Free Confessions of a Murder Suspect by James Patterson Page B

occasional impulse to leave out facts, like the ambassador’s visit.
    “Your momma and poppa were having an argument,” Mrs. Hauser told me. “I was in the elevator with them, and they were very tight-lipped because I was there. But when I got out on this floor, they started shouting, and I could hear them right through the doors.”
    This was interesting. “What was the fight about?”
    “Your father was saying that he was rearranging the finances and that was that. Your mother called him a name.”
    “Is that a quote, Mrs. Hauser? Exactly what he said?”
    “Precisely.”
    “And Maud called him a name?”
    “I’m afraid she did.”
    “What was the name she called him?”
    “Oh, Tandy. I don’t want you to think ill of your parents. I probably should have kept my foolish mouth shut.”
    “I’ve never thought of you as foolish,” I said. “You’re one of the wisest people I know.”
    Mrs. Hauser is neither the smartest nor the most foolish person I know, but I would have told her she was smarter than Marie Curie if it meant she would tell me what my mother had said.
    “I’m sure they apologized to each other before they died. They must have.”
    “I’m sure they did, Mrs. Hauser,” I said. “They were very forgiving. Please just tell me what my mother said.”
    “Maud called Malcolm a
boob
, Tandy. That’s exactly what she said.”

27
    “
No, please, Mrs. Hauser.
I can find my way out. This has been really helpful. Thank you.”
    I left Mrs. Hauser sitting in her silky purple cloud under the springbok so that she didn’t have to battle her arthritis just to walk me to the door.
    But her words accompanied me, and although I didn’t doubt her, it was hard to picture my parents fighting in public. And even harder to imagine my mother calling Malcolm a
boob
.
    If I were a normal girl, it might even have made me laugh just a little. It sounded so…
immature
. Malcolm was one of the smartest men in the western hemisphere. Even when he was wrong, every decision he made was wellthought out and reasoned. My mother must have been truly furious. So the word
boob
was nothing more than a clue that didn’t lead anywhere.
    Next I spent some time turning over the phrase
rearranging the finances
.
    Had my parents’ fight centered on Royal Rampling, the man who was suing my mother for fifty million dollars? His name gave me serious twists in my stomach. I can’t even begin to explain why. But the fact is, if my father thought that we might lose the lawsuit, “rearranging the finances” could have been a way to protect the family from a crushing financial blow.
    Then I had another thought.
    Did this have something to do with Uncle Peter and the company he and my father owned? I thought about what Caputo had asked Samantha:
Who stands to benefit from the deaths of these people?
    Samantha didn’t know, and even if she did, she would die before she would discuss my parents’ private business. But honestly, it was obvious that my uncle Peter had the most to gain. With my father’s death, he would become the sole head and major stockholder of Angel Pharma. That would
not
be small change.
    As far as I knew, Uncle Peter didn’t have a key to our apartment. And if he had come to the apartment late thatnight, Maud would have thrown him out of her room, not knocked back a shot of poison.
    I closed Mrs. Hauser’s door and pushed the elevator call button. The doors opened immediately, and inside the elevator was another of our neighbors.
    His name is Morris Sampson, and I hate him.
    I don’t use the word
hate
lightly. In fact, I can’t think of another person I hate as much as Morris Sampson.
    If hate could kill, Morris Sampson would be
dead
.

28
    Despite the obvious excuse
I could have used to avoid Mr. Sampson—that I was traveling back up to my apartment instead of down to the lobby—I stepped into the elevator and said hello. I knew I couldn’t miss an opportunity to interview another one of our neighbors,