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Why not spend an evening making slightly tipsy conversation with friends and strangers?
“On my life.” He takes another step closer to me. “And you know it’s true, because if I ever did cheat on you, you’d probably kill me.”
So the fact is, I never actually saw Noel’s body and confirmed that it was him. The police told me they used DNA to positively identify his scorched remains, but all I have to go on is what they told me. What if the DNA evidence was wrong?
Noel has lost his sense of smell, but I haven’t, and I am very aware that he reeks of another woman’s perfume.
It’s been a week, and every single time he goes to “work,” he comes back stinking of eau de slut.
If I came into my kitchen and smelled gas the way I do now, I would know not to use the oven and possibly to call the fire department. Noel wouldn’t know, though.
