.
orley Munson felt the splash of light before his brain could process the event. It was the flashbulb of a camera, older than the kind that people were generally using these days. A boy stood behind the contraption and looked up at Morley Munson and his companion as they stepped out of a women’s boutique and onto the street.
Morley Munson frowned as the boy smiled back at them (one of his front teeth was missing) and then dashed off down the street. Morley Munson gave chase for a step or two but finally stopped and turned back to Constance Freeman, who shrugged itoff with a giggle. Something about this episode tore at Morley Munson’s brain, how-ever, and he found it nearly impossible to forget the event. To him it seemed as
if dark clouds were slowly gathering overhead.
Morley Munson had seen a lot of Constance Freeman in the last few weeks and the casual plan for homicide that was being batted back and forth between them (like a shuttlecock) was slowly but surely falling into place. Morley Munson knew that Constance Freeman’s husband was generously insured but he still wanted to believe that she was leaving him as much
for love as for money. It was a nice thing to hope for, anyway.
Morley Munson closed his eyes to sleep that night but all he could see was the pop of that camera flash against his closed eyelids. Something was wrong. Very wrong. He could feel it in his bones.
Morley Munson had read enough ‘detective’ fiction to know that he was seeing too much of Constance Freeman these days and that they would need to start being discreet if they were going to actually succeed in this business. ‘To kill successfully requires discipline,’ he reminded himself.
