The Case of the Telltale Smell                                  

By D. E. Allen

The scene of the murder was so horribly gruesome.

Was this the work of just one man, or did this take a twosome?

She was a young woman, her ring said, “A wife.”

Did they fight, did they argue; it takes so much hatred, to kill with a knife.

I looked for clues to solve this gut-wrenching sin.

No prints on the weapon, just a faint whiff, of Wild Jasmine.

I knelt by her corpse, and breathed in with all my might.

My reward was only the stench of death; she had lain there all night.

We were at a complete loss, so we’d follow procedure.

To seek neighbors and ask, “Had anyone seen her?”

Knocking on doors and leaving my card,

solving this one was getting  particularly hard.

When the hundredth door opened, my routine getting old,

a raven-haired beauty, my eyes did behold.

Her smile was bright, her crimson lips so inviting.

I was suddenly nervous, my manly urges I was fighting.

When I ran out of questions, I gave her my last business card.

“If you recall anything at all Miss, please do call Scotland Yard.”

Now the interview was over, and she slowly closed her door.

That’s when I smelled something familiar; I’d smelled it before.

Wild Jasmine, so pungent, so rare… so damning!