The Happy Birthday Murder

by Lee Harris

  6

  I stared at her, then turned to Jack. This couldn’t be. This was too much of a coincidence. I wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

  “Is something wrong?” Laura asked, looking from me to Jack and back again.

  “Did you ever know a young man named Darby Maxwell?” I asked finally.

  “Can’t say that I did.”

  “He was a resident at Greenwillow at the time your husband died.”

  “The home for retarded adults that moved into Oakwood a few years ago?”

  “Yes.”

  “What I know about them is what I heard from Meg. Her son lived there. I assume he still does.”

  “He does, yes. He’s my cousin. Darby Maxwell was his friend, and he died within a few days of your husband.”

  “What does one thing have to do with the other?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Jack said. He explained how I had discovered that Aunt Meg had known both families and had attended both funerals a dozen years ago, that Darby had apparently been lost in the woods and died of exposure. “Chris just met Darby’s mother recently, and she said when Darby was found he was wearing someone else’s sneakers.”

  “That can’t have anything to do with my husband,” Laura said. “There can’t be any connection. Greenwillow wasn’t even here in town at that time, and Larry wasn’t involved with it.”

  “What color were the sneakers he was found in?” I asked.

  “White. Larry always wore black. And they weren’t even his size. They were too small for him. I don’t know how he squeezed his feet into them.”

  “Darby was found with black sneakers,” I said. “The ones he had on when he got lost were white.”

  We were all quiet for a few moments. I could almost hear our thoughts, feel our tension.

  “I can’t believe there’s a connection,” Laura said finally.

  Then Jack said, “Think about it, Laura. Your husband’s death may not have been a suicide.”

  She had walked into our house a very self-possessed woman, sure of herself, confident, a woman who knew her way around. Now she sat with her fingers touching her lips, her face pale, a tremor moving her head. “I can’t believe this,” she said. “I would love to find out that Larry didn’t kill himself, but what does this mean? That someone may have murdered him? That’s almost harder to believe.”

  “Both men died within a couple of days of each other. Chris has the dates. There are newspaper clippings her aunt kept. Did your husband know anyone in Connecticut?”

  “Well, yes. We have friends there. Why do you ask?”

  “Darby died in Connecticut,” I said. “How many miles did your husband put on his car between leaving you after the birthday party and being found?”

  “I don’t really know. He always put the trip odometer back to zero when he bought gas and he had filled the tank two days before he disappeared, but I don’t know how much he drove in those two days.”

  “But it gives us a maximum.”

  “It was two hundred and some miles. He probably drove less than two hundred while he was away.”

  “Maybe we should start from the beginning,” Jack said.

  “I can’t. This is too upsetting. I haven’t really accepted what you’ve told me. I want to go home and think about it. Maybe we can talk tomorrow, Chris,” Without waiting for an answer, she stood and walked to where she had laid her handbag a couple of hours ago when we were all beginning what we thought would be a friendly dinner party. “Thank you both. It was a lovely evening, at least until a few minutes ago.” She smiled. “I’m so happy to have met you and to have seen what you’ve done with the house. Chris, I will call you tomorrow; I promise. We’ll talk. I just can’t do it now.”

  “Did you tell the police about the sneakers?” Jack asked.

  “It’s so long ago I don’t remember, and I wasn’t thinking straight. I was just trying to get through each unhappy day.”

  “Do you have the sneakers?”

  She looked thoughtful. “I may. I’m not sure. I will look.”

  We walked her to the front door and then out to her car. She gave each of us a hug and thanked us again. Then she got in the car and drove away.

  —

  While we were clearing up and getting the dishes taken care of, I thought of Betty Linton. It wasn’t ten yet and I told Jack I would give her a call.

  A man answered and called Betty to the phone. I told her who it was.

  “Chris, how nice to hear from you.”

  “Betty, I know it’s late to be calling, but something unusual has just happened and I wanted to ask you a question about Darby.”

  “Of course.”

  “You told me he was wearing someone else’s sneakers.”

  “They were black and his were white.”

  “Did you check the size?”

  “I don’t remember doing that.”

  “Do you still have them?”

  “They’re put away, yes.”

  “Would you know if they were Darby’s size?”

  “Yes. I bought clothes for him. I had all his sizes written down. I remember his shoe size was ten D.”

  “If you have a chance, could you check those sneakers he was wearing?”

  “I’ll do it right now. If I don’t call you back tonight, you’ll hear from me tomorrow.”

  “Good thinking,” Jack said when I put down the phone. “This has to be the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  We tidied up the kitchen and went upstairs. Eddie was sleeping soundly. I fixed the blanket and leaned over to kiss him, then went to our room and started undressing. As I was putting on my robe, the phone rang.

  “Chris?…This is Betty. I found the sneakers. They’re size eleven and a half. They’re much bigger than Darby’s. I don’t know how I didn’t notice.”

  “It was a very upsetting time. Thanks for checking.”

  She asked what it was all about and I told her briefly.

  “You mean there may have been foul play?”

  “It looks that way.”

