The cozy living room of the Browning house smelled of lilies and expensive wood polish. Detective Branden Horne wanted to smoke a cigarette, but dared not. The wrath of Mrs. Browning might momentarily overpower her need to know who killed her husband, which was the whole reason he was there. On top of that, he knew that he would have far too much to answer for before the afternoon was over as it was.
Five days ago, Christopher Browning had been found dead in his metal shop, bludgeoned to death. His wife hadn’t seen him since the day before and wanted to check up on him, but she couldn’t even enter the workshop due to the overpowering smell of solvents and acids that he used in his work. When the HAZMAT team brought out his body and gently removed the ventilation hood from his head, she had to be held back by three officers so that she couldn’t embrace her husband and contaminate the body.
Branden had been assigned to the case, and very quickly narrowed down the suspects.
The four other people in the room were the most likely suspects for the murder of Christopher Browning. Elton was a mirror of his brother, tall and pallid, as though someone had taken a normal man and stretched him out with a roller. Their sister, Trudi, was almost his opposite. She was short and heavy and outgoing, and wore colors so vivid that they hurt to look at. Even during the investigation of Browning’s death, Trudi had been relentlessly cheerful, which was enough to increase suspicion in Branden’s eyes. Neither of them had had their brother’s success in life, and that had driven plenty of siblings to do far worse than murder.
Addie Horton was standing next to Mrs. Browning, with a cup of tea in one hand and the other on the shoulder of her grieving friend. She had brought over one of her hand-made prayer shawls – “A prayer in every stitch,” she’d said when she put it around Mrs. Browning’s slumped shoulders. Addie had known Christopher since they were children. There was romance far back, but they both swore the flames had died.
Finally, Celinda Browning herself. She had been older than her husband when they married - he was a millionaire at thirty-five, and she was a divorced schoolteacher in her fifties. They had fallen in love and retreated out to his hometown, where she taught some local homeschool children while he indulged in his artistic hobbies. They lived a life that seemed idyllic, and as far as anyone knew they were perfectly happy. That still didn’t rule her out.
“Thank you all for coming,” Branden said. “I’ve always wanted to do one of these drawing-room reveals.” He chuckled, but no one else did. No one was even looking at him.
He cleared his throat. “You all know what happened,” he said, “but I wanted to update you on what we’ve found so far.” He took the investigation folder from his briefcase and flipped it open. “Christopher Browning was killed by repeated blows to the head with a large metal object. We think the killer was right-handed, but that’s not much to go on. The killer left no fingerprints and no DNA evidence that we could find. And the isolated nature of Mister Browning’s workshop means that there were no eyewitnesses.” He snapped the folder shut.
Branden took a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, and a small plastic bottle from his briefcase. “There are lots of reasons why someone would want to kill Christopher Browning,” he said as he uncapped the bottle. The faint smell of eucalyptus blossomed in the air, and this finally got their attention. He dripped the pale blue liquid into his handkerchief. “Money, love, revenge – those were all possibilities.” He capped the bottle and put it back in the briefcase.
He put his hands behind his back and started to pace. “I visited all of you, and I think you all had reasons to kill him.” They watched him as he walked back and forth, and he relished drawing out the moment. “As I said, there was very little solid evidence, and I had a lot of work to do.” He shrugged. “Most criminals are stupid. They leave something behind.” He stopped and looked at each of them in turn. “This killer did not.”
He stepped back to his briefcase and took out a small glass bottle, filled with a pale yellow liquid. “That doesn’t mean, however, that the killer didn’t make a mistake.” He uncapped the bottle and swiftly brought the handkerchief up to cover his mouth and nose.
The room went mad. Celinda Browning doubled over and vomited onto her shoes. Elton groaned and held his stomach, his face reddening as he clenched his teeth, and Trudy was on her feet, waving her hand to try and clear the air around her head of the horrifying rotten, sulfurous stench. Branden smiled under the handkerchief. He’d confiscated the stink bomb from his son weeks ago, and had been looking for a good chance to use it. The capstone of a murder investigation was as good a time as any.
He put the cap back on the bottle and went around the living room to open the windows, gripping the handkerchief in his teeth. The smell would never really go away, but he figured that Mrs. Browning would have enough money to get everything ripped out and cleaned. Knowing that his little stunt revealed her husband’s murderer would be some small comfort.
When he turned back, the group was glaring at him, in between heaving breaths and groans. Elton had the collar of his shirt up over his nose, and Trudi was trying to help Addie guide Mrs. Browning to the sofa. After a moment, Branden lowered the handkerchief and blinked a few times at the lingering smell. “Mrs. Horton,” he said to Addie. “How are you feeling?”
“How am I feeling?” she said over her shoulder. “That was an ugly stunt you pulled young man. Poor Cellie is already in enough distress!”
“Yeah,” Branden said. “But I asked about you. How are you feeling?”
Addie stood up, but didn’t say anything.
“You didn’t seem too bothered,” he said, taking a step towards her. “Didn’t that smell get to you?”
Her face went flat and she narrowed her eyes. “If you must know,” she said, “I was born with no sense of smell.” She sniffed, and Branden suppressed a smile. “It’s something I’ve never been terribly thankful for. Until now.”
Branden nodded. “I thought so.” He put his handkerchief and the little bottle in his pocket. “When I visited you, you were doing laundry, right?” Addie nodded once. “I remember that, mainly because I was wondering what kind of detergent you used. The basket in your arms should have smelled like flowers or sunshine or something, but it actually had quite a whiff of metal oils and some of the other chemicals that the deceased used in his craft. Not a smell most people would want lingering among their clean clothes, I thought. Odd. So I did a little asking around.”
Addie Horton had gone pale, and she looked around for someone to come to her rescue. All she saw, however, was dawning astonishment. “You didn’t know what the workshop smelled like, Addie,” Branden said. “You had no idea.” He took another step closer to her and she flinched. “You killed him. The smell stuck to your clothes and you brought it home. And you never knew.”
“You have to be kidding,” she spat. “You can’t prove it was me just because of that!”
Branden nodded. “You’re right – we can’t. But I only said that we had very little evidence. Not that we had none at all.” He smiled sheepishly. “The thing about fingerprints?” He shrugged. “I lied.”
Addie gasped. “Then all this…?” She looked to Mrs. Browning, who seemed ready to pass out again. “Cellie,” she said, reaching out. “I never…” Celinda turned away. Elton and Trudy gathered around their sister-in-law and held her close.
Addie’s hand curled closed and she squeezed her eyes shut. “Why did you do this?” she whispered.
“I needed to be sure,” Branden said. “And like I mentioned, I’ve always wanted to do the drawing-room reveal.” He took his cell phone out from inside his jacket. “You want to come quietly?” he asked as he flipped it open. “Or do I need to call in some back-up?”
The moment hung in the air, and Branden honestly wasn’t sure which way she would go. Finally, she just slumped and nodded. Branden dialed. “It’s over,” he said into the phone. He reached out and took her shoulder. Addie Horton crumpled to the floor, weeping, and Branden caught her in his arms. He held her there, in silence, until the other officers arrived.