Brigit
Brigit smelled a lot of things from the doorway. The acrid scent of the coffee in the mug on the senator’s desk. The peppermint scent of arthritis cream. The smell of the man’s shoe leather. Those loafers would make for some fun chewing.
But there was something else she sensed. She didn’t scent it, not exactly. It was more like she smelled it with her brain.
Something here smelled rotten.