Charmed to death: an Ophelia and Abby mystery
Comacho.
    I hurried from the room, but Comacho caught up with me in the hallway. We walked down it in silence. I didn't have to look at him to be aware of his presence. It was like walking next to an iceberg. He knew I hadn't told the truth today and he knew I hadn't told the truth five years ago. I didn't need my psychic talent to know Comacho didn't have much use for liars and his. disapproval of me rolled off him in frigid gusts.
    He held the door to the police station open for me and I stepped out into the bright sunshine. Right into Fletcher Beasley.
    Wonderful, my second least favorite person in the world.
    Beady little brown eyes in a sharp skinny face lit up in anticipation when he saw me. He was so excited that I saw the coffee cup he always carried tremble in his hand.
    "Hey, if it isn't Ophelia Jensen. Long time no see. What's going on? Comacho finally arrest you?" Fletcher asked, his little ferret face gleaming.
    Comacho stepped in between us. "None of your business, Beasley. What are you doing here, instead of chasing an ambulance, looking for some story to sensationalize?"
    "Comacho, you wound me," Fletcher said, grasping his chest with his free hand.
    "Nonsense. You have to have a heart before you can be wounded, Beasley."
    Comacho took my arm and guided me around Beasley, down the steps. I felt his anger vibrating in his touch. He may be the Iceman outside, but he was burning inside.
    Fletcher ran to keep up with Comacho's long strides.
    "Hey, wait a second. I could ask you and Ms. Jensen here the same question: What are you doing at the police station?"
    "Get lost, Beasley," Comacho said over his shoulder, never breaking his stride.
    Out of the corner of my eye I saw Fletcher stop and slick back his thinning hair. Evidently, he decided to take Comacho seriously. After taking a gulp of coffee, he walked back to the station.
    "Okay, you can let go," I said, trying to pull my arm out of Comacho's grip. "He's gone now."
    Comacho released me, but I still felt the heat where he had clasped my arm. I rubbed the spot.
    "Sorry, I didn't mean to grab you so hard. It's Beasley; he's always annoyed me. The guy's a jerk."
    What do you know? Comacho and I finally agreed on something.
    "Well, I know why I don't like him. He dogged my every step five years ago, but why don't you?"
    Comacho ran his hand through his hair. "When I was on the force here, many times I watched him intrude on a family's grief during a tragedy, all in the pursuit of a story. And he'd take that grief and parade it on the front page. Helped sell newspapers." He shook his head. "He's a parasite."
    Wow, Comacho actually had a heart.
    Taking a pair of sunglasses from his pocket, Comacho slipped them on. "Ophelia, you've always been a loose end in the Mitchell case. I don't like loose ends—"
    "Any better than parasites."
    "Less."
    Guess I was wrong. He didn't have a heart.
    Looking at him, I saw my distorted reflection in his sunglasses. Even at this distance, I noticed how pale I looked. And frightened.
    "I know you're either hiding something or lying about something."
    "Am not."
    My response sounded childish, even to my ears. I noticed the corner of Comacho's mouth twitch.
    "Really, I don't know anything. I only want Brian's killer brought to justice. I don't know why you think I'm hiding something."
    Comacho's mouth twitched again. He's enjoying this. He likes watching me squirm. It was starting to tick me off.
    Standing as tall as my five-foot-four frame would allow, I narrowed my eyes at Comacho. "Would you mind taking off those sunglasses? I hate talking to people when I can't see their eyes."
    He shrugged. "Yes, ma'am."
    "Thank you. Let's get this straight, Comacho," I said, propping my clenched hands on my hips. "I came here of my own free will because I want to see Brian's killer caught. To me, Brian's death isn't a loose end, like it is to you. He was a good person and my friend. He deserves justice."
    Comacho's eyes never left my face. "You're

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