“The grass is always greener on the other side, but that usually means manure was involved in the making of it. Are you saying you’re afraid of a little muck?”
“Nope, I just like being home with my wife. If you’re ever free again, stop by the house for a visit. Verity says she misses you.”
“Only because she wants me to marry her sister.”
Lucian shrugged. “You’re not getting any younger.”
Too bad the only woman who interested him was the one he shouldn’t consider.
Abraham thanked Lucian for the information and walked to the nearest horsecar stop. Lydia must be a hysterical mess by now. Any woman would be. In all likelihood, Dr. Pelton had given her a sedative, and she wouldn’t be awake to question. Still, Abraham would go. A new Billy Poe note might hold a crucial, time-sensitive development. It didn’t matter that his shift had ended only a few hours ago. As Lawson had warned, the case’s needs dictated his schedule. Breaks would come when there were lulls.
He took a seat on the half-empty horsecar and scrubbed his face. Climbing over the detective fence had indeed landed him in manure. An unpredictable schedule, a partner who abhorred silence, and a murderer as elusive as a snipe. Throw in this attraction to Lydia, and he was up to his neck in muck. Maybe if he was lucky, this trip would only take a few hours, and he’d be home and in bed with enough time for a full night’s sleep. Lord knew he needed it. Never before had his job stretched him so close to his limits, and this was only the beginning of the case. If his gut was right, they still had a long way to go before they apprehended Billy Poe.
Twilight shrouded Plane Manor in a haunting gray by the time he arrived. Not that the Gothic stone building needed any help in appearing menacing. Wings and bays towered three stories tall, with parapets and pinnacles giving the illusion of guards keeping vigilant watch from above. The only warmth emanating from the building came from the glow of the front window.
He sighed as he caught a glimpse of Lydia pacing behind the window in plain view. So much for her being sedated. That was probably best for his case, even if he’d have to reprimand her for not staying out of sight.
Mrs. Hawking, the Planes’ housekeeper, refused to open the door until he identified himself, then swung it open to reveal a rifle in hand. Rail-thin, dressed in black, and hair twisted into a fierce bun, the woman made the house’s outside feel welcoming in comparison. With a no-nonsense comportment and tone, she led him into the packed parlor.
Except for Lydia, the Pelton family was seated together near the door. Dr. Pelton sat next to his wife, holding her close while he scowled at some distant thought. Lydia’s younger sister lounged on the sofa and paged through a lady’s magazine.
“Maa.”
Was that a goat bleat? Abraham glanced at the floor near Lydia. Next to Miss Plane, the three-legged animal lay on a blanket and chomped on what appeared to be the remainder of a bouquet of flowers. Wasn’t that creature supposed to be dead by now? Miss Plane must have a healer’s touch, because the goat appeared well on her way to recovery.
“I didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow.”
Abraham turned at Lawson’s voice.
“Officer Atwood informed me of the situation.” Abraham’s eyes strayed to where Lydia continued her back-and-forth path in front of the window.
Instead of a face puffy from tears, a tempest raged. Her hands alternated between fists and flexes as she muttered to herself. He should have known better than to expect to find her a swooning mess. To write the stories she did, she must have a constitution stronger than steel.
Movement from the corner snagged his attention, and Marcus Monroe stepped away from the wall where he leaned.
What was he doing here? No one was supposed to know Lydia’s location.
Monroe gripped her elbow before she stepped out of reach. “Stop fretting. I’ll see to it that all will be well.”
Lydia shrugged out of his hold, and the thud of her footfalls intensified. “I’m notfretting. I’m angry.”
Lawson leaned over and whispered, “She’s been like this since I got here twenty minutes ago. I’ve tried my hand at calming her, but I think she’s just a woman who has to pace through her emotions until she collapses.”
“How long has Monroe been here?” Abraham watched Monroe continue to convince Lydia to be still.
“Longer than me. Says he followed Atwood and the Peltons from the church.”
“But I thought he’s Catholic. Why would he be at her church?”
“That is the question, is it not?” Lawson arched his brow meaningfully.
“One of many.”
When Monroe grabbed Lydia’s arm again, Abraham strode toward them. “Hello, Miss Pelton. Mr. Monroe.”
Lydia yanked away and shifted so that Abraham stood between her and Monroe. The scowl on her face eased into a small smile as she addressed Abraham. “I didn’t think I’d see you so soon.”
“It appears that if I want to know what my enemy is up to, I need to stick closer to you.”
