Page 30 of Tested
“Okay, when we go in there, let me talk, and I want you to memorize everything you see and hear and smell.”
“Whatever you say, Sherlock.”
I can be a good Watson. Promise.
The front yard is small and well-manicured. Small boxwood shrubs line a slate path leading to the front door, a heavy slab of oak with a circular knocker in the middle. Connor reaches for the knocker and the door swings open.
“Oops.” Nothing good ever came from a door that opens by itself. The smell of death rolls across the threshold, so that when Connor takes a step forward, I grab him. “Better call the cops, first.”
He gives the door another nudge. “Is it that bad?”
I force myself to take a deep inhale. “Worse.”
He mutters, “Calling Smith” and pivots so he’s facing the street. I grab my phone and shine the flashlight through the open doorway, without actually going inside. The foyer has a door on each side. Through one there’s a couch and a flat-screen TV, and the other door is closed. Directly ahead, there’s an arched passageway leading deeper into the house. I can’t see anyone, but there’s a puddle on the floor that from my angle looks an awful lot like blood.
“Worse than that, even,” I whisper.
