Chapter 27 #2
The gathering was quiet for a moment, then she sucked in a deep breath and continued.
"I decided to deal with the situation the next day since it was already late.
I didn't want to take a chance with the syringe, even though it was capped.
Carrying a syringe around in my purse seemed irresponsible.
So I squirted the liquid into a small, almost-empty vanilla-flavored bottle I had in the kitchen.
I thought I'd see Carl and talk to him privately.
I hoped that when he heard the story, he would understand, and I could return it to him for safe disposal. "
"But it was the festival day," June prompted gently.
"Yes. With the First of June festival, I didn't have time to see him before I had to work in the library booth.” Diane's words came faster now, urgent. "So all day, I had the small bottle in my purse, but I kept my purse with me. I didn't see Carl, and the library booth was slammed all day."
June watched Diane's face as she spoke, seeing the layers of fear, guilt, and desperate hope that someone would understand.
"Then, when I was cleaning up that evening, here came Raymond.
" Diane's voice hardened slightly. "He was his typical self, and I hoped that by going around to the back door with the box of books I had, he would miss me.
But no... he managed to corner me. Taunted me, as usual.
Making sure to call me Diana. Reminding me that he knew the real me.
.." She laughed bitterly. "He didn't though.
He just thought he did because he painted everyone with the same brush that he projected. "
Sara Lee leaned forward slightly, her hand reaching out to touch Diane's knee in silent support.
“He shoved an old newspaper article in my face, saying it was to remind me that he owned me and one day I’d have to pay.” She shook her head. “I didn’t know what he meant, and I wouldn’t take the paper, but he grabbed my purse, I guess to put the paper inside.”
Diane's voice shook now with remembered fear and anger. "I heard the paper rip when I tried to grab my purse back and was fighting with him, but then he must have felt the bottle. He pulled it out, sniffed, and it was as though his eyes lit up as he started laughing."
She looked directly at June, her expression desperate. "I thought, 'This is it. He's going to turn me in.'"
"But he didn't," June said quietly.
"No. In truth, he couldn’t have known it was pentobarbital. He must have smelled the vanilla. Then he took the bottle and slipped it in his jacket pocket and grinned." Diane shuddered at the memory. "That horrible grin."
June leaned forward, her voice gentle but probing. "Did he say anything? Act like he knew what it was? What he was going to do with it?"
Diane shook her head emphatically. "No..
. he just kept grinning and said, 'I know your little secret now. What would the library think if they knew their assistant’s secret of tippling?
" She looked over at Sara Lee. "I didn’t understand what he meant, but then that's when you came over, and he let go of me and left.”
The room fell silent for a moment. The weight of what Diane had revealed hung in the air between them. The air was heavy, complicated, and oh, so tragic.
Diane looked down at her hands, silent for a long moment. June caught Sheriff Gordon's gaze and then Sara Lee's. She knew there was more, but wanted Diane to have the time to get it out before the sheriff made too many assumptions.
"So, he left and you..." June prompted softly.
Diane's head jerked up as though she'd almost forgotten she wasn't alone in the room. She licked her dry lips. "I did nothing." She looked over at Sheriff Gordon, her voice breaking. "I thought you'd come for me."
The sheriff finally spoke, his voice softer than normal, almost gentle. "Why would that be?"
"I assumed… I was sure… he knew there was something in the bottle that I shouldn’t have besides alcohol.
And that he would either blackmail me or go to you and tell you what I had.
I was terrified." Now shaking her head slowly, she continued, "Then... then I heard he died. He’d drunk himself to death and died on the park bench. "
Her face scrunched up, but no tears came this time. "I was glad. I know that's wrong. I know that makes me awful... but he was always so intent on lording things over people. Just the idea that he was gone felt..." She searched for the word. "So relieving."
"Were you worried about the vanilla bottle with the pentobarbital in it?" June asked.
Diane nodded vigorously. "Yes, but then... it never came up. I heard he was poisoned, but I couldn’t imagine…
or maybe just refused to imagine it had something to do with the bottle he’d taken.
Yesterday, I overheard someone at the library mention that Dr. Carl was upset because it seemed that what killed Raymond was a drug from a vet clinic. "
Her voice rose with renewed anxiety. "I panicked again. How did it get in him? Why would he put it in his drink?"
June patted her hand, then leaned back against the sofa cushions.
"I think because he had no idea what it was. He had been drinking heavily all day. His ability to think straight was impaired. He mentioned tippling to you and must have thought you had something to drink. He must have smelled the residual vanilla extract, which has alcohol. Alcoholics will drink anything… even flavored extracts. He probably thought you were carrying your own alcohol or some drink additive in something less obvious than a silver flask. That’s why he referred to you as a tippler. ”
"Oh, God,” Diane groaned. "I should have left it in the syringe!"
"I don’t think so," June argued calmly. "While that is an argument for someone else to debate, I’m afraid that in his inebriated state, he could have done something horrible to someone else.
Instead, he did something horrible to himself.
He must have added the bottle contents to his flask and drank it.
There were no other fingerprints on the flask. "
Sheriff Gordon spoke up, his professional instincts taking over. "But what did he do with the bottle or the rest of the newspaper?"
Finally, Sara Lee spoke, her voice quiet but clear. "Did anyone search the area? At the time, it was thought that he'd probably asphyxiated from drinking."
Sheriff Gordon grimaced, and June could see the regret on his face. "We cordoned off the area around him, but not the whole park."
June nodded. "That made sense, Sheriff Gordon.
There was no evidence of violence. And since we have no idea when or where he was when he poured the drug into his flask, the bottle and the rest of the newspaper could have been tossed anywhere, now cleaned up by our excellent city workers after the festival, or into a trash bin, now taken away. "
They were quiet for a moment, each processing what they'd heard. The tragedy of the circumstances, the terrible chain of coincidences, and poor decisions that had led to a man's death.
Sheriff Gordon cleared his throat. "Well, Ms. Russo, you know I've got to do more investigating, and I ask that you not leave town. I feel certain that I'll have to charge you for mishandling a known drug."
"I understand, Sheriff Gordon." Diane's shoulders rounded in defeat, her whole body seeming to collapse in on itself. “I won’t leave. I have nowhere to go, and Meadowlark Creek has become the only home I know.”
June patted her hand again and said firmly, "Work with the sheriff, Diane. He will be fair with you, and so will the district attorney. And you have all of us to back you up."
Diane's eyes widened, tears threatening again. "But I've messed everything up. My job... My—"
"Don't get ahead of yourself, dear."