“Smoothie mix,” Blake shouts, holding up a plastic container with every green vegetable in existence on the label. “We could have it tested?”

Jacob interrupts, “uhm . . . guys? Didn’t you say this chick’s husband has been dead for days? Weeks?”

“Yes, why?” I answer, turning my attention to him.

“Because I don’t think this is that old?” Jacob holds up a tied-off condom with liquid inside, turning away as he gags out loud. “Ew . . . ugh . . . cough-cough . . . sticky love juice load . . . ack . . .”

“Oh, my God . . . oh, my God . . . what do we do with that?” I’m scrambling, rambling, but I manage to get up from the floor, pull my gloves off, and grab a sandwich baggie. “Hang on, you can put it in here like evidence, but let me put on fresh gloves first.”

Instead, Blake takes the baggie from me with his gloved hands and holds it open for Jacob to drop the—blech—condom inside.

“Thanks, man. I don’t think I could’ve held that much longer.”

He does look a little pale. “Guess you won’t be going into the family business?” I tease.

Jacob shakes his head vehemently. “Definitely not. But pulling someone’s guts out for examination is way different from holding another man’s fresh spunk.”

Blake nods his head, agreeing sagely. “Rule. Own jizz is fine, other jizz is fucked up.”

“Whatever. Guys, do you know what this means?” I ask them both.

Jacob sits back on his ass, yanking his gloves off. “That I’m done with this?”

“No . . . that there is definitely something hinky going on with Yvette Horne.”

“Hinky?” Blake says around a smile. “Or kinky?”

“I’m embracing the Velma spirit. Stick with me, and no kinky. Poisoned smoothies—means. Another guy—motive. And they obviously lived together, so that’s opportunity.”

I’m excited. Okay, maybe a bit hysterical at having figured this out. I can see why Jeff likes his job. Well, except for the digging in trash part.

Jacob leans over and talks out of the side of his mouth to Blake. “No backsies. She’s yours now.”

I flinch, but Blake beams like he wouldn’t have it any other way. “Working on it,” he tells Jacob, but he’s staring at me like he’s never seen anything more beautiful. The best part is . . . I don’t mean my looks. I feel like Blake sees my insides—my brain and weirdness—and that’s what he thinks is stunning. After a long moment, he shows off his sexy brain power too. “The money’s another motive. A big one. But we have to prove it. And figure out who’s the guy.”

He throws a nose-wrinkling look at the baggie with the condom, on the same page as Jacob about it being the most disgusting thing we discovered in the trash.