The Detective's Domain

Irene's house smelled humid.

Tantalizingly humid. 

Like stepping inside and being sprinkled by the misty vapors of a hot spring, except without the hot spring, or the vapors. Just this pleasantly addictive aroma that kept tempting me to take bigger and bigger whiffs. 

Really, there was no other way to best put it… the entire place just reeked of her, and for one brief heated second, I seriously debated on packing my bags and permanently changing my home address.

Irene had spotted me doing my best golden retriever impression as she led the way inside and just simply moved on with a sorta dismissive, impartial look - boys will be boys and all that. 

I'm telling you if Irene was ever feeling in an entrepreneurial mood one day, I guarantee she'd be the world's first quintillionaire just selling air fresheners out on the street. And of course, the secret formula would have to be kept a trade secret. 

Hell, I'd take a hundred alone.