Something was wrong. Very wrong. When Frank had first returned to his house, he’d been relieved to find Art gone and their house locked. The darkroom had remained locked too. Looking around the darkroom, Frank’s guess had been that no one had touched his things. He packed up one set of prints and hid the second in his room, satisfied his secret was safe. But now, from the look on Officer Frey’s face, Frank wondered if Howard had gotten in, seen the second set of prints after all, and told Officer Frey about them. If so, he had a lot of dancing around the subject to do. “Frank, would you have a seat?” Denzel motioned to a high-backed wooden chair. Frank sat. “Oh, can you close the door, please,” Denzel said, and Frank’s shoulders tightened at his friend’s forced smile. “Yeah, sure.” Frank rose, closed the door, and his brow furrowed. He sat in the chair again, his posture erect and his stomach tight with tension. He looked from Denzel, to Officer Frey, then back to Denzel again.
What do You think about Songbird Under A German Moon?
