“Good. I’m on my way to inform your father of your situation. Is there anything you need before I leave?”
“A promise that I’ll see you again?” She batted her lashes like the ladies in novels and immediately felt foolish. Did women really behave this way, and did it really attract a man?
Next to her, Theresa giggled and then whispered, “More research?”
Officer Hall frowned. “That, I cannot give.” Then he retreated out the door like Jonah avoiding his calling to Nineveh—with all haste.
Theresa burst into full-fledged laughter. “I think you’ve discovered how to make a man run away.”
“At least an upstanding one.”
Lydia refreshed the rag and endured an interested side-glance from Officer Blythe. Based on the hopeful gleam to his smile, he expected her to flirt with him too. The man would have to live with disappointment. She’d had enough uncomfortable interactions with men who took too much encouragement from her playful research. Officer Hall, however, had felt strangely safe from the moment she’d crashed into him. If a person could really determine such a thing in such a short time.
She settled onto her chair and under the rag. Perhaps she could finish plotting a Detective Darcy story by the time Papa arrived.
Unfortunately, plotting couldn’t distract her from the intensity of her itching. By her dozenth trip to the bowl at Officer Blythe’s desk, the water had warmed and failed to provide sufficient relief.
The foyer door rattled before opening. A thin woman in bedraggled clothes and reeking like she’d fallen into a keg staggered toward Officer Blythe.
Nowtherewas a potential character for her books. Lydia discreetly held her breath as she lingered over the water bowl, repeatedly dipping the rag and then wringing it out.
“I demand”—the woman stumbled but caught herself—“Idemandto sh-sh-shpeak to … to the de-de … officer in charge.”
By the sounds of it, the woman hadn’t just fallen into a keg, she’d drunk her way out of it as well.
To his credit, Officer Blythe didn’t lean away when spittle flew at him. “Are you here to report a crime, ma’am?”
“Report it?” She slapped the desk and leaned forward so far, she almost lay down on it. “You’ve known ’bout it for weeks. Dupin killed my boy!”
Lydia dropped the rag.Dupin?But that was impossible. E. A. Dupin was just a pseudonym.Herpseudonym, and the only people she killed were fictional.
Officer Blythe straightened. “And you would be?”
“Mrs. Finn. My boy’s Daniel Finn—”
“Daniel Finn?” Lydia’s whole body turned to ice. “The same Daniel Finn who slaughtered a man for cheating at cards?” The one on whom she’d based an entire Billy Poe novel?
Mrs. Finn spun and tottered toward Lydia. “My boy weren’t no murderer. He was tried and ex-ex … let go.”
Yes, because of “missing” evidence and a key witness who refused to testify thanks to Mr. Finn’s backdoor political connections. The entire city had been in an uproar. But what could the honest citizens of Cincinnati do? It was well-known that the city’s leaders controlled the elections, regulated the police force, and manipulated judge and jury alike.
So Lydia had used the only means available to give the public what they desired—she’d written a story where Daniel Finn met an untimely end while under investigation by Detective Billy Poe. It was a poor consolation compared to real justice, but that didn’t mean she wanted therealMr. Finn dead.
This had to be a misunderstanding.
“And you’re saying your son has been murdered by E. A. Dupin? Theauthor?”
Officer Blythe cut around the desk and stepped between them. “I am afraid that is an ongoing investigation. Anything said is pure speculation.”
“‘Speculation,’ my foot!” The woman jabbed a finger at his chest and lost her balance, landing on the floor. “Billy Poe himself left a letter claiming the deed, and Dupin wrote Billy Poe. Since Poe ain’t real, it has to be Dupin. Why ain’t he arrested yet?”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Finn, but go home. You can visit Central tomorrow, when Detective Lawson is available to answer your questions.”
She spat on his shoes before pushing to her unstable feet. “Forget it. I’ll take care of Dupin myself.” Threat after vile threat against Dupin spewed from Mrs. Finn as she weaved through the exit.
Heavens above! What would Mrs. Finn have done if she’d known the real E. A. Dupin stood next to her?
Lydia turned to Officer Blythe. “Is it wise to allow her to leave?”
