Page 9 of Written in Secret (The Art of Love and Danger)

C HAPTER 9

L YDIA KNEW THERE WOULD BE consequences in delivering her almost-late manuscript in person, but she hadn’t anticipated facing a crowd of picketers. They looked peaceable enough, but they were angry with the publisher. Would they take out their frustration on her, one of O’Dell’s authors? If they knew she was Dupin, they’d likely drag her by the collar to the nearest station—after a good beating.

If her romance novel weren’t in danger of being late, she’d go to the post office and mail it. But if it didn’t arrive by the end of the business day, she’d be in breach of contract, and O’Dell would love nothing better than to penalize her pay. The man was as greedy as a bank thief and as cunning as a squirrel after birdseed.

All this Dupin nonsense had stolen her focus. But she’d never missed a deadline, and she wasn’t about to do so now. Even if it meant turning in the most awful romantic ending she’d ever penned. Marcus Monroe would make her rewrite it, but hopefully this Dupin mess would be behind her by then. It had better be. A dead rat had more life than her creativity, and her new Billy Poe novel was due next month.

She glanced from her manuscript to the picketers and clenched her jaw. There was nothing for it. She’d just have to keep her head down and cut straight through the group. Once she turned in the manuscript, she’d visit the newsstand for the latest on the Dupin investigation.

Mind made up, she exited the hack and braced for insults.

“Well, if it isn’t the clown from the police station.”

That hadn’t been the insult she’d expected. That reporter—Mr. Clemens, wasn’t it?—approached her from the edge of the crowd.

“I almost didn’t recognize you without welts on your face. What brings you to O’Dell Publishing?” His sharp-minded gaze dipped to the manuscript pages in her hands, and he grinned. “Ah, so you’re one of my uncle’s authors.”

“Your uncle?” That wasn’t good. What if Mr. Clemens told Mr. O’Dell of her arrest? Even though the charges were dropped, he could still use it as grounds to dismiss her or, more likely, decrease what he offered her per submission.

“Don’t look so disconcerted. I find it as unfortunate a connection as you, but what can you do about family? I assure you, I have no desire to expose your goat thieving to him. It will be our little secret.” He winked as if they were the closest of chums. “What’s your name? Perhaps he’s forced me to read your books.”

“I’m surprised that an astute reporter such as yourself doesn’t know it already.” If he truly didn’t know, she certainly wasn’t going to provide it to him.

Oddly, he seemed to approve of her. “You are as smart as your characters, Miss Pelton. If you were on the case, Dupin’s identity would no longer be a mystery. Please, allow me to escort you safely inside.”

He looped his arm around hers, guided her through the throng of protesters, and then physically shielded her identity from those hurling insults at them. She expected him to release her once inside, but he remained firmly attached.

“So do you have any suspicions, Miss Pelton?”

“Suspicions of you? What sane woman wouldn’t?” She forced a flirtatious lilt to her voice in hopes of throwing the man off his line of questioning.

His chuckle fell flat. “I was referring to Dupin.”

“Mr. Clemens, I was not expecting you so soon.” Marcus strode toward them. “I’m afraid your uncle is with the police just now, but if you go upstairs, Simon’s wife dropped off a large plate of cookies for the printers.”

Lydia didn’t miss Mr. Clemens’s calculating squint before his face smoothed.

He released her arm and offered a duplicitous smile that many probably fell for. “Marcus knows my weakness for sweets and my dislike of idle waiting. If you’ll excuse me.”

That man was not after a cookie. He was probably sneaking off to eavesdrop on Mr. O’Dell and the officers. That’s what she would do, given the opportunity.

She and Marcus watched until he disappeared around the corner. Then her editor took the manuscript pages from her hands, gripped her elbow, and propelled her toward the exit.

“What on earth, Marcus?” The man had never once treated her so forcefully. Normally he was gentle and kind, even bordering on flirtatious.

“You have to leave. Now. Detectives are questioning Mr. O’Dell, and I’m certain it won’t be long before they discover you’re who they’re seeking.”

