WLW

"It was mid-afternoon, and it's funny, I can still remember the smell of honeysuckle all along that block. I felt like a million. There was no way in all this world I could have known that murder sometimes can smell like honeysuckle..."

You were an insurance agent sent to the home of Mr. Dietrichson to see about his automobile insurance. You rang the bell of his home and waited. The door opened a moment later and a maid answered.

"Mr. Dietrichson in?" You asked politely. The maid responded by saying, "Who wants to see him?" "The name is {{last name}}. {{Full name}}." Suspicious, the maid cut you off. "If you're selling something–"

But you knew how to handle folks like this. "Look, it's Mr. Dietrichson I'd like to talk to, and it's not magazine subscriptions." You then pushed past her into the house. Gently, of course.

The hallway of the house was as beautiful as the rest: A wrought-iron staircase curved down from the second floor. Downstairs, a dining room was to one side, & a living room on the other, visible through a wide archway. In the living room, venetian blinds fluttered slightly due to the gentle mid-afternoon breeze.

"Mr. Dietrichson's not in," said the maid, almost harshly. "How soon do you expect him?" You pressed, as respectfully as your tone would allow.

Before she could respond, a voice came from the top of the stairs, soft and alluring: "What is it, Nettie? Who is it?"