protectiveness they all seemed to possess. She felt safer with one by her side—even if she did wish it were Detective Hall instead of his partner standing next to her.
“Thank you, Detective Lawson. I appreciate your consideration. What brings you today? More questions for me?”
“Yes. I’m hoping that if I can better understand you, I can better understand the mindset of our killer.”
Was he implying that he thought her the murderer? How ridiculous. He had to be too smart for that foolishness if he’d made it to detective.
“Don’t look so disconcerted, Miss Pelton. I know you couldn’t have committed any of those murders, but the simple fact is you are our only lead in this case. Let’s start with why you chose to kill your criminals at the end of your books rather than jail them.”
Papa angled away, obviously not wanting to hear. His disappointment in her seemed only to have grown in the time since she confessed. Her answer to Detective Lawson’s question wasn’t likely to improve matters, but she had no other explanation to give.
Not wanting to see his reaction, she watched the veiled street, where two officers encouraged the group to move along. “Those men already had their chance in court and escaped the justice they deserved. I suppose I could have written it where they were convicted after a trial, but my reasons were twofold. My readers expect evil to be defeated, and evil would live on in a jail cell if I didn’t ensure their demise. The other reason is it felt right for these men to die in similar ways to how they’d killed others. It was justice served in the best way possible.”
“Do you really believe murder is the best form of justice?”
The question came from Detective Hall, and it pinched. Honestly, saying her motivation aloud left her feeling dirty instead of proud. Was it really an injustice to allow the criminals of her stories to languish in jail instead of face death? If she had the chance to write the stories again, would she do it differently? “Writing a character’s demise in a book is not the same as killing a real person. I’m not responsible for these men’s deaths.”
“But you do think the real criminals should have died for their crimes?” Detective Lawson asked.
Papa looked her direction with a hopeful expression.
How she wanted his approval, but she wouldn’t lie just to appease him. “I’m not sure. All I want is for the corruption in our justice system to end. Citizens should feel safe in their city, and that means criminals need to face the consequences of their crimes.”
Disappointment once again claimed Papa’s demeanor, and it hurt.
All night long, she’d wrestled with what he’d said. She couldn’t agree that writing her stories had been wrong, but perhaps she needn’t have killed the characters to get her point across. After all, it wasn’t as if killing them had changed the city’s morality. Every week, a potential story walked free from their crimes. As far as the real men’s fates? She didn’t claim to know how they should be sentenced, but they did deserve to face some sort of punishment. It just shouldn’t have been murder.
“Miss Pelton?” Detective Lawson touched her elbow.
“I’m sorry. My mind drifted. Did you have another question?”
He leaned closer, and his eyes narrowed.
Unnerved by his nearness, she leaned back, but his focus was beyond her.
Before she could ascertain what troubled him, his arms wrapped around her.
