orley Munson sat in a café waiting for Constance Freeman to arrive. It was the first time since the passing of his wife that he felt comfortable enough to see her in public (albeit in a neighboring town rather than their own).
Morley Munson watched an old film playing on a television set perched on top of a nearby counter. It was a Hollywood picture with a blonde starlet and some dark-haired fellow carrying out plans to murder her husband. This storyline began to make Morley Munson sweat through his starched white shirt. He turned away and looked out a window as the man in the movies was being lead away screaming to the gallows.
Morley Munson saw her coming from across the street. Constance Freeman never went anywhere quickly, moving instead with a languid grace and a knowing smile. She met the eyes of everyone she passed (especially the men) and did not seem in a hurry, even though Morley Munson was using his lunch hour for this rendezvous.
Morley Munson stared into the dancing eyes of Constance Freeman and realized that she was only here because he was a marginally better catch than her current man. She had been married before (at least once) and it was in this mid-day light that Morley Munson began to see his own doom playing out in her laughing pupils. Perhapshe didn’t want to accept the truth, perhaps he had needed to believe this was love so that he could escape his own wretched situation. Perhaps.
Morley Munson sat awkwardly holding the hand of Constance Freeman and, without
a word being spoken, he sensed that she somehow knew about the poison. He also realized that the smile on her ruby lips meant one thing only: she wanted her own spouse dead.
Chapter 5 — The Woman.Chapter 7 — The Photograph