  “How can that be?”

  “I don’t know, but I mean to find out.”

  “I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

  —

  I woke up on Thursday morning feeling very excited. Facts and possibilities were buzzing in my head. I hoped I would hear from Laura Filmore because I wanted to know everything she could tell me about the birthday party and the events that had followed. We had our breakfast and Jack drove off to New York, where he has been working at One Police Plaza since he finished law school a couple of years ago.

  It was a raw day and Eddie and I dressed warmly. He had a new red flannel shirt that he wanted to wear, and I thought this was a good day for it. When he had it on, he went to the mirror in my bedroom to look at himself.

  “It looks great,” I said.

  “I like it. Does Daddy have a red shirt?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe we should give him one for Christmas so you can both dress up the same.”

  “OK,” he said, smiling.

  “Just don’t tell him, OK?”

  “I promise.”

  I wasn’t sure he would keep the promise. He had spilled the beans on a Father’s Day present I had wanted to keep secret, but that was several months ago. Maybe, I thought, he had matured since then.

  We were making his bed when the phone rang.

  “Chris, this is Laura Filmore.”

  “Good morning. I hope we didn’t give you a sleepless night.”

  “It took me a while to fall asleep, I admit that, but I slept well. I found the sneakers Larry was wearing. As I said, they’re white and they look fairly new. The size is ten and I think there’s a D after the number.”

  “That’s the size Darby Maxwell wore,” I said.

  “We need to talk about this, Chris. I have to be at school this afternoon. Is there any chance you’re free to come over this morning?”


  “Will you mind if I bring my son?”

  “Not at all. I have a roomful of toys. He’ll have a good time playing while we talk.”

  “Half an hour?” I asked.

  “Please.”

  —

  The house was brick with stone accents, a fairly grand structure in a section of Oakwood that had large, expensive houses on large pieces of property. Some had pools in the backyards; some had tennis courts. All were landscaped magnificently. Laura saw us coming and had the door open when we walked up the path. She took us to a large room with a playpen, a rocking horse, and about a million toys and games, the room, she said, where her grandchildren played. Eddie was delighted. When he was settled, she and I retired to the room next door.

  “I feel very confused,” she began. “I don’t know what’s going on and I can’t see how my husband’s death can have any connection to the death of the young man you described. Why didn’t anyone see it when it happened?”

  “Because the bodies were found in two different states with two separate police forces and the causes of death seemed clear-cut. Mrs. Linton, the mother of Darby Maxwell, said her son’s clothes were returned to her sometime after the burial. Darby walked away from his mother and friends and disappeared for a long time, a week or so, I think. When his body was found, a determination was made that he had died of exposure. The nights had been cold; he looked as though he’d been out-of-doors. He was found in Connecticut, not far from where he was lost.”

  “And my husband was found here in Oakwood. I see now why you asked how many miles were on his car. Tell me again what connected the deaths of these two people in your mind?”

  “My Aunt Meg attended the funerals of both. Your husband’s was here in town. Darby’s was nearby, because his mother had lived north of here at one time and Darby lived at Greenwillow.”

  “And somehow the sneakers were exchanged. Is it possible that it happened during the autopsies?”

  “I can’t see how. Darby died in Connecticut. The autopsy was up there.”

  “And Larry died here. I see your point. Neither police department had any reason to question the other. I don’t even know if Larry went to Connecticut during the days he was missing.”

  “But he could have, according to the mileage.”

  “This is frightening and distressing. What do you think we should do about it?”

  “I think to start I’d like to hear your story right now, with dates and times and everything you can remember. Then I’d like to get you together with Betty Linton and have you talk this over, see if there’s any connection between your family and hers.”

  “You mean if there’s anyone we know in common.”

  “Yes. Or perhaps your husband and her husband worked in the same place years ago, or something else that I just can’t think of at this moment.”

  “Then let me get started.” She took a breath. “I planned the party. As I said last night, it was Larry’s fiftieth birthday and I wanted to get friends and relatives and other people in his life together to celebrate. I have an invitation here, if you care to see it.”

  I took it from her outstretched hand. It was the same embossed card with brightly colored candles forming a border on all four sides that I had found among my aunt’s papers. I noticed that the address was that of the church in town that we go to, and a reply was requested. A note at the bottom asked that no gifts be given, but contributions could be made to some named charities.

  “I designed the cocktail napkins with the same border,” Laura said, “and the words ‘A Happy Birthday Party for Larry Filmore’ in the center. I had thought of having it in a hotel or some elegant place, but in the end, I felt we were residents of Oakwood, our lives were here, and this was where we should celebrate.”

  “Mrs. Linton felt that way about Darby’s funeral. She lived in Connecticut when he died, but she wanted the residents of Greenwillow to be able to attend. She had it in the church they used to go to.”

  “So Meg, who knew both of them, went to both funerals.”

  “As did Celia Yaeger.”

  “Celia, of course. She would know about Darby because she knew Meg’s son.”

  “That’s right. Go on with your story.”

