Chapter 22
SARA LEE
The next day, Sara Lee and June finished the breakfast dishes and were ready to head to the library.
Pippi's ears perked up, and she scrambled from her spot under Sara Lee's feet, nails clicking across the hardwood floor as she rushed to the front door.
Mister Smee wandered along the hall, unhurried and unworried.
Her heart did a small flip when she looked through the window and saw Carl standing on the porch. He was wearing jeans and a faded blue T-shirt, his hair slightly rumpled, like he'd been running his hands through it. Even from here, she could see the tension in his shoulders.
"It's Carl," she called out, already moving toward the door.
"I'll give you two some privacy," her grandmother said, and Sara Lee caught the knowing smile as she disappeared back into the kitchen.
Sara Lee opened the door. "Carl. Hi."
"Hey." His smile was strained, not reaching his eyes. "Is this a bad time?"
"No, not at all. Come in."
He followed her into the living room, and Sara Lee gestured to the sofa. But Carl remained standing, his hands shoved in his pockets, his gaze darting around the room without really settling on anything.
She could tell he was upset, and the realization made her chest tighten. She hated the distance between them right now… him standing, her sitting, when what she wanted was to close the space and tell him everything would be okay.
"I should sit," he said suddenly, as if realizing he was hovering. But instead of taking the sofa, he chose a winged-back chair and sat facing her, his forearms on his knees, his hands clasped together.
She was on the sofa, feeling the awkward space between them. Everything felt suddenly so complicated as she shoved down the desire to comfort him.
"I'm no longer a suspect," he said abruptly. "As far as giving Raymond the drug, I mean. I was at the festival all day with people. Then granddad and I were together at his place until late. I ended up spending the night there.”
"Thank God," Sara Lee breathed, relief flooding through her so intensely that her eyes stung with tears. "Carl, I never thought—"
"I know." His smile was brief, grateful. "Thank you for that. But..." He hesitated, then continued. "Someone, somehow, managed to take that syringe from my clinic. I don't know how. The pitiful security footage we have shows nothing. But it happened under my watch, from my inventory."
"That's not your fault."
"Isn't it? I'm responsible for those controlled substances.
For their security." His jaw tightened. "I'm putting security cameras in each room of the clinic now.
And changing the policy so that two people must always enter the drug room together to log in.
That doesn't help now, but it will keep this from happening again. "
She wanted to reach out to him, but something in his posture held her back. He looked like he might crack if touched.
He stood abruptly, and she scrambled to her feet as well. They stood there, three feet apart, the distance feeling both too much and somehow necessary.
"I should go," he said. "I just wanted you to know about me not being a suspect anymore. I thought you'd want to hear it from me."
"I did. I do." The words felt inadequate. She rushed forward. "I'm so sorry, Carl."
He hesitated, his eyes meeting hers finally. For a moment, she thought he might say something more. Then his expression softened slightly as his gaze remained on her.
Sara Lee closed the distance between them and hugged him tightly. He wrapped his arms around her in return, and she could feel the tension in his shoulders, the way he gripped her like she was an anchor in rough water.
"Thank you," he murmured against her hair. "For believing in me."
"Always," she whispered back.
When they pulled apart, his smile was a little more genuine. "I'll see you soon?"
"Yes."
After Carl left, Sara Lee stood in the doorway for a long moment, watching his truck disappear down the street. Her chest felt tight with a complicated mix of relief and worry and something tender that she wasn't quite ready to name.
She found her grandmother now in her study, Mister Smee in her lap, purring contentedly as she stroked his orange fur.
"He's not a suspect anymore," she said, sinking onto the settee.
"I heard," Nana June said gently, her gaze warm. "That's wonderful news, sweetheart."
"But someone still stole that syringe from his clinic. Someone in Meadowlark Creek took what they needed and poisoned Raymond." She looked at her grandmother. "But how? It couldn’t have been planned. And how did they get the poison into Raymond's flask without him knowing?"
In the silence, there were no answers. And Mister Smee just slept on the chair… not offering any guidance.
Nana June stood and said, “We need to head to the library to talk to Diane.”
Sara Lee was reaching for Pippi’s leash when she spied Sheriff Gordon’s patrol car parked at the curb. Her stomach did an uncomfortable flip. What could he possibly want now?
Nana June caught Sara Lee's eye and raised one eyebrow in silent question.
"It's Sheriff Gordon," Sara Lee said quietly.
Nana June smoothed her cardigan. "Well, it’s our day for visitors. The library will have to wait."
Sara Lee opened the door to find him standing on their porch, his hat in his hands, his weathered face looking uncomfortable but determined. Pippi immediately tried to nose her way past Sara Lee's legs to greet him, tail wagging hopefully.
"Sheriff," her grandmother said warmly, appearing beside Sara Lee. "This is a surprise. Come in, please."
He hesitated on the threshold, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I don't want to intrude on your morning. I know I was just here."
"You're not intruding," Nana June assured him. "Come in."
That seemed to help his decision, and he stepped inside. Sara Lee caught Pippi by the collar before the small dog could launch herself at their visitor. Pippi whined with disappointment but settled for sniffing his shoes thoroughly.
They moved into the living room, and Nana June gestured for the sheriff to take a seat in the wingback chair while she settled on the sofa. Pippi planted herself at his feet, gazing up at him adoringly.
"I won't be here long. I just..." He placed his hat on one knee, clearly uncomfortable with whatever he'd come to say.
Sara Lee wanted to jump in and ask about Carl while her grandmother waited patiently, her hands folded in her lap, giving him time to find his words.
