The Happy Birthday Murder

The Happy Birthday Murder by Lee Harris

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Authors: Lee Harris
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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 knoweverything 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

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