“Next.”
Lydia stepped to the window and cast a sidelong glance at Abraham. Papa had signed for her to open the bank account, but not even he knew how much she’d tucked away between her thirteen romance and nine mystery novels’ payments. “I’d like to withdraw three hundred and forty dollars in large bills, please.”
She couldn’t miss the surprise on Abraham’s face when the cashier slid the money and a receipt with her remaining balance through the opening in the wire wickerwork grate. Even after such a large withdrawal, she had over two thousand dollars to her name. With no real expenses, she’d been able to save most of what she earned. She’d dreamed of surprising her future husband with it, so they could buy a house somewhere between her parents’ and Theresa’s. Her account wouldn’t grow after today, but it would still suffice for at least a modest home.
Lydia stepped aside, separated the money into two folded stacks, and tucked them into her reticule. She delayed facing Abraham’s unspoken response to her wealth by playing with the purse strings. “It’s the advance for two books as well as interest. I know Mr. O’Dell well enough to be prepared for his demands.”
“Come along. That sum alone is enough to make someone target you.” He guided her toward the side exit.
Not two steps later, a familiar voice spoke from behind them. “I see the killing business pays well.”
Lydia swung around to face Mr. Clemens and a companion, who eagerly pulled out a notebook and pencil.
“Put that away, Egleston. This story’s mine.” Mr. Clemens appraised her like one might a roast at the butcher’s.
Her mouth dried at the hunger she saw there. Whether Billy Poe or not, the man’s ambition scared her more than the tiger at Adam Beadle’s circus. Abraham pulled her closer to himself, and she scooted until his strong frame supported her whole side. Maybe his scent would transfer to her and force Mr. Clemens outside.
“Not this time. I need the story more than you do.” His companion cut in front of him.
“You steal this one, and I’ll ensure Josephine knows that you borrowed money from me to pay your gambling debts.”
“Committing blackmail in front of an officer, Clemens? I thought you were smarter than that.” Abraham reached into his coat as if fishing for his handcuffs.
Mr. Clemens raised his hands in surrender. “Egleston, the story’s yours.”
The man smiled and immediately scratched out a few lines on his notepad. “So, Miss Pelton, have you discarded Billy Poe’s affections for another?” He eyed Abraham’s proximity to her.
Mr. Clemens scowled. “Must have, if she’s insisting on standing that close to a man who smells like he belongs in a morgue.”
Lydia lifted her chin. If she was going to be in the newspapers, she would provide information for her benefit. “Detective Hall is escorting me for the sake of protection. I am on my way to break my contract with Mr. O’Dell. There will be no more Billy Poe novels.”
“What?” Mr. Clemens’s voice echoed off the stone walls.
“This is marvelous! I’m finally going to undercut you with a story and win a spot on the front page.” Mr. Egleston scribbled furiously. “Why the change of heart?”
“The Billy Poe I created is not the brute who claims his persona. I can no longer, in good conscience, write stories that twist justice into vengeance.”
“Some of those men deserved their deaths.” Mr. Clemens stepped forward.
Abraham shifted her behind himself, but she peeked her head around to continue talking.
“It is not our place to serve as judge, jury, and executioner. We must abide by the decision of those God has placed in authority, even if we don’t agree. He has His reasons.”
“I’d like to see if you still hold that opinion when a crime has been committed against you.” Hostile intent burned from Clemens’s eyes, and the hair on the back of Lydia’s neck lifted.
Lydia ducked back behind Abraham and grasped his jacket. Best to leave the situation to an officer of the law.
“That is enough. Egleston, you’ve got your story. Clemens, remove yourself from the premises or be charged with disorderly conduct.” This time, Abraham really did remove his cuffs from his coat—their clinking sounded as threatening as his words.
“I haven’t done anything to warrant that, and you know it.”
The way Abraham leaned forward, Mr. Clemens must have done the same. She peered around the room, and patrons observed with open curiosity. Whispers and fingers pointed at her indicated she was no longer a nameless customer. She and Abraham needed to leave before someone other than the reporters decided to approach them.
Egleston gushed over the display. “Won’t this be a juicy piece to add to my story. You squaring off with her new lover. Excellent.”
“I am not her lover.” Abraham’s words were sharp and unyielding. “And I’ll not have you slander her or my reputations.”
“Then I’ll use the termbeau. People can make of it what they want. All that matters is, Poe’s lady love has dropped him and his books.” Egleston snapped his notebook closed and darted out the door.
