The Happy Birthday Murder Read online

  “I never knew about your son. I just learned about what happened recently, when I got to cleaning out a carton of Meg’s papers and found a letter from you and some news clippings. I know it was a long time ago, but I’m very sorry about Darby.”

  “Thank you. It was twelve years ago, but when I think of it, which is often, it feels as though it happened just last week. He was such a good boy and he died such an unpleasant death. He must have been so frightened, so cold, so frustrated that he couldn’t find his way home.”

  “I talked to Gene about him after I read your letter. He remembers Darby well.”

  “Thank you,” she said, as though I had complimented her.

  We ate a hot casserole that bubbled as she brought it to the table. There was no wine, which was fine with me, but we drank our water from pewter cups, which were cold to the touch. I turned down her offer of coffee, and when we were finished she took me outside to see the grounds.

  The sun was shining brilliantly and warmed me through the chill air. There was an old chicken coop on the property, long empty, and a small wooden building that once must have housed a caretaker. It would have made a great place for me to do my word processing and to plan my classes and mark my papers.

  About fifty feet away was a pond that Betty said her husband swam in every day of the summer. And all over were flowers and shrubs, and there was even a vegetable garden. Without walking into it, I could see orange pumpkins sitting on the ground amid green leaves and browning stems.

  We went back inside and had apple cider and doughnuts in front of the warm fire. I was sorry I hadn’t arranged to come when Jack could accompany me; I thought he would have loved to see this house.

  “I have a wonderful husband,” Betty said as we relaxed. “The first ten years of Darby’s life were very difficult, and his father simply couldn’t come to terms with a child like Darby. We tried a number of residential institutions, but that only worked until Darby came home for a vacation. And of course, the expense was terrible.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “Finally we split up. I met Brad Linton a few years later and he changed my life. I was very lucky. Except, of course, for what happened to Darby.”

  “Did you meet my aunt through Greenwillow?”

  “Through our sons, yes. I didn’t live in Oakwood, where your aunt lived. We were farther north. But Meg and I managed to have lunch together from time to time. And when Darby died, she was simply wonderful. I lived up here by then and I stayed at her house, as the funeral was where we used to live instead of here, and she saw to it that I survived. I don’t know how else to put it.”

  “Virginia said she saw a lot of Darby.”

  “Oh, she did. She’d have both boys to the house for Sunday dinner on weekends when I didn’t visit. She’d drop in during the week and sit and talk to them. When I married Brad, we moved up here and my visits were curtailed. His father almost never came,” she added sadly.

  “I read the clippings about Darby’s death. It sounded to me as though everyone turned out to try to find him.”

  “They did. They walked through the woods all that night, carrying big lanterns and calling his name. If he’d been there, he would have heard. He must have gone far away, just kept walking in the wrong direction till it was too late.”

  “And circled back,” I said.

  “Yes. He must have. There was nothing anyone could do. I blame only myself.”

  “Oh, no,” I said. “It wasn’t—”

  “I shouldn’t have let him out of my sight. The young man he was with just didn’t understand that the house and grounds were unfamiliar to Darby, that he could be distracted easily, perhaps hearing a bird chirp, or seeing a little chipmunk run through the leaves. I let down my guard and I shouldn’t have.”

  I felt very bad, knowing she lived with this guilt. “It was a terrible accident, Betty. No one was at fault.”

  She didn’t respond. She got up and put a couple of logs on the fire. When she sat down, she said, “There was one strange thing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sometime after Darby died, they gave me back his clothes and the ring he always wore. The sneakers weren’t his. They were somebody else’s.”

  5

  I felt stunned by her gentle, matter-of-fact comment. “What do you mean?”

  “I had helped him tie his laces the morning we went to visit our friends. The sneakers were white and fairly new. The ones they gave back to me were black and much more worn.”

  “Did you inquire about it?”

