Moonlight City Drive Trilogy

Chapter 3

The morning sun stabbed through Smith’s living room windows when Wynn and Smith exited his small makeshift darkroom in his house. Wynn carried the stack of photographs to the kitchen table and spread them out.

“Want a drink?” Smith asked from the kitchen.

“Water would be good.”

He chuckled. “No, I mean, a drink.”

drink“Isn’t it too early for a nightcap?” she asked, giggling.

“Not for yours truly. It’s never too early. Anything of interest in those photos yet?”

“Everything you described to me.”

“So nothing odd?” he asked, approaching the table.

“Some of the shots of him and Candy outside the motel are blurry, but I think it’s just because of the rain on the windshield, not because anything supernatural is happening. And all your shots of them inside the motel room are crystal clear, except the curtain conceals some of their naughty bits.”

Smith picked up a few of the snapshots, reliving the previous night through the images. “I wish I had been able to get pictures of the vultures.”

“And you didn’t think to pack another roll of film?”

“I didn’t have you there to remind me,” he teased and planted a quick peck on her lips.

“Hrm. Such a goof,” she said while studying an image of the Boulevard Killer and Candy lying on the bed. “Should we bring these to Hank? See what his take is?”

Hrm“Are you trying to trick me into exposing this guy? You know what my plan is. Nobody is to know about these. So maybe it’s best if we stay away from everyone else for a bit.”

know“Because you think he’s doing the city such a great service.”

greatSmith remained silent.

“I need some time to process this. We’re treading dangerous water here by not going to the police. And every night we hoard this information is another night he has the ability to kill another girl. Another girl, Smith. Someone’s daughter. Someone’s sister. They’re just girls. Have you thought of that yet?”

girlgirlsSmith didn’t react; he continued to stare at the array of pictures on his kitchen table.

“Fine. Enjoy your day,” she said and headed for his front door.

“Aren’t you taking your overnight bag?”

She stopped with one hand on the doorknob and, without turning around, said, “It might be the only thing that’ll get me to come back here.”

Smith smiled as she slammed the door behind her.

“She can’t resist me,” he mumbled to himself.

A loud rapping on Smith’s front door awoke him. Startled from sleep, he rolled off the couch and wiped the drool from his mouth. The sun had already set, and long shadows of his furniture formed across his living room floor. He flipped on a light to see his pathway through the room. He wasn’t surprised to see Wynn when he opened the door, but he was perplexed to see a brown wicker picnic basket draped from her forearm.

“Thought you might need dinner.”

He nodded and stepped aside to let her enter.

“You cleaned up the photographs?” she asked as she placed the picnic basket on the table.

“I organized them. In here,” he said and motioned for her to follow him.

Attached to the wall above his headboard hung two clotheslines perfectly parallel to each other. All the photographs he had taken with the Kodak were clothespinned to the lines. The top line held the pictures of the killer and Candy at the Rolls Royce in the parking lot, and the second line held the pictures from inside the motel room.

“They’re in chronological order,” he commented.

Wynn stepped farther into the room, and her focus grazed over the framed portraits on the dresser, depicting Smith and Wendy during happier times; one black-and-white photo of the married couple laughing on the beach, Wendy wearing a respectable one-piece bathing suit and Smith splashing water at her from the surf. Wynn let her fingers glide over a jewelry box with a painted dragon donning the cover. She opened the cover, and “Für Elise” gently escaped from underneath the tray that held Wendy’s bracelets and earrings.

Für Elise“I’m so sorry, Smith. I’m sorry if I was the catalyst for whatever went wrong between you two.”

“Don’t be sorry. I don’t blame you. Or us.”

us“I’d like to believe that. I’d like to know where she is too. Just to confirm she’s safe. Don’t you care about that also? You guys were married for almost twenty years.”

“I’m sure she’s fine. Probably just ran off with that boy toy of hers. My memory is vague about what happened directly after catching them at Monks’ Seafood, but I remember her getting hot under the collar when I demanded that she stop seeing him. She used walking in on us in my office against me, as a defense for her own actions. Threw that right in my face without hesitation. That’s why I’m not killing myself to find her. If she wants to be found, she’ll reach out.”

that“I know you had to fire me to save face with your wife even though the marriage had passed the point of reconciliation, but it just feels so cold when you talk about her disappearance like that.”

coldSmith shrugged.

“I feel like I shouldn’t be in here. Like I’m invading her personal space.”

“Well, I don’t feel like that. And it’s my house.”

I“Fair enough,” she said, sneaking a peek through the open closet door at Wendy’s evening gowns. “Doesn’t it seem odd she didn’t take any of her clothes or jewelry with her?”

