Confessions of a Murder Suspect

52

Samantha had also spent the previous night in The Tombs. She had since washed her hair and changed her clothes, but there were inky circles under her eyes, as if she’d stood with her back to the wall all night, fearing for her life.

Which was okay with me. According to what I knew of police practices and procedures, a suspect under pressure was a suspect more likely to tell the truth.

And I would accept nothing less.

When Samantha sat down in the living room, I held up the locket, letting it swing so that light bounced off the diamond.

“I found this in your room,” I said. “Recognize it? I’m sure you do. The inscription says ‘Sammy, love forever—Maud.’ That’s pretty mushy for my mother. In fact, it’s so unlike her that I’d like you to tell me what she meant.”

“I don’t like your tone, Tandy. It’s none of your business, and furthermore, it was very, very wrong of you to pry into my personal things.”

“This is one of those situations where the ends justify the means, don’t you think, ‘Sammy’?”

Samantha heaved a long sigh. She tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling over the fireplace until I said, “Well?”

“Okay, Tandy, okay. You’re right,” Samantha said. “Your mother and I… had a relationship. It just happened… and both of us were taken by surprise. But the longer it went on, the more we realized we loved each other.”

“There’s a difference between loving each other and being in love.” I was surprised by the authority with which I said it. Katherine had told me that once, I guess. “Which was it?”

“We were in love,” Samantha said. “We never wanted any of you kids to know.”

“I’m going to run away and join the circus,” Harry said to his shoes. “Wait—I already live in the circus.”

I pressed Samantha. “Who knew about your relationship? Did Malcolm know you were involved with my mother, Sammy? Did you know anything about my father and Tamara Gee?”

“I found a great place to live,” Samantha said, changing the subject. She swept her long hair back with her hands. “It’s a studio on Ninety-second and Amsterdam. I can see you whenever you like. I can babysit Hugo. I’d like to do that, actually—”

“What were your plans before the murder?” I asked her. “Yours and Maud’s?”

“We didn’t have any plans. Hugo is still young. We would never have done anything to hurt anyone. Please don’t ask me any more questions, Tandy. I’m grieving. I feel gutted. I don’t expect you to understand or even to care, but please respect what I’m going through. To be quite honest, I’m the only one here who’s really lost someone they deeply loved.”

Ouch. I resisted the strange and sudden temptation to slap her. I know what it feels like to lose someone you love. How dare you…

Then: Deep breath in through the nose. Out through the mouth.

“Actually,” I said calmly, and the words sounded and felt strange even as they were coming out of my mouth, “I do care.”

As if on cue, Hugo came through the front door, with Philippe Montaigne right behind him. Hugo had on the same clothes he’d been wearing when we were sent to jail: cut-off jeans and an orange LIFE IS GOOD T-shirt with the secondary slogan ENJOY THE RIDE. He also had a black eye.

Phil said, “He ran away from the unsecured detention in Midtown and went looking for Matthew. The police found him sleeping on the grass in Bryant Park.”

“I’m starving,” Hugo said, grinning as only a ten-year-old can. “I could eat an alligator. The whole thing. By myself.”

I had to agree with Harry. I did already live in the circus. And it was a five-ring affair.