  “I called the hospital—the morgue is in the hospital—and asked. They said those were the clothes he had been wearing. I spoke to the man who had put them in the bag. For a moment I think he thought I was accusing him of stealing Darby’s sneakers, but I made it clear I thought there’d been a mistake. He assured me there hadn’t.”

  “Did you tell the police?”

  “I couldn’t see any reason to. Darby was gone. He had died of exposure. I was in terrible shape. I could hardly carry on a conversation. I decided he’d found the sneakers somewhere and for some reason put them on.”

  “Were the laces tied?” I asked, remembering what she had said about tying them for Darby on their last morning.

  She took her time answering. “I didn’t see them on him,” she said. “But after all those days and all he must have endured, I expect his own sneakers wouldn’t have been tied anymore.”

  She was right and I didn’t want to pursue this any longer. She was having a hard time maintaining her composure. I dropped the subject and asked if she would show me the house. We took a tour, which I enjoyed very much. When we got downstairs, I asked her if Jack and Eddie and I might visit sometime, and she said she would like that. A little while later, I left.

  All I could think of on the ride home was the mystery of the sneakers. Betty had probably been right: Darby had found a pair of old sneakers somewhere and, for whatever reason, perhaps because his were wet, took his off and put on the others. I tried to think how that could have happened. Who leaves a pair of sneakers out-of-doors? Maybe someone by a swimming pool or a pond. One of the clippings had mentioned a lake. But it just didn’t seem right to me.

  I got back in late afternoon, went to Elsie’s, and sat and chatted for a while. Eddie had brought her a drawing from nursery school, a boy and a woman with green grass and a blue sky. It looked pretty good to me. Elsie was ecstatic. She had already cleared off a space on the front of her refrigerator and put it there with magnets.

  “That’s my picture,” Eddie said.

  “It’s wonderful, Eddie. Is that you?”

  “Uh-huh. And that’s Elsie.”

  “It looks just like her. That’s a terrific picture.” In a way it did look like Elsie. She has a very round face, and that’s what he had drawn. In fact, there wasn’t much else to the figures besides the faces, but that was OK with me and obviously with Elsie as well.

  We went home and I stopped thinking about Darby Maxwell and got to work on dinner. Eddie did a lot of talking and I listened carefully. Some girl in his class had smeared paint on someone and then there was a big fight. It wasn’t clear whether the paint smearing was an accident or had been done intentionally, but the whole incident had made a great impression on my son. I guess the boy who got painted was pretty mad, and I imagined the teacher must have had quite a row on her hands. Although I kept it to myself, I was rather pleased that a girl had been the instigator. There are times when I really believe strongly in equal opportunity.

  —

  “That’s quite a piece of information,” Jack said that evening after I’d told him about the sneakers. “She never told anyone?”

  “No one official.” I sketched out how she had felt during that period.

  “I understand and I sympathize, but I hate loose ends. And that’s one hell of a loose end.”

  “What do you think the police would have done if they’d known?”

  “They co
uld’ve canvassed the area, found out if someone was missing a pair of sneakers. Maybe someone invited him in.”

  “And didn’t call the police,” I said.

  “Or worse.”

  I didn’t want to think about worse. “Well, I knew you’d be interested. When she told me, it took my breath away.”

  “You know, there’s always the possibility that the young man Darby was visiting gave him the sneakers. They may have been up in the kid’s room before they went walking.”

  “It’s so long ago, it hardly pays to ask. And suppose that’s what happened. It doesn’t change anything.”

  “But suppose that’s not what happened. It’s a very tantalizing situation.”

  —

  That would have been the end of it, except that the next time I visited my friend across the street, Melanie Gross, I told her what had happened. Twelve years ago she wasn’t even married, and she bought the house in Oakwood only six or seven years ago, before I moved into Aunt Meg’s house. Still, she’s always interested in the little stories I dig up, so I told her about Darby and the sneakers and my aunt.

