Page 38 of Bewitched By the Pumpkin Queen

Something flickers behind his chocolate-brown eyes. Annoyance, surprise maybe, or the ghost of appreciation, but he nods once, then turns toward Millie's porch.

"Goodmorning, Millie!" I call out, forcing cheer into my voice as we approach.

Millie looks up from her crocheting, a smile warming her face. "Delia! Jasper! What a lovely surprise." Her gaze shifts to Jasper, and her eyebrows lift slightly. "How the renovations coming along? I’ve missed the market this year!"

Right.

Our cover story.

“Oh, you know Jasper. All or nothing.” I say smoothly.

"We were just passing by and thought we'd check in. Have you by chance seen Sabrina today?"

Millie's smile fades slightly. "Now that you mention it, no, I haven't. Which is odd. She always waves goodbye when she leaves for her breakfast with Caroline." She glances toward her neighbor's house, concern etching lines around her mouth.

The unease in my gut solidifies into dread. I exchange another look with Jasper, whose jaw has tightened almost imperceptibly.

"I think we’ll go check on her. Just to be safe." Jasper gives Millie a reassuring wave.

"Here, dear. I've got a spare key somewhere…" She begins to rise from her chair.

"No need," Jasper interrupts. "You stay here. We'll just knock first."

Millie settles back, her fingers resuming their rhythmic work with the crochet hook. "Such good people," she murmurs. "Do let me know if something's wrong."

We move away from Millie's porch, heading across the shared garden toward Sabrina’s cottage. Whiskers darts ahead, disappearing around the side of the house.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," I whisper to Jasper.

"Me too," he replies, as we edge up the short flight of steps toward the front door "Stay alert."

My hand trembles as I raise it to knock.

No answer.

Whiskers reappears, his eyes wide with urgency. "Back door's ajar," he reports, "And there’s blood."

Jasper sniffs the air, “He’s right, I can smell it, but barely. Millie is wearing her perfume a bit thick today.”

The back door creaks open at my touch, swinging inward to reveal a darkened kitchen. “Sabrina?” I call out softly, though a part of me already knows she won't answer.

The kitchen is immaculate—dishes washed and put away, counters wiped clean. A pot of tea sits on the stove, long gone cold. Two teacups rest on the table, one empty, one full.

A visitor's cup.

Cassie's cup.

A floorboard creaks beneath my foot as we move deeper into the house. Whiskers skitters ahead, his white form barely visible in the dimness. We follow him through the dining room and into the living room, where the lamp casts a soft glow over the horror before us.

Sabrina lies on her floral sofa, her eyes staring upward, her chest cavity yawning open, a dark hollow where her heart should be.

"Damn it," Jasper hisses, the curse fogging in the suddenly frigid air.

The room tilts slightly, colors sharpening then blurring at the edges of my vision. "She doesn't look like she fought back," I say, my voice sounding distant to my own ears. "Just like the others."

Jasper's nostrils flare slightly as he speaks. "Tranquilizer," he announces. "Did you see how the teacups were arranged? Like old friends having a chat." He points to the table. "One empty, one full. Sabrina drank hers. Cassie didn't touch her own." His jaw tightens. "She put something in Sabrina's cup, waited for her to get drowsy, then went to work."

Jasper crouches beside the sofa, his eyes scanning the scene with clinical precision. "The cuts are clean," he observes, his voice detached. "Just like mine was. Like all of them were."

The rage building inside me feels too big for my body, like it might crack my ribs from the inside out. I bite down the urge to scream.

"We need to call the sheriff," Jasper says, standing. "This is evidence they can't ignore."