Lydia stumbled as her stomach vaulted. He couldn’t know her secret. “But I’m not—”

He stopped pulling her and stared her down. “I’ve edited your and Dupin’s manuscripts since the beginning. Did you think I wouldn’t recognize your writing style or, at the very least, your handwriting? I’ve known Dupin’s identity all along.”

Bile burned in her throat, and she covered her mouth. She was going to throw up. Right here in the middle of the foyer and probably on Marcus’s shoes.

Marcus’s fierce stance eased, and unexpected tenderness further softened his manner. “I’ve done everything I can to protect you. Mr. O’Dell might be too arrogant to believe a woman capable of writing the Billy Poe stories, but he can obviously connect you to Dupin. We cannot allow the police to discover Dupin’s identity. Once they know, so will the papers. Do you understand the danger that will place you in?”

He didn’t wait for her answer. “Clemens has no soul. He’ll feed you to the masses and watch the carnage, all the while writing articles that will ruin your family. Those protesters are just the beginning. There are others who are more menacing, who would love nothing more than to do the same violence to you as has been done to those murdered men. Perhaps worse when they discover Dupin is a woman.”

Definitely worse. She well knew the special dangers that lurked for women. She’d used them as plot points in almost every novel.

Still, a tremor ran through her. Everything she’d feared speaking, he’d given voice to. She wasn’t overreacting.

“Go home. Figure out a story to explain your connection to Dupin. I’ll stall them for as long as I can, but they will come. I want you to be ready to say whatever is necessary to protect yourself.”

She’d never thought to write Marcus as a hero, but here he was, acting the part. Maybe she shouldn’t have turned down his invitations to dinner.

Would kissing the man on the cheek be too presumptuous? Probably. And she absolutely didn’t need any romantic intrigues at a time like this.

“Thank you, Marcus.” She lightly pressed his arm and turned away.

He reached around her to the doorknob. “Go straight—”

“Miss Pelton. What a coincidence. We were just coming to see you.”

While Lydia did not recognize the smooth voice, she did recognize the air of authority and underlying warning not to leave that accompanied it. The police had caught up to her. Too bad she was an author of the written word instead of oral tradition. Her drafts were always a mess before she edited them. Telling the first story that came to mind wasn’t likely to work in her favor, and there would be no changing the words after they escaped. A dreadful reality.

She forced a smile and faced the man who had addressed her.

If his plainclothes suit was any indication, he was a detective. Though his newsboy cap hid his hair, the white and gray of his close-cut beard indicated he was not a young man. That would make convincing him even more difficult. Papa often equated the age of an officer with his expertise in handling liars and crooks.

Her stomach twisted again. Was she really comparing herself to liars and crooks? What was wrong with her? She hadn’t stolen anything.

Except a goat.

And she wasn’t lying.

Yet.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to vomit on the floor.

“I’m Detective Lawson. Would you be so kind as to join me and Detective Hall in an empty office? We have some things we’d like to discuss with you.”

Detective Hall? He couldn’t mean the same man as Officer Hall. The surname was fairly common, so it stood to reason that they were different people. At least she prayed so. It was bad enough he’d arrested her. She didn’t need him investigating her.

However, when Detective Lawson gestured toward the back offices, Officer Abraham Hall stood in the way.

Could this situation get any worse?

Not that Officer Hall didn’t deserve a promotion to detective. From what she could tell, he’d be great at it. But not right now. Not on this case. And definitely not with her as a suspect.

Already disappointment cast a pall over his deportment, as if he knew her secret without her ever saying a word. With a disgusted shake of his head, he pivoted and strode toward the offices.

So much for convincing him that she was a woman of upstanding character. She forced herself forward and prayed her terror at what lay ahead remained hidden.

“You too, Mr. Monroe. As you’ve already seen fit to abandon your post, we have a few questions we’d like you to answer as well.”

“I did not abandon my post. I was still in the lobby. However, if you’ll allow me to lock up, I will take us to the conference room. It has a table that will more comfortably accommodate us.”

Suspicion dipped Detective Lawson’s brow, but he said nothing.

After securing the front door, Marcus placed a protective hand on Lydia’s back and walked alongside her.

Once they passed the detective, Marcus kept his face forward and whispered, “Keep your secret, no matter what they say. I’ll do the same.”