  “There have to be a lot of explanations for those sneakers,” she said. “Did I tell you about the time Noah went to school wearing one shoe and one sneaker?”

  I laughed out loud. “No, you didn’t.”

  “I don’t know what he was thinking, but that’s what happened. They sent him to the nurse, of course. Poor nurse gets all the problems no one else can solve. She called and I dashed over with a second sneaker. I nearly died of embarrassment.”

  “I can see why. But you can’t dress them forever.”

  “Hardly.”

  “Mel, do you know a woman in town named Laura Filmore?”

  “Laura? Sure. Marvelous woman. She volunteers at the school a few days a week, helps out with kids who read below grade level. She’s patient and kind and works very hard. You couldn’t pay someone to do a better job. Why do you ask?”

  I went through it all again, the carton, the papers, my aunt’s kindness.

  “I’ll introduce you to her if you’re ever over at the school. You’ll like her.”

  That was the Monday after I had visited Betty Linton. The next afternoon, I went to the school around closing, taking Eddie with me. I told him he would go to this school in a couple of years, and he stood beside me watching the children pour out of the building, run to hug their mothers, and laugh with their friends. They must have looked big and forbidding to him, because he stayed very close to me, holding my hand. Suddenly he caught sight of Sari Gross and he relaxed his grip and pointed.

  “Look,” he said. “There’s Sari. Does she go to this school?”

  “Yes, she does.”

  “It’s a good school,” he said. “But I like my school better.”

  “Right now I think your school is a better place for you. Look; there’s Mel.”

  We walked over and Mel gave Eddie her usual enthusiastic greeting. “Chris, this is Laura Filmore. Laura, Chris Bennett Brooks.”

  “Glad to meet you.” She held out a hand and shook mine. “Mel tells me you’re Margaret Wirth’s niece.”

  “Mommy,” Eddie said, “I want to go home with Sari.”

  “Oh, no,” I started.

  “No trouble,” Mel said. “Come on, Eddie. Let’s find Noah and we’ll all go home.”

  That left me with Laura Filmore. I waved good-bye to my departing son, who couldn’t have cared less at that moment, and walked along with Mrs. Filmore. “Yes, I’m Meg’s niece and I live in the house she owned.”

  “I felt so bad when she died. She was a fine person, a real asset to our community.”

  “Thank you. I learned about you just recently.” I told my story one more time as she listened attentively.

  “That was a very terrible time and Meg was very helpful through all of it, my husband’s disappearance and then his death. But she was that kind of person. I’m glad to see you’re raising a family here in town.”

  “I’ve lived here since I was released from my vows, and my husband moved in when we married.”

  “Oh, yes, the niece who was a nun. I remember now. You used to come and visit.”

  “Once a month so I could see my cousin at Greenwillow.”

  “You are certainly bringing back a lot of memories.” She stopped walking, rested her briefcase on the back of a black car. We had been going through the teachers’ parking lot. “I’m really very glad to meet you. We should get together for lunch one day when I’m not at school. I have to run now if I’m going to get something for dinner.”

  “Would you like to join us tomorrow night?” I asked, surprising myself as the invitation came out. One thing I am not skilled at is dinner parties.

  “What a nice idea.” She smiled. “Yes, I’ll be glad to.”

  “We live on—”

  “Oh, I know where you live. I’ve visited that house many times.”

  “Great,” I said, although I could feel palpitations. “If you come at seven, I’ll have Eddie off to bed.”

  She laughed. “Seven is fine.”

  —

  Jack was stunned. “Just like that you invited someone to dinner?”

  “Just like that is exactly how it happened. I think I said the words before my brain knew what my mouth was doing. I’ve had a lot of second thoughts, but the truth is, I’m glad I did it. I’ll be teaching tomorrow morning, so I can pick up one of those wonderful pies the food service students make.”

  “Make it two pies,” my hungry husband said. “You know, to give our guest a choice.”

