“What’s wrong?”
“Just . . . come. If you can.”
I put the phone back in my pocket.
“Something’s up with Diana. I need to get over there.”
“I’ll deal with the dogs. They aren’t going to want to go home yet.”
I nodded and walked back toward the house, sure I hadn’t imagined Seth’s relief at his temporary reprieve from questioning.
22
I hadn’t spoken to Diana since her spell-casting the night before. She’d sounded panicked on the phone so I chose to drive the five blocks instead of walking. I pulled onto her street and saw a police cruiser outside her house. My mind raced and dire thoughts came unbidden. Maybe they had more evidence. Maybe there was a break in the case. The car wasn’t Mac’s; I was pretty sure it wasn’t the one Tom usually drove, either.
I parked in the street, behind the cruiser, and took the steps two at a time onto Diana’s porch. I knocked and bounced on my toes, both because it was cold and because I was anxious to find out what the police were doing there.
Diana’s face was pale and drawn when she pulled open the door. I started to worry that Dylan had been hurt.
“Diana, who’s here? Are you okay?” I stepped inside and gave her a brief hug.
Diana nodded. I assumed that meant she was fine.
In the living room, I saw Charla sitting stiffly on Diana’s couch. We nodded to each other.
“Come in, Clyde. You should hear this as well.” Diana led me into her living room. “Charla was just telling me that things are not looking good for Dylan.”
“I shouldn’t even be here.” Charla stood up. “I just wanted to prepare Diana for the worst. With the hearing today and the evidence we have, I think they’ll end up pursuing the case.”
Charla didn’t let things get to her. I felt my own anxiety rising as I thought about what would be bad enough for Charla to break the rules and come to Diana.
I sat in the armchair. “What is it, Charla?”
“Diana can fill you in. I really need to get going. I don’t want the neighbors gossiping about my car out there in the street. You kids are going to have enough trouble in the next few days.” She quickly made her way out the front door and down the steps.
Diana sat with her head in her hands. She shook her head and looked at me. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Tell me what’s happened.”
“Charla came to tell me to prepare for a court case. She said if Dylan pleads not guilty they will have to go to court and the evidence against him is mounting.”
“What can they possibly have? He didn’t do it. You and I both know he’s not a killer.”
She nodded. “I know. She said the EpiPen had been drained of medicine and the needle was snapped off.”
“That’s why the medicine didn’t work. No epinephrine was delivered.” I remembered Daron saying he hadn’t heard a click when Diana administered the medicine.
Diana nodded. “I didn’t notice it at the time. I’d never given him an injection. I was so upset about how bad he looked that I just took the pen out and jammed it against his leg.”
I reached over and squeezed her hand.
Diana looked up to the ceiling, her eyes welling over with tears. “He never had a chance. Someone deliberately damaged his medication and then exposed him to peanuts.”
“Dylan wasn’t even there that night,” I said. “How could he have done it?”
“They have his fingerprints on the EpiPen, at least on the outer casing. The pen itself was wiped clean—all they found were my prints on that part.” Her head dropped to her hands again, orange curls obscuring her face. “I don’t understand.”
This made sense based on what Daron Pagan had told us. The pen comes in a case to protect it from accidentally releasing the needle. When ready to inject, the cap is removed and the pen has to be quickly and firmly pressed into the victim’s thigh. I had seen Diana do that. Daron said there was no click of the needle popping out of the pen. I would expect Diana’s prints to be on the pen, but anyone else who had handled it should have left prints as well.
“Is that all they have? He could have touched that casing anytime.”
“Charla says the evidence points to Dylan tampering with the EpiPen prior to that night and then doctoring the bread I made so that there were peanut allergens in it.”
“What does that mean, ‘peanut allergens’?”
Diana shrugged. “I guess there weren’t any actual peanuts in the bread after all. There was some sort of peanut oil on the bread. Rafe was very allergic. That must have been enough to trigger an allergic response.”
I nodded, remembering that Alex had said the oil would have to be special. Perhaps that could help Dylan. I hadn’t known there were different kinds of oil, maybe Dylan didn’t, either. Of course, how would he prove a lack of knowledge?
I needed to research peanut allergies and find out more about what happened that night. In the meantime I had to calm Diana and come up with a plan to get Dylan out of jail.