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 ahotel 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
“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 ahotel 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
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