Fresco di Vetiver Spezierie Palazzo Vecchio Eau de Parfum

The handsome man in his mid-thirties had washed ashore on the southern coast of Sicily near Siracusa. The corpse could not have been in the water for long; the suit seemed to fit perfectly, and in the inner pocket was a document that helped clarify his identity. However, who might have wanted him dead remained a mystery at first.

Commissario Parfumetti was exhausted. For days there had been no leads on the mysterious woman they had stumbled upon. Whenever a crime occurred that required investigation by scent, with fragrance trails at the center of the search, it was clear that only a perfume lover was suitable for further inquiries. "This is a case for our Parfumetti," his colleagues would say with an ironic tone.

Even at the first sighting of the body at the crime scene, Parfumetti had realized that only a crime of passion was possible. The deceased not only had a clean bullet hole in the middle of his forehead; he also bore traces of smudged lipstick on the collar, lapel, and neck - and as a sarcastic message from his murderer, the word "infedele" was written on his forehead in dark red lipstick. "A murderer with a sense of drama and humor," Parfumetti thought amusedly.

And then there was this fragrance in a small unlabeled vial in the right pocket of the jacket… Clearly: a vetiver scent, likely designed for men, but with a soft note, a subtle, almost gentle yet distinctive aura. He would be able to sniff it out among dozens of other vetiver fragrances. The scent left a powdery sillage, reminiscent of the interiors of baroque palaces, of the flowing gowns of the 17th century, but also of the strict gardens of that time with their pruned nature, in a sense captured beauty and clear aesthetic forms, whose wild growth was tamed. "A man with a sense of taste," flashed through his mind. Or a gift from his murderer?

Shortly thereafter, he had picked up the trail of a suspect; a witness claimed to have seen her at the crime scene, knew her name vaguely, but got tangled in contradictions when describing the person.

Even in the stairwell of the old building, he had sensed the same fragrance: vetiver, but also confusing floral notes that were responsible for an androgynous aura, a violet apparently, perhaps a hint of melancholic nostalgic rose, especially the lily of the valley he loved so much, which also performed exceptionally well in men's fragrances (only the ignorant denied this) and finally a soft base that could only have been differentiated if one could stand directly in front of the wearer...

However, the opportunity for direct contact had not yet arisen. The apartment had been broken into, everything had been searched, traces of a hasty but professional break-in found, hardly anything usable - and again only this scent, everywhere, permeating the apartment, lingering in the abandoned clothes. No doubt: she herself wore this fragrance, wanted to surround herself with a subtle aura of masculinity that surely suited her, emphasizing her danger, her unpredictability. A men's fragrance, made for a mysterious woman.

While Parfumetti was still pondering this thought, in a sense already envisioning the woman before him, brunette, dark eyes, a strict pantsuit, elegant patent leather shoes, a small-caliber weapon in her handbag, he did not notice how this pale, blonde yet inconspicuous young woman with sneakers and water-blue eyes followed him into the café, patiently waiting until he had finished his espresso and headed towards the restroom.

A faint click - his instincts were as sharp as ever - made him pause when opening the restroom door and reach for his weapon; the scent of a noble, almost baroque vetiver fragrance in his nose, he hurriedly turned around with a bad premonition, - but the last thing he saw were water-blue eyes and the muzzle of a pistol aimed at his forehead.