Charmed to death: an Ophelia and Abby mystery by Shirley Damsgaard Page A

Comacho and he's a cop."
    "You said Perez was dark."
    "Yeah, but he's a cop too."
    "You know I've been reading about serial killers. A lot of them have a real fascination with authority and power. A cop has both power and authority. And what I read said the killers are like chameleons. They change their outward behavior to match the situation. Think about it—a serial killer using a cop's badge as cover. What a great way to hide. Be hard to catch him, wouldn't it?" she said thoughtfully.
    I shook my head. "That's nuts. I think Comacho is a jerk and a sorry excuse for a human being, but it doesn't make him a killer. And Perez, from the pictures in his office, he has a wife and family."
    "So do other serial killers," she insisted. "According to what I've read, organized killers, and I think this guy's organized, often do. People who know the killers are surprised that the person they knew had a secret, violent life."
    "That may be, but I don't think the killer is either Comacho or Perez."
    "Okay. What about the guy you saw at the bar?"
    "You mean the one who looked like Harley Walters?"
    "Yeah. Harley's dark. Did you ask Abby if Harley was out of town this weekend?"
    "No. I'd forgotten about the guy in the bar."
    "What if it was Harley? What if Harley's the Harvester?"
    "Come on. Harley Walters, a killer? That's as crazy as suspecting Comacho," I scoffed.
    "Who knows? Last fall would you have suspected Adam Hoffman of being a killer?"
    "No."
    "Exactly. You never know from the outside what's happening in someone's life." Darci squinted and stared off into space. "And Harley does kind of fit the profile. Right age, right sex, and right ethnic background. From what I know of his past, he had a rough time growing up. His father died when he was young and his mother married a man that mistreated Harley. He had several run-ins with the police when he was a kid. He's volatile, sees himself as a victim of society."
    "You could say the same thing about a lot of people, Darci."
    "True." She cocked her head to one side. "Wouldn't it be interesting to find out if Harley was in the area when the other murders occurred? He did drive a semitruck and traveled a lot."
    "Hey, stop right there," I said, frowning. "You promised me you'd stay out of this. I don't want you snooping around Harley's. Even if the guy isn't a killer, he's mean and volatile. You stick your nose in his business and he might cut it off."
    "Okay, okay. But somebody's got to find some answers."
    I touched Darci's arm. "Yeah, but it doesn't have to be you. I mean it; I don't want to see you hurt. Abby said the answers will come to me. We have to trust in that."
    "I said okay," she replied, her eyes not meeting mine.
    I tugged on her sleeve. "You promise you won't go out to Harley's?"
    "I promise," Darci answered.
    "I've got to get those files done," I said, glancing at my watch again. "I'm to be at Abby's in a couple of hours."
    As I walked to the stairs to go to my office in the basement, I looked over my shoulder at Darci. She was still standing at the counter, staring off into space again. I could almost see her mind working.
    I wondered how long she'd wait before she showed up at Harley's.

Chapter Twelve

    Clouds of dust from the gravel road hung in the air—kicked up by the caravan of cars, SUVs, and trucks. Abby slowed her van and came to a stop near the drive to the PP International farrowing buildings. The other vehicles pulled in behind her. She got out and walked down the row of cars, giving last-minute instructions.
    I looked across the road and saw Ned Thomas leaning against his red Ford Escort on the other side. Ned looked good—his blue jeans hugged his lean frame and the T-shirt he wore tucked into the jeans showed a trim waist. Nope, no spare tire there. In a way he reminded me of Charles. They had the same kind of build, but Ned's eyes were green, instead of Charles's unusual shade of blue.
    I stepped out of the van and leaned in across the seat to hit the