“Verona,” I said, “would you mind giving us a moment?”
“Of course. Take all the time you need.” She and Roscoe headed back into the main area of the shop, leaving me alone with Elena and the woman on the screen.
I felt like I’d just seen a ghost.
“Verona was right,” I whispered, heart galloping. “This isn’t Norah. It’s Delilah Pannette.”
Elena narrowed her eyes at the screen. “Who?”
“She’s a witch from Norah’s coven who went missing from the Bay not long after Sophie’s murder. We feared she’d been killed, too, though we never found any evidence of foul play.”
“Looks pretty alive to me,” Elena said.
It was true, but there was something… off about her. When I’d spoken with her at Norah’s house after Sophie’s death, she was understandably upset, but I also sensed a fiery disposition inside her. She was talkative, alert, opinionated. The kind of witch who speaks her mind and doesn’t back down from a fight.
The woman in this video was the exact opposite. She looked like a zombie, with glassy dead eyes, limp hair, and slow, jerky movements.
“Something is definitely wrong with her,” Elena confirmed. The longer we watched the video, the more obvious it became. When Verona rung up the purchase, Delilah struggled to get her wallet from the purse, dropping the card several times. She never smiled, never asked questions, never said more than a few words, despite Verona’s attempts at friendly small-talk.
“She looks like she’s sleepwalking,” Elena said.
“Or under a spell.” My gut told me that was the answer.
Norah was staying out of sight. Whatever she was planning—whether an escape from the country, or something more sinister—she’d coerced Delilah into doing her bidding. Using the credit card had been her first mistake.
Elena and I rejoined Verona at the register, tablet in hand.
“Would you mind if I forwarded myself a copy of this footage?” I asked.
“Of course not,” she said.
“Do you remember what she purchased?” Elena asked. The camera angle hadn’t really allowed for a clear view of her items. “Or if she said anything about what she needed the items for? Maybe when she first arrived at the shop?”
Verona shook her head. “She knew right where everything was, got it all gathered up so quickly I’d barely had time to ask if she needed help. I offered her tea, but she declined.”
“But what did she buy?” I asked, at the same time Elena said, “Did she say anything about Norah Hanson, or where they might be heading?”
Verona hesitated, clearly uncomfortable at the sudden barrage of questions. “I’m sorry, detectives. I don’t typically disclose information about client purchases. Some of the items we carry are rather sensitive in nature, as I’m sure you can imagine.”
“Of course,” Elena said, backing off. “We’re just trying to do our jobs.”
“Anything you can share would be a big help,” I said.
Verona put the tablet back under the counter, then knelt down beside Roscoe, scratching his ears. The dog sighed happily, his tail swishing across the hardwood floor.
“What is this about?” she asked. “Has this Norah woman committed a crime?”
Elena and I exchanged a quick glance. After a beat, I nodded. Verona was a witch. She could be in danger. She had a right to know what was happening. Besides, maybe if she heard some of the gruesome details, she’d be more willing to share intel.
“Norah Hanson is wanted for questioning in connection with the disappearance of a teenaged witch from Blackmoon Bay and is a suspect in the kidnapping and murder of several others,” I said, “including the woman seen here using Norah’s credit card. The two may be working together, or there may be some sort of coercion going on, but it’s clear that something is not right about the situation.”
“But… you said Norah was a coven leader,” Verona said. “You believe she’s killing her own witches? That seems highly—”
“Ma’am,” Elena said, the last of her patience finally snapping, “I appreciate your desire to protect your clients’ privacy, but this is a police matter. If you’re not comfortable volunteering information, I can go through more formal channels, but quite frankly that would be a waste of your time and our department resources.”
Verona stood up, her mouth pressed into a grim line, her green eyes revealing nothing. They matched the aventurine stone, I realized now.
“We’re talking about a child,” I said gently, good cop to the rescue. “A runaway who was taken in by a very powerful witch, and possibly imprisoned and harmed as part of a larger crime we’re only just beginning to uncover.”
