Luke didn't come home that night.
The next morning, Penelope sat at the dining table, eating breakfast in no particular hurry, when the front door swung open.
Luke was still wearing yesterday's suit. The only difference was the faint trace of perfume clinging to him.
Penelope was allergic to perfume. In all their years together, there had never been a single bottle in the house.
Luke walked over and rested his chin in the curve of her shoulder. Even his breath carried an unfamiliar scent.
"Were you out working a case again last night? Don't push yourself too hard."
Penelope gave a quiet "Mm" and said nothing more.
"Let me go grab a shower. The client I met yesterday was drenched in perfume. Don't want it rubbing off on you."
He stood and headed for the bathroom without a flicker of guilt.
Penelope picked up her napkin and brushed the nauseating smell from her shoulder.
Her phone rang. It was the bureau.
"Dr. Simmons, 38 Greenstone Street. We need you on scene."
She grabbed her forensic field kit and left.
Greenstone Street was one of the city's premier commercial strips, where every square foot of real estate cost a fortune.
Crystal's Perfumery.
When Penelope saw the shop name, she went still for two seconds.
She pushed through the door. The victim was a man in his mid-forties, collapsed beside the fragrance testing station, his face a mottled blue-purple.
On the sofa, a woman wept like a wilting flower, answering questions from the officers on scene.
It was Crystal.
A beat later, hurried footsteps pounded toward the entrance.
"Crystal, don't be scared. I'm here."
That voice.
Penelope's hand froze on the handle of her field kit.
Luke hadn't noticed her at all. He went straight to Crystal.
He pulled the fragile, pitiful woman into his arms, one hand pressed to her back, the other gently stroking the crown of her head.
He dipped his chin, his voice as tender as if he were soothing a child.
"I'm here. Everything's going to be okay."
The worry in his eyes, the ache, the protectiveness. Penelope had never once seen any of it.
Several officers from the bureau recognized Luke. One by one, their gazes drifted to Penelope.
Luke followed their line of sight.
Their eyes met.
His expression locked up. The arm around Crystal loosened instinctively.
But Crystal's sobbing grew louder, and he tightened his hold again, murmuring comfort. He didn't look at Penelope a second time.
Penelope only blinked. She pulled on her mask and gloves, crouched beside the body, and got to work.
"Preliminary assessment suggests the victim died of a blood infection. The exact cause of death will require a full autopsy back at the bureau."
She packed up her kit and turned to leave, but Luke seized her arm.
"Make sure you clear Crystal's name. She's timid. She scares easily."
Penelope pulled free. "Determining cause of death is a forensic examiner's duty, Mr. Gilbert. I don't need you to tell me how to do my job."
Six hours later, the autopsy results came back.
The victim had been exposed to perfume containing a high concentration of fungal spores. Once the spores entered his bloodstream, they triggered a cerebral infection, resulting in sudden death.
Penelope passed the interrogation room and caught fragments of Crystal's conversation with the police.
That was how she learned the perfume shop had been a gift from Luke.
After she finished decontaminating and cleaning up, Penelope went home.
The moment she stepped through the door, Luke rushed her, pinning her against the wall.
His eyes were cold. Scrutinizing.
"You're the one who said Crystal was guilty of negligent homicide?"
Penelope looked up at him. "I'm responsible for examining the body. Building the case is the detectives' job."
"You did this on purpose!" Luke's face twisted with anger. "You found out about her and me, and you're framing her!"
Penelope smiled. Her gaze was ice.
"Crystal used fungus-contaminated wood as a raw ingredient but failed to sterilize it properly, which caused a fatal blood infection in her customer. All I did was uncover the truth. I didn't frame anyone."
Luke's fury erupted. "She had no idea that batch of wood was contaminated! I've only known her four months, but she's gentle and kind. She would never hurt a soul!"
Penelope closed her eyes. A sudden, bone-deep exhaustion washed over her.
"Fine," Luke said, staring at her. "Since you claim perfume can kill someone, why don't you test that theory yourself?"
Her eyes flew open. A cold dread flickered through her chest.
"What are you doing?"
"Get in here!" Luke called out with a wave of his hand. "Lock my wife in the confinement room. Buy a thousand bottles of perfume and pour them in."
"Luke, you know I'm allergic to perfume!"
Luke looked at her, his expression devoid of warmth, and stood by as two bodyguards dragged her into the confinement room.
The perfume arrived. Bottle after bottle of the reeking liquid was splashed inside.
Penelope pounded on the door, but her throat was already beginning to swell shut.
She couldn't make a sound. She could barely breathe.
"Think about what you've done. I'll let you out in an hour."
Luke said those words, picked up his suit jacket, and walked out the door.
Penelope knew where he was going. He was rushing to the police station to save the woman who held his heart.
She slid down the wall to the floor, eyes brimming with tears.
She couldn't tell if it was the allergy or the heartbreak.
