The house was chilly this morning, so it didn't seem strange that I smelled smoke while I was dressing for work. After all, Mr. Celia was going to be working at his home office today. I just assumed he started a fire in the fireplace. I was ready to head out.
"Did you start a fire?" I asked as I came downstairs.
"No, I smell it too. I'm going to check out the basement," he replied.
"I'll do that," I said. (I was dressed - he was still wearing pajamas.)
Nothing out of the ordinary in the basement. Nothing in the crawl space. I walked outside and sniffed the air. Nothing. No smoke. Back in the house, I could smell it. Out on the front porch I could not. Sniffed my way up the driveway next door, I could not smell it. Back in the house, still smoky. I sniffed the heater vents. No smoke. I checked every bedroom on the second floor. No smoke. I came back downstairs and started feeling all the walls. No hot spots, yet that smoky odor lingered in the southwest corner of the house. What could it be?
Found it!
The house cleaners must have moved the project lamp that I'd brought downstairs so I could see the jigsaw puzzles I've been working at night. The hot morning sun comes in the south-facing picture window and the magnifier attached to the lamp was trained directly on the cupboard in the corner.
Shall we take a closer look?
OUCH! The cupboard we inherited from our neighbor Fran is damaged, which is sad. But just think what might have happened if we hadn't investigated that smoke.
Needless to say, I moved the offending lamp to a spot where the sun can't hit it.
Phew! Disaster averted, thanks to my superior smoke-sniffing powers.
