Confessions of a Murder Suspect (15 page)

“Actually, Doctor, I’m focusing just fine. I’m thinking
more clearly than I ever have before. And I mean no disrespect, but I think it’s time for you to leave.”

I ushered a stunned Dr. Keyes to the front door and shut it firmly behind her. And only then did I let myself smile, before I turned around and marched back to my brothers.

CONFESSION

You’re probably asking yourself:
What did Dr. Keyes mean when she said, “You,
more than anyone else in this family
, know that emotions disrupt our ability to function and focus”?

After all, isn’t
Harry
the expert on emotions in this family?

It’s a little more complicated than that.

I’ve mentioned that things didn’t go well in the past when I let myself get out of control. When I followed the rules, things were easy. Malcolm and Maud took care of me. Protected me from any adverse force of nature.

These were the parents who never let us go to kiddie birthday parties, for fear that we’d be corrupted by addiction to Disney products or the artificial coloring in the cake icing. As we got
older, boy-girl parties weren’t allowed because, well, our parents were obsessed with protecting us from… distractions.

Especially me. They really believed in me. Don’t tell anyone, but even though Malcolm said Matty could become president of the United States, he told me that
I
would become president of Angel Pharmaceuticals someday. Which, to him, was a far superior position. He believed in me so much that he planned to someday hand over to me the care of his first—and maybe his most beloved—baby. So they would do anything to protect me.

I found that out the hard way.

About a year ago, I did something forbidden. I went to a party that I wasn’t supposed to attend. I guess I was having one of those days when I just wanted to be… normal. Or maybe I was just inspired by Katherine. I don’t want to talk too much about it right now. I can’t.

For now, let’s just say that night at the party was when it all started. When I went astray. I met someone who changed my life. But it ended up hurting me more than I can explain right now.

Wait a minute, Tandy.

Didn’t you just tell Dr. Keyes that you were feeling pain, and that you were glad you were feeling it, and that you weren’t ready to let it go?

Okay.

You’re right, friend. I need to talk about this a little bit more.

The fact is: I might have been in love.

You find that hard to believe? Sometimes I do, too. But then, grieving with Hugo and Harry… somehow that experience stirred other forbidden feelings, hidden in very deep parts of me.

Sensations I’d never felt until that night at the party.

Like the taste and scent of desire, a vibration so deep inside it convinced my scientific mind that the soul was an actual physical organ in my body.

And the stab of a bleeding heart.

I’m still not ready to remember how it all fits together; it’s just too painful. The point is that when Malcolm and Maud found out what I’d done and how far things had gone, they made certain that person would never be able to come near me, or our family, ever again. Even though his family was… Well, let’s just say they held considerable influence. Emphasis on
held
.

My parents risked everything to make sure my whole life wouldn’t be ruined by what happened. They helped me to forget it and move on. They made it all go away. Quickly.

Just like it had never even happened.

32

After Dr. Keyes left,
we felt a little more comfortable just being… sad. Crying. Hugging. And in the case of Matty, who rejoined us after Dr. Keyes’s departure, raging.

Leave it to Uncle Peter to break up the pity party.

He came down the stairs and paused dramatically on the landing so that he was standing ten feet above us. Apparently, he’d been nosing around in my father’s private records.

With his flannel and fleece and flyaway hair and bare feet, he looked almost warm and fuzzy, and yet I knew he was about as fuzzy as a T. rex.

“I have an important announcement,” Uncle Peter said, as though he were the king of New York and not just the
head (in name only) of our household. “Matty, I’ve been going over the private records that your father kept in a special vault at the office. I’ll be turning everything over to the police shortly. Unfortunately, I’ve discovered some rather grave news. The records I found are different from the company’s official records.”

Everyone stared at him blankly.

“Let me be clear about this: Your father cooked the books.”

Matty’s face was unreadable. But I could sure read Uncle Peter. There was something bad in the forecast, and he was about to slit the clouds open and let it pour.

“But you already know about the bookkeeping irregularity, don’t you, Matthew?”

Matty answered in a deep, low voice, almost a growl. “I don’t know what my father’s bookkeeping has to do with me. As far as I know, the only thing my father cooked was food.”

“Well, I’ll spell it out for you, nephew. A sizable chunk of money—$1.7 million, to be exact—somehow slipped off the table, and your father covered it up. However, there’s a copy of a statement from a bank in the Channel Islands, where there is an account containing that precise amount—
and your name is on it
. And that little bit of grand larceny is why your father’s bookkeeping
is
your business.”

“Peter, you’re an idiot. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Matthew said.

“I can read a bank statement. Did your father lend you the money for your gambling habit and then want it back? Did you kill him so that you wouldn’t have to repay the debt?”

Gambling habit? I wasn’t sure what to make of that. I knew Matthew enjoyed a game of poker with his buddies every now and then. Was it something more than that? Something I needed to be concerned about? Because, dear friend, gambling has played an unfortunate role in the Angel family history. But that’s another story, for another time.

Matthew’s smile was flat and, frankly, scary. His sunglasses covered his eyes and I, for one, was glad. Matty said, “You’re accusing me of killing my father?”

“I hate to say it, but maybe I’ve overestimated you, Matty. I wonder what the police will think of that money as a motive for murder.” Uncle Peter had his cell phone out. He punched in some numbers and then spoke into the mouthpiece: “Sergeant Capricorn Caputo, please. All right. Tell him that Peter Angel called, and that it’s very important.”

I clasped my hands together so hard that my fingers went numb. I was kind of dumbstruck. My head was starting to spin.

Hugo jumped to his feet and screamed at our uncle, “You can’t call the police on Matty! He’s your family. That’s just
wrong
.”

Was it wrong?

Why
had
my father given Matty $1.7 million? Since my big brother had started spending nights with his glamorous girlfriend, I realized, I really didn’t know him like I used to.

Could Matty be a killer? I felt like I had been asking myself questions about him more than anyone else since our parents’ murders, and it was getting easier and easier to answer them.

33

Uncle Peter was quickly ejected
from the room by Harry, of all people, who remembered that our uncle hated Brahms with a passion and so started banging out some Hungarian Dances—allegro—on the piano as Peter tried to finish his call to Caputo.

When Uncle Peter stood up to leave the room and complete the call elsewhere, Hugo helped speed his departure by taking a running start and head-butting him. Hugo wasn’t about to tolerate anyone bad-mouthing his hero like that. And the boy is strong. It worked like a dream.

“Okay, now that the vermin is gone,” Matthew said, “we need to talk about something important.”

“What? Do you have new information?” I asked eagerly. “About who might have done this?”

“No. It’s about the funeral.” Matthew swallowed. It was interesting to see him falter for a moment at that word. Then he quickly collected himself and resumed his big-brother-in-charge tone. “We have to figure out who’s doing the eulogy.”