  “It was a wonderful party. We had about four hundred people, including some who traveled from Europe and Asia to join us. There was a band and a lot of dancing. The music ended at one, and Larry and I hung around talking to friends for another twenty or thirty minutes, although many had gone by then. Our children had been driven home earlier. We had to carry some things out to the car, I remember, a case or two of liquor that hadn’t been used and a bunch of gifts from people who just couldn’t come to a birthday party without one. Then we drove home.”

  “Did you empty the things in the car?”

  She thought for a moment. “No, I think we didn’t. We were really very tired by then. It had been an exhausting day. Larry opened the trunk and took out some of the presents, but he didn’t feel like hoisting the cartons of bottles. So we left them there.”

  “Were they there when his body was found?”

  “I think they were. You can understand they weren’t the first thing on my mind.”

  “Of course. And then what?”

  “We went in, we set the security alarm as we always did, and I think we just went upstairs. No, maybe Larry stopped at the refrigerator for a glass of something cold.”

  “Check the answering machine?” I asked.

  “I doubt it. Everyone I knew in the world had been at that party. Anyway, in the kitchen we would have heard it beeping if there’d been a message.”

  “So you went upstairs.”

  “We didn’t go to sleep right away. As tired as we were, we were very excited. We had seen people we hadn’t seen in years. A friend had flown in from Tokyo for the occasion and there were other people who came from great distances. We got ready for bed and sat in our little sitting room for a while, just talking, rehashing. I was so happy, Chris. It had been such a wonderful evening. It wasn’t the champagne that had made me high; it was the happy memories.”

  “And your husband?”

  “Exactly the same. Larry acted as though it had been a surprise. He hadn’t known who was on the guest list, except for the obvious people, and he talked about how some old friends looked, what they were doing. He told me…” She faltered for the first time and I sat and waited. “He told me how much he loved me.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “But there was nothing of a farewell in what he said. He was looking forward. He said maybe we would return the favor and take a trip to Tokyo to visit our friends there. I think he was just as happy and excited as I was.” She looked away and I could imagine that she was remembering the last happy moments of their life together.

  “I’m sorry this is so painful,” I said. “Perhaps—”

  “No, we have to do this. Let’s see. It must have been at least two-thirty when we went to bed, maybe even as late as three. I had no alarms set. We agreed to sleep in. We turned the lights off and that was it. The night of the happy birthday party was over.”

  What she had told me sounded very ordinary, just what I would expect after a party like the one she had described. It was the next step that I thought would be telling. “Do you think you can go on?” I asked.

  She nodded. “I don’t really know what time it was, but it wasn’t light yet, so it might have been four or five and it couldn’t have been much after six. The nights were getting longer, and I know it was dark. The phone rang. The sound worked itself into whatever I was dreaming, so I didn’t react to the first ring, and obviously Larry didn’t, either. But when I realized someone was calling in the middle of the night, I awoke in fear. Larry’s mother was not young and she had come to the party. She had left early and gone home, but what if she had become ill? I heard Larry answer the phone, but he didn’t say much, just syllables and grunts. When he hung up, he said something like ‘a problem at the plant.’ He had to go.

&
nbsp; “I remember saying, ‘Let someone else go, honey. You need your sleep.’ But he was already out of bed and getting dressed. He said I should go to sleep and he would see me in the morning.”

  “Did your husband own a gun, Laura?”

  She took her time answering. “He did. It was licensed and all that, perfectly legal. He had owned it for many years, but as far as I know, he had never used it.”

  “Do you know where he kept it?”

  “No. I wasn’t happy when he brought it home and I said I didn’t want anything to do with it.”

  “Is it possible he took it with him?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “You never found it anywhere in the house?”

  “I never looked for it.”

  “But it would have turned up if you looked through his things.”

  “I went through his whole chest of drawers after he died, a while after, and it wasn’t there. I wasn’t looking for it, you understand. But I would have found it.”

  “Was there a place in the house he might have hidden it? I’ve heard that people put valuables in the freezer sometimes.”

  “There was no gun in the freezer; I would know. If he really hid it, it could still be hidden.”

  “Did he go directly from the bedroom to the car?”

  “I think so, but I can’t be sure. Once he was out of the bedroom, I couldn’t really tell you where he went. Most of the floors and all the stairs are carpeted, so there’s no noise. He went downstairs and a few minutes later I heard the car pull out of the driveway.”

  I knew what she was thinking, that after that she never saw him again. As she had spoken, I had almost seen what happened, the man getting out of bed, pulling on convenient clothes, sticking his feet into favorite sneakers, saying good-bye, and going down to the car. And how many times after that had she asked herself why she didn’t press him on what was happening? Even now, even a dozen years later, the agony of remembering was all over her face.

  “That was it,” she said. “I never saw him again.”

  7

  We took a break at that point. Laura offered me coffee, but I preferred a glass of juice, as did Eddie, who was having a great time on the rocking horse. The area of the room he was playing in no longer looked as neat as when we had come in, but I decided to leave the cleanup till we were ready to go or I’d have to do it twice.