“I concede that would make your position awkward, so I’ll refrain from calling you Abraham during your official duties. But if you don’t call me Lydia when we’re in private, I’ll have to create a character after you in my next book, and I’ll make him a dreadful bore.”
“Is that supposed to be a threat?”
“I could make you the hero of my next romance novel if that’s not threat enough. Oh! And I’ll make the heroine a criminal of the worst sort.”
Abraham folded his arms. “I thought you weren’t going to use this case as story fodder.”
“If you’re insinuating that I’m casting myself as the heroine, you are mistaken. I’d make a better villain with what I put my characters through. That being said, I think it best if I take my leave, Abraham.” Her eyes sparkled in a way that made him nervous. “I’ve just had the most brilliant idea for an actual story.”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“You should be.” As she rose from her seat, her demeanor sobered. “Thank you. You’ve given me hope that I’m not beyond redemption.”
“All I’ve agreed to do is be your friend.”
“‘Faithful are the wounds of a friend; but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful.’ You have already proven a greater friend than many by speaking truth even when it was not welcomed.”
She nodded to take her leave, and all Abraham could do was watch her walk out the parlor door to the kitchen. He wasn’t sure what had just happened, but he was certain this case had just taken an interesting turn.
CHAPTER18
ONE WOULD HAVE THOUGHTMOMMAhad the sense to miss evening service considering their situation. But no. She had deemed the timing of their departure from Abraham’s house providential. Lydia called it the curse of her life turned into a dime novel. They shouldn’t be here at all, but no one defied Momma about church attendance. Except maybe Papa, who wasn’t with them. Normally Sunday nights only had a handful of attendees, as Pastor Evans repeated the morning’s message for those unable to attend earlier.
But nothing since stealing Tipsy from the circus had gone according to plan.
The thrum of more than a hundred voices bounced off the stone walls. People crowded the sanctuary entrance, searching for seats. Or rather, searching for her. Dozens of copies of that morning’sCincinnati Commercialcrinkled in eager hands with the headline “Meet the Face Behind the Killer Queen.” Somehow that snake Eugene Clemens had discovered where she attended church and paired that delicious fact with her face and fed it to the ravenous mobs. He was probably around here somewhere, waiting to watch the carnage the moment she was identified.
By God’s grace and mercy, Flossie spotted their arrival before anyone else. Momma didn’t even argue when Flossie demanded they leave. Madelyn led the retreat but abruptly stopped just outside the door. A group of men stood guard around the hack, ignoring the driver’s commands that they disperse. So much for escaping the way they came.
Lydia pulled Madelyn back inside and faced Momma and Flossie. “Flossie, take them upstairs to the choir loft and keep them safe. I’ll hide in the robe closet.” It was the safest place she could think of.
Flossie scowled but didn’t argue. Using her flowing red-and-white choir robe to obstruct anyone’s view of Lydia, she rushed Lydia across the foyer and into the alcove where the closet was tucked.
Lydia stepped inside and tried to close the door.
Flossie stuck her foot into the narrowed opening. “I don’t like it. Guardians do not leave each other to fight alone.”
Hopefully there would be no fighting to it. All Lydia needed to do was hide until service was over so Flossie could sneak her out without being spotted. “Just keep Momma and Madelyn safe.”
“I still can’t believe your mother insisted you attend.” Flossie’s face bunched. “Actually, I can, but still! Your father is going to have a fit of apoplexy.”
“I know. Now go. The longer you stand here, the more likely you are to draw attention.”
She nodded, then shut Lydia into the dark box.
The closet might be the safest place Lydia could think of, but that didn’t mean she was safe.
If she were writing this as a story, she’d have the heroine frantically search for a way to escape and find none. Then, when the villain exposed the heroine’s hiding place, the hero would swoop in and save the day. That’s how romances worked. But she wasn’t living one of those. She was caught in a Billy Poe mystery. Worse, Billy was the villain and the outcome yet unknown.
She needed a plan, and not one where she twiddled her thumbs and waited for some imaginary hero to rescue her. This damsel in distress needed to become the hero. Since Billy could never again fulfill that role, she would have to consider the situation through the eyes of her new hero, Detective Darcy. He was smart and resourceful. He would scrutinize what the closet held and devise some way to use whatever he found to his benefit. Unfortunately there was little to work with. It was an empty box with a rod going across and cramping her headspace. The door had no lock, and the crystal knob was uncomfortable to hold when she applied any strength to the grip. If someone wanted in, there would be no stopping them.
She could rip the rod down and wield it as a weapon. But Pastor Evans would be livid if she damaged church property because of her overactive imagination. Best to wait until—
Someone knocked on the door.
If Flossie knocked, she’d use their secret code. Madelyn would just yank the door open, and Momma would whisper through the door. Which meant, more than likely, a foe awaited her on the other side.
Lydia wrapped her hands around the smooth wooden rod.