  “OK, two.” I elbowed his ribs to let him know he wasn’t putting anything over on me. “But I’m glad I invited her. She’s alone and I’m sure she’ll appreciate a nice hot meal.”

  “As long as it isn’t convent stew.”

  “It won’t be convent stew. I think I’ll make my stir-fry with lots of good mushrooms and those great snow peas.” That’s been my fail-safe meal for as long as I’ve known how to make it, courtesy of Mel, for whom everything works in the kitchen.

  “Sounds good. How ’bout a nice red wine?”

  “That’s your department. I’ll polish up some of Aunt Meg’s good crystal so we can drink it the way it was meant to be drunk.”

  “Sounds like a feast. Hope the lady appreciates it.”

  —

  Laura Filmore arrived precisely at seven, just a few minutes after I had gotten Eddie off to bed. She gave me some flowers and I’m sure she could tell how much I appreciated them. We all sat down in the family room and Jack offered drinks. I declined—I needed my full intellectual powers and energy to get this dinner to come off right—but Laura Filmore accepted a Scotch on the rocks with a little water. I was glad I’d gotten some bottled water for the occasion.

  The first thing she mentioned was how the house had changed. “It was such a small house when I visited,” she said, looking around the spacious family room. “Adding this wonderful room changes everything.”

  Jack, who had initiated the addition, told her about our master bedroom suite right above it, and she commented approvingly.

  “I’m glad you’re so happy here. Meg would be pleased. She loved this house; she loved living in Oakwood. She would be so happy to know that her home has been improved and another family is growing up here.”

  She had a lot of questions for both of us, about how we met and when we moved here and what we thought of some of the projects in town.

  Jack had offered to do the cooking, but I felt this was my show and I had a mental schedule of when everything had to be done so we didn’t sit and get hungry all night. I excused myself at the precise moment and got things going, and I must say, although it was a simple dinner, I didn’t embarrass myself. Everything was ready on time and tasted good. Jack poured wine into Aunt Meg’s sparkling crystal glasses and I was happy once again that I had the opportunity to use them.

  Finally, as the evening went on and we ate our two pies with coffee
, Laura told us a little about what had happened to her husband. “I thought fifty was a great opportunity to celebrate,” she said. “I couldn’t make it a surprise—it was too big and there were too many people involved—although I did have some surprise guests that made my husband very happy. You know, when I sent the invitations, I called it the happy birthday party. That’s how I felt about it. He was truly at the prime of his life. On that night he had—or so I optimistically thought—half again as many years to live, and probably more. How could I possibly have known that he had only a few days to live? And why?”

  Why, of course, was the question.

  Jack leaned slightly toward her. “I’m sure you dug deep trying to find a reason somewhere in his life.”

  “As deep as I could go.”

  “And everyone you know has asked you if you had even the slightest suspicion that something was troubling him.”

  “Everyone from his mother to his casual acquaintances. There were no secrets, either bad or good. His finances were in perfect order. He hadn’t made any promises he hadn’t kept. No mysterious calls ever came either to his office or to our phone at home. It is the deepest sadness of my life that something was troubling him and I knew nothing about it.”

  “I was very sorry to hear about it,” I said. “Reading the notes I discovered and the holy cards made me feel as though it were all very fresh.”

  “Your aunt was wonderful to me, not that I was surprised. She was that kind of person and she’d had her share of troubles.”

  “There was no note?” Jack asked.

  “There was nothing. There was my husband’s body and a gun.”

  “Was it his gun?”

  “I don’t know. It wasn’t registered to him. I think he may have owned one, but we never talked about it. But they couldn’t trace this one to anyone else.”

  “It had a serial number?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Interesting,” Jack said.

  “There was just one strange thing about his body, and I’ve never found an answer to that, either.”

  We both looked at her expectantly.

  “He was wearing casual clothes, slacks and a golf shirt, the same clothes he was wearing when he left the house. But I’m sure the sneakers weren’t his.”