The Happy Birthday Murder by Lee Harris Read Free Book Online Page A

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 sparklingcrystal 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.”

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