The Happy Birthday Murder by Lee Harris Page B

the house. We’ve got it fixed so it goes up to her bedroom through a vent in the living room ceiling. There we are. Sugar? Cream? This is great cake. My friend baked it yesterday and I just happened to visit and came away with a nice chunk.”
    It took a while to steer her to the subject, but when we did she remembered the search for Darby and a lot of details that impressed Betty.
    “Our kids were young then,” she said. “My father joined the search party right away. They had a skirmisher line—you know how they walk in a line touching fingers? I don’t think he came home till almost morning.”
    “Do you know where they started from?”
    “Where the boy was last seen, southwest of here. My husband couldn’t join the search because he was out of town when it happened, but I went into the woods back there,” she pointed toward the rear of the house, “and did some looking myself. I never saw any trace of him.”
    “Do you know who found him?” I asked.
    “That was old Mr. Dailey. He’s gone now. He was out with a whole lot of men and he sighted the boy first. At least that’s what they said.” She turned to Betty. “This must be very painful for you.”
    “I need to find the truth,” she said. “Don’t worry about me. Just keep talking.”
    “What can I tell you?”
    “We think Darby may have stopped at a house in the days before he was found.”
    “I don’t think so,” Michelle said. “Everyone knew he was missing. There were flyers all over town, on the school bulletin board; they talked about it at church. I even saw you on television,” she said to Betty. “Why would anyone take him in and then not call the police?”
    “We aren’t sure,” I said. “I thought maybe someone you know might have let something slip over the years.”
    She shook her head.
    “Were there any empty houses or barns in the area at that time?”
    “There are lots of empty barns and some empty houses. I’m sure the police checked them all out. They really worked very hard to find him.”
    “What about the people next door?”
    She wrinkled her nose. “I can’t remember exactly, but I know they usually go away around Labor Day for a few weeks. That happened in September, didn’t it?”
    Betty nodded.
    “They were probably away. They’re a couple with grown children now. He does some computer work and he’s been working out of the house for a long time, from before when it became the thing to do. She does some work at the hospital, in the accounting department, I think.”
    “Are you friends?”
    “We’ve known each other a long time and we get together, but we’re not close friends.”
    “And you think they weren’t home when Darby disappeared.” I made a note in my book.
    “It’s hard to tell. They often drive up the road that way.” She pointed toward the house next door. “We usually go the other way. So if they don’t pass my house, I don’t know if they’re home or not. I don’t really see their housethrough the trees. And frankly, there’s no way they would take in a boy like your son and then just let him go. They’re good people.”
    I asked if she knew anyone named Filmore and she said she didn’t. “Wasn’t there a president with that name?”
    “With two
ls.
This one has only one.”
    “Sorry.”
    We left a little after that. The couple next up the road were Dave and Frannie Gallagher and we drove over to see if they had anything to contribute. The door was opened by a tall man in black corduroy pants, a gray knit shirt, and a black sweater over it. He called his wife, who came into the living room and greeted us.
    “I don’t have much time,” she said. “I’m due at work.”
    “Just a few questions, Mrs. Gallagher.” I explained quickly what our mission was and asked if she remembered what had happened.
    “We were away,” her husband said. “When we came back, we heard about it, but it was all over.”
    “Do you leave your house locked when you’re gone?” I