Finally, he cleared his throat. "I've begun formal interviews with the suspects. Everyone who had a confrontation with Raymond at the festival. Everyone who might have had a motive.”
Sara Lee's pulse quickened. This was the official investigation, moving forward.
"I see," Nana June said calmly. "How is that going?"
Sheriff Gordon's expression suggested it wasn't going particularly well. "One thing I’ve found, as I have a feeling you have too, is that Raymond had a lot of enemies. A thoroughly unlikeable fellow.”
His lips pinched together. “And, you were right. People clam up when they see the uniform, just like you predicted. The Meltons insisted their family attorney be present. Petunia, who usually talks non-stop about anything and everything, only gave me one-word answers. Jerry and Ivy acted like they couldn’t remember details from just a few days ago.
" He paused, then added with obvious reluctance, "But, Ms. June, they do talk to you and Sara Lee more openly. "
Sara Lee wasn’t surprised her grandmother didn't gloat. It wasn’t her way.
Instead, June simply nodded. "People are more comfortable with familiar faces in familiar settings."
He sighed heavily. "I'm not here to ask you to keep investigating. Officially, I can't encourage civilians to insert themselves into a murder case." He met June's eyes directly. "But I'm not here to tell you to stop, either."
Sara Lee tried to keep her expression from showing surprise as she exchanged a glance with her grandmother. Was he actually giving them permission?
"We appreciate you coming by to clarify that," June said, her voice holding the faintest hint of amusement.
He shifted in his chair. "There's something else. Something I wanted to share with you, since you've been..." He searched for the right word. "Helpful. In your own way."
Sara Lee leaned forward slightly, her breath stuck in her lungs as she waited to hear what he would say.
"The lab confirmed there was pentobarbital in Raymond's flask," Sheriff Gordon said. "Same type that went missing from Carl's clinic. But here's what's interesting… there were no other fingerprints on that flask other than Raymond's.”
A slight gasp escaped. “So he poisoned himself?" Sara Lee's voice rang out, surprise and confusion mixing together.
His eyes widened slightly. "That's one theory. Suicide. Though it seems unlikely given his behavior at the festival. The man seemed more interested in making everyone else miserable than ending his own life."
Even Sara Lee was surprised that she and June hadn't discussed that possibility. She glanced at her grandmother, who sat very still, her expression thoughtful.
"Or," June said slowly, "it was just made to look that way."
He nodded. "That's what I think too. But I don't know how. Someone wearing gloves? That seems unlikely since it was a warm day and people would have noticed someone wearing gloves.”
“And Raymond wasn’t a stupid man,” June added. “He would have been suspicious of someone wearing gloves handling his flask.”
“What if he was drunk?” Sara Lee ventured. When the sheriff looked at her, she continued. “Maybe it didn’t happen until he was drunk in the park that night?”
He grimaced. “Possible. Of course, the bench he was on was right under a lamp, so anyone walking by could have seen them.”
"What have you got so far?" Nana June asked, her tone gentle but direct.
"No one saw anyone with Raymond's flask other than Raymond himself," Sheriff Gordon said, frustration creeping into his voice.
"My deputies and I have looked at photos that people took at the festival…
seems like a jillion of them. And in dozens of photos, you can see Raymond with that silver flask. But never anyone else touching it."
"Very good idea," Nana June said, nodding her approval. "Looking at photographs."
"We've talked to dozens of people. Most with the same story. They saw Raymond, heard Raymond yelling at someone, avoided Raymond. He wasn't exactly Mr. Popularity."
"And your suspects?" Sara Lee asked, her voice tight with nervousness. She was still worried about Carl, even though he'd said he wasn't a suspect anymore.
"The same ones you came up with," he admitted. "Horace, Petunia, Jerry, Ivy—"
Sara Lee watched June carefully as he rattled off the most visible suspects, but her grandmother remained quiet, not adding Helena or Diane to the list. Sara Lee followed her lead and stayed silent as well. Watching Gordon's frustrated expression, she felt sorry for him.
"I honestly came by to see if there was anything you had ferreted out that I haven't found yet." His gaze moved between them, hopeful but also slightly resigned.
Sara Lee wanted to immediately tell Sheriff Gordon everything, but when Nana June remained quiet, she pressed her lips together. If there was one thing she knew, her grandmother didn't do anything without careful deliberation. If she was holding information, there was a reason.
"No, I'm afraid the few ideas I've had haven't come to anything meaningful," Nana June said with a self-deprecating shrug, and Sara Lee had to admire how smoothly her grandmother could redirect without actually lying. "I suppose I've just been chasing non-existent clues."
He chuckled as he stood, replacing his hat. "Well, these things are best left to the experts anyway."
Sara Lee tried to keep her expression neutral, hiding the smile that threatened to appear.
"I'll keep you posted on any developments." He stood, clearly preparing to leave. At the front door, he stopped and turned back to them. "Well, that’s it for now. If you two hear anything, learn anything..."
"We'll come straight to you," Nana June promised, rising as well.
After he left, Sara Lee closed the door and turned to find her grandmother already heading back toward the kitchen, her expression thoughtful.
"Well," Sara Lee said, following her. "That was interesting."
Nana June moved to the kitchen window, gazing out at their back garden, where the sun painted everything gold. "How did the poison get into the flask?" she murmured, more to herself than to Sara Lee.
"Someone gave it to him to pour it in himself?" Sara Lee suggested perching on one of the kitchen chairs.
"Perhaps. But not just anyone."
Sara Lee's mind raced through the possibilities. "So it would have to be someone he trusted. Someone he'd accept alcohol from without question."
"We need to keep digging," Nana June said firmly. “We have so many threads but no pattern.”