Page 24 of Bewitched By the Pumpkin Queen

A tremor runs through Mr. Finch's thin frame. "That was nothing. A disagreement over a pocket watch."

I move closer, placing my hand near his on the counter, not touching but offering proximity. "We're not accusing you of anything, Mr. Finch. We just want to find who's doing this before anyone else gets hurt."

The old man's façade collapses like a house of cards. "I'm afraid," he admits in a whisper. "Vincent said someone had been in his house while he slept. Things moved. Nothing taken, just…disturbed. I told him he was being paranoid. You know how the vamps can be—but now—now I know I should have believed him. I haven't slept properly since the bastard died, and I keep wondering if I'll be the next one they find with an empty chest."

"You're not next," I assure him, though I have no way of knowing this is true.

Jasper leans forward, his shadow falling across the counter. "Did Vincent ever describe the intruder? Any details at all?"

Mr. Finch's teeth worry at his lower lip until a spot of white appears. "That's just it," he whispers. “Vincent never actually saw anyone. He noticed on a couple occasions that things moved in his house. He woke up to his reading glasses moved from their normal spot on the coffee table, his welcome mat had slid over an inch to the left, yet he said he hadn’t been home all day. Little things most might overlook, but he kept a tidy house and was very particular about his things. I remember him saying that it was like being watched by the dark itself."

It’s not much to go on, but we at least have a piece of information we didn’t have before…the killer isn't just murdering; they're stalking their prey first, studying them.

After thanking Mr. Finch, we leave his cluttered shop behind. The bell jingles our departure as we step into the crisp October air, dead leaves crunching beneath our feet as we make our way toward the last stop on our macabre tour.

We reach the edge of town where the Moonlit Inn looms—a sprawling Victorian with gabled windows that wink in the afternoon sun. Inside the parlor, Mabel's usual bright smile has dimmed to a shadow of itself as she waves us toward the velvet settee.

"Dan was such a good friend," she says, referring to the werewolf who was the third victim. “His house had been going through renovations, and he needed a place to shift for the harvest moon.”

He was staying in one of the underground rooms?" I ask, though I already know the answer.

The Moonlit Inn's basement suites are legendary among Pennington Falls' supernatural community—concrete-reinforced sanctuaries where werewolves, berserkers, and others with control issues can transform without endangering anyone.

Mabel nods. "The Mauder suite. Completely soundproof. That's why…" She swallows hard. "That's why no one heard anything."

Jasper, leaning against the ornate fireplace, crosses his arms over his chest, “Who else had access to the room besides yourself and Dan?”

Mabel runs a trembling hand over her coral-pink sweater set, worrying the pearl buttons like they’re prayer beads. “Just myself, and the staff.”

"Do you know who else was working the night Dan was murdered?"

“The night clerk, Mattie. And Ruth and Elsa, the housekeepers. That’s it. We keep a log of everyone with a passkey,” Mabel says, “Anytime a key card is swiped anywhere in the Inn, there is an electronic time stamp of which key unlocked what door, and when, along with whichever employee it was assigned to for each shift. The whole point of it is to protect our guests." She sighs, "Fat lot of good it did poor Dan. I handed all those records over to the deputy after they found him."

I make a mental note to visit the sheriff's office tomorrow to check those key card records. Jasper catches my eye, and I know he's thinking the same thing.

“Is there anything else you can think of?” I urge her, grasping at straws. “Anything at all, Mabel. Even something that seems insignificant?”

She shakes her head, then stops and blinks, her eyes flickering with uncertainty. “Well, this probably isn’t important, but now that you mention it, several guests reported seeing a shadow moving past their windows," Mabel says. "I assumed it was just pre-Halloween jitters. This town does encourage the imagination after all." Her expression crumples. "I should have checked on him sooner."

I reach across and squeeze her hand. "Even with all your precautions, Mabel, there was no way to predict this. The blame lies with whoever did this terrible thing, not with you."

Mabel’s watery smile breaks my heart a little. “Thank you, Delia. If there’s anything else I can do—”

I cut her off with a gentle squeeze of her hand. “You’ve done plenty. Take care of yourself, all right?” She nods, her gratitude sincere, and I promise we’ll check in soon.

Back in the car, my hands are trembling, a jittery blend of caffeine and dread.

"So, our killer somehow subdues powerful supernatural beings without leaving a trace, removes their hearts with surgical precision, and disappears without witnesses," Jasper summarizes, with a dry laugh. "Well, that narrows it down a lot.”

Whiskers wiggles his way out of the security of my purse where he’s been riding all day and stretches, back arching like a cat in sunlight. “That narrows it to about eighty percent of the town’s population.”

I sink lower in the driver’s seat, blowing a stray copper curl off my forehead. We have our work cut out for us, but I don’t see today as a total bust. We still got more information than the police.

***

Dusk is settling over our farmhouse like a worn quilt, by time we coast back up the driveway. The porch light flickers on automatically, the result of a simple enchantment I cast a couple years ago when Jasper complained about fumbling with his keys in the dark. Inside the house, I set my keys in their ceramic dish and toe off my boots.

"I'll make tea," I announce to Jasper's back as he heads straight for the kitchen table.