Page 63 of June's First Murder
Slowly, Diane nodded. June stood and moved to the door, opening it to reveal Sara Lee standing on the porch and Sheriff Gordon climbing out of his patrol carat the curb. The lights were off since he'd had the sense to come quietly, without dramatics.
"Sheriff Gordon. Sara Lee. Please come in. Diane and I were just beginning to find out more about what has been happening."
They entered quietly. Sara Lee's face was tight with concern as she sat on the sofa next to June. Sheriff Gordon glanced around the small room and then walked over to the kitchen table. He carefully reached for one of the kitchen chairs and carried it closer to the others. He settled into it with a slight creak, his large frame making the delicate chair look almost comically small. Once settled, he looked over at June, his expression carefully neutral.
June caught his eye and gave the briefest shake of her head, offering a silent message for him to let her handle the situation. To his credit, Gordon nodded slightly and sat back, his hands resting on his knees.
June turned back to Diane and spoke calmly. "I've been thinking about that day at the vet clinic. When Helena called you to pick up Lucy after Scarsdale was euthanized. You went inside to find her, didn't you?"
Diane nodded, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.
"Why don't you tell us what happened? From the beginning."
Diane took a shaky breath, then began. "I asked the vet receptionist where Lucy was, and they said she was in the grieving room. It's the small room to the side where they perform..." She paused, swallowing hard. "Euthanasia. It... it allows owners to grieve and be ableto slip in and out without everyone in the lobby seeing them. The veterinarian and techs can come and go from the back also without everyone in the lobby being privy to the owner’s grief.”
"That's a lovely idea," June said, nodding encouragingly.
"Yes..." Diane's voice grew steadier as she talked, as if telling the story gave her something to focus on besides her fear. "We had one at the clinic where I used to work." She paused a moment, then continued, "I went inside the room, thinking that Lucy would be there, but the room was empty. I saw Scarsdale's blanket and Lucy's purse still on the table.”
June could picture it… a small, quiet room designed for private grief.
"The door leading to the back was open,” Diane continued, her voice dropping, "and I realized that Lucy must have gone back with the techs and Dr. Carl. I hesitated... I had no idea what to do, but it didn’t feel right to leave her purse unattended. So, I grabbed her purse and swept his blanket up off the counter. I’d just gone through the door, back to the lobby to find out where she was, when Lucy came out. She was so distraught."
Diane's own tears started flowing again at the memory. "I dropped everything in my hands to the floor and just hugged her for a while. She was sobbing. Just... broken. She told me that he had passed away in her arms. He knew it was his time, and in the arms of his beloved Lucy, he died.”
June opened her bag and pulled out a packet of tissues, handing them to Diane. The younger womanlooked surprised but took them, murmuring her thanks. June offered a small smile, then murmured, “Just something we older women always seem to have in our purses.”
Diane nodded, then wiped her eyes and blew her nose. When ready, she said, “Then I scooped her purse and Scarsdale’s blanket up from the floor, and Lucy and I made it to my vehicle. I took her home and stayed with her since her husband wasn’t home yet. He was on his way and asked if someone could stay with her. I fixed her some tea, sat with her for a while, then Helena came by."
She paused, her hands twisting together again. June knew that this was the crucial part. The moment everything changed.
"Once I got home," Diane said slowly, "I discovered Scarsdale’s blanket was still in the backseat. When I picked it up, a syringe fell out. The liquid was pink, and I recognized it immediately. Pentobarbital. For euthanasia."
Sheriff Gordon shifted slightly in his chair, the wood creaking. June gave him another barely-there shake of her head offering another silent plea.Not yet. Let her finish.
To his credit, he settled back, though his jaw tightened.
"I had no idea what to do," Diane continued, her voice rising with the remembered panic. "I had technically stolen the syringe... inadvertently, but nonetheless. I came inside to think. What do I do? The clinic was already closed for the day. I knew I couldn't just disposeof it without finding out the right way because of the nature of the drug."
She looked at Sheriff Gordon, almost pleading for understanding. “I know now that sounds stupid. I could have called Carl, but I didn’t have his number. To call and ask someone for it would have raised questions. Now it might make sense, but that night, I was so afraid.”
He leaned forward and finally said, “I don’t understand why you were so afraid.”
Diane’s gaze shot to June’s, and she nodded.
June turned to the sheriff and said, “We learned earlier that Diane was once sentenced for embezzling years ago.” Before he could speak, she held up her hand. “She served her time and probation. She is a free citizen now, living in our town, and should be afforded the same rights as anyone else.”
“Of course,” he sputtered, still appearing frustrated that there was more he didn’t know.
“That’s why I was afraid,” Diane cried. “My mind was running rampant. I was… was… just stupidly confused about what to do with a controlled substance in my possession.”
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 tohim 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.
