Chapter 21
“Where does one train to become a Super Sniffer?”
-Flint
Etta pointed out where we could find rubber gloves to “protect the evidence,” then left us to search the house from top to bottom. Etta’s eclectic style was represented in every room. A riot of colors and keepsakes from around the world. Even though I knew what we would find when we came across Killer’s bed, it still broke my heart to see him like that.
“Do you smell that?” Celia’s voice cut through the fog in my brain.
“Smell what?”
“That,” she pointed to Killer’s vomit.
“Smells like vomit,” my eyes narrowed. “What do you smell?”
“It’s weird,” Celia kneeled and stuck her nose right above the vomit. “Like, garlic.”
Oh, shit. Watching this hot woman nearly inhale vomit was going to make me throw up. That would be a rookie move. I stepped back a bit and tried to get some air. “I can’t believe you’re sniffing that.”
Celia stood, brushed the dirt off her knees, and smiled. “You’ve met my twins, right? Worse smells came out of them!”
I laughed.
Celia shook her head. “I don’t think the clues are going to be in the house. If he got into something, or someone poisoned him, wouldn’t that be outside?”
I nodded, then headed for the back door. She placed her hand on my elbow to stop me.
“What is wrong with you today?”
Celia stood with her feet shoulder-width apart, one foot slightly in front of the other. It was a boxer’s stance that she pulled off, even in her skirt. Her arms folded. Her face frowned. I know she wanted to intimidate me, but she looked adorable.
Don’t smile. Don’t smile. Don’t smile.
“Nothing’s wrong,” my eyes rolled to the ceiling in an attempt to ignore her adorableness. “It’s just hinky, is all.”
Celia grunted in the back of her throat but said nothing more as she went outside. Etta’s backyard was an urban forest of trees and a vast expanse of grass.
“What’s that?” Celia pointed to a white structure through the trees.
We made a beeline in that direction and found a doghouse. Celia bent over to peek through the door. “There’s something in there.”
I vaguely clocked her talking in the back of my mind, but my eyeballs were on vacation staring at her ass. A perfectly tight, muscular, biteable ass. I know because I sank my teeth into it last summer. And I wanted to do it again.
A hard slap to my bicep brought me back to reality. “What was that for?”
“That’s for staring at my butt when I need your help. There’s something in the doghouse. I can’t reach it,” Celia glared at me, then held up her hands. “Tiny arms.”
I got on my knees and reached into the doghouse. I couldn’t reach what was in there either. I tried to ease my upper body through the doorway, but it wasn’t made for a big guy like myself. This little house was meant for a tiny Yorkie. A lap or purse dog.
With an exasperated sigh, Celia pushed me aside, got on her knees, then eased her torso through the doorway. I sat back on my heels and enjoyed the show. When she grunted with the effort it took to reach her prize; I nearly came undone.
“Got it!” Celia shuffled back out of the doghouse, holding a bottle in her gloved hands. She stood, triumphant in her quest. “Looks like Killer stumbled onto something and dragged it back here.”
She held it to my face so I could look but not touch. It looked like a bottle of supplements. There was no label. Something had chewed on the lid, which may be how Killer got into the bottle in the first place.
“Put it down on the ground,” I pointed to a grassy patch beside the doghouse. “I’ll run in and get a plastic bag.”
I jogged up to the house, found some zipper bags, and zoomed back to our secondary crime scene. Celia stared at her skirt, which was covered with dirt. I slowed to a walk to observe her. She didn’t seem upset that she was dirty. It looked like she was laughing.