“When you make an escape in the middle of the night, I think you’re more concerned about just getting away unnoticed. I’m sure she has bought a whole brand-new wardrobe by now. Can we drop it, please?”

Wynn noticed an empty bottle of wine and a drugstore bag sitting next to each other on his nightstand. She walked to his side of the bed and picked up the prescription.

“Antihistamines,” he said before she could inquire. “To help me get some shut-eye.”

“And wash them down with a bottle of wine?”

“I do whatever it takes.”

She returned the bag to its place beside the empty wine bottle. “So has anything popped out at you from looking at the photos like this?”

“Not a single damned thing. At least nothing more than we already know.”

“But it’s worth it, just having these images,” she added.

Smith stood with his arms folded, staring at the double lines of hanging pictures. “Yes. For now.”

“You’re contemplating going out there again tonight, aren’t you?”

He turned to face her. “And you’re not? We’re this close to maybe getting some answers to—”

this“You mean, this close to watching him snuff out another girl’s life while we sit idly by without intervening.”

Smith sighed and changed the subject. “So, what’d you bring us for dinner?”

“I packed the prettiest-looking stuff I could find to help brighten this drab interior,” she said as she emptied the picnic basket.

“Thanks? I guess?”

Wynn spread out the bright red-and-white-checkered tablecloth and placed the pastel-yellow plates across from each other. Two pink glasses and orange napkins were added to the setup.

“Obnoxious is more like it,” he said. “What did you bring for actual food? Or are we just going to sit around and throw up from the color scheme?”

“I cooked some salmon and rice pilaf.”

“And you know what goes best with fish?” he asked, already heading toward the refrigerator.

“I can only imagine.”

He reached inside and removed an unopened bottle. “White wine!”

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Okay, I’ll take a glass.”

Smith stopped in his tracks. “You mean, I won’t be drinking alone tonight? Wynn the Prude is going to drink with me?”

“All right, all right. That’s quite enough. You’re about to make me rethink my decision. Where do you keep your candles?”

“In the armoire,” he answered as he grabbed two wine glasses and popped the cork.

Wynn opened the cabinet’s double doors and found a candelabra with two half-burned candlesticks. She lit the two wicks with a match and placed the candelabra in the center of the table.

Smith handed her a glass of wine. “A toast. To you and me, and wherever this crazy investigation may lead us.”

“Cheers,” Wynn replied and clinked her glass against his. “Ooo, I almost forgot,” she said and rummaged through the picnic basket, placing the prepared fish dinners on the table.

Ooo“What else do you have in there?”

“More decorations.”

Smith rolled his eyes as she littered the table with brightly colored beads and trinkets.

“Pretty things,” he mumbled.

“Don’t be such a grouch. Now sit down, and eat with me.”

They took their seats at the kitchen table. Smith had already finished his first glass of wine before Wynn placed her napkin on her lap. He poured himself another glass instead of taking his first bite of food.

“Do you recognize what that is on your plate?” she asked after swallowing a heaping forkful of rice.

“Beg your pardon?”

“It’s called food. I’m not sure you even know what it’s for. You eat it. You can’t survive on alcohol alone.”

eat“Do you even know what’s in your glass?” he countered.

even know“Oh, here we go,” she said and leaned backward in the chair, folding her arms. “This should be rich.”

“It’s called wine. I’m not sure you even know what it’s for. You drink it. You can’t survive the throes of normal life without it.”

even knowdrink“You are hopeless, Mr. Smith.”

He winked and pointed his clean fork at her. “Right back at’chya, doll.”

“Try the fish.”

“Try the wine.”

Wynn giggled and took a sip. “This is pretty good.”

“Same here,” he said, letting pieces of salmon and rice fall exaggeratedly from his mouth when he spoke.

Wynn tossed her head backward and finished the wine in her glass.

“Now that’s not very ladylike,” he said.

“Pour me another, and I’ll show you ladylike.”

“Intrigued,” he said as he filled her glass. “They say alcohol consumption lowers inhibitions.”

“What are you? The surgeon general now?” she asked, her words already slurring.

He poured the remainder of the bottle into his glass and got up to open a second one.

“Another bottle? What are you doing to me, Mr. Smith?”

AnotherHe sat down at the table and shoveled in a few more mouthfuls of dinner. “This salmon is really tasty. I didn’t realize you were such a good cook.”

“There’s a lot about me you don’t know,” she said, taking another gulp of wine.

The flames from the candles bounced their shadows off the walls, and Smith topped off her glass with the newly opened bottle. “Well, enlighten me.”

Wynn wiped a dribble of wine off her bottom lip. “With what?”

“Tell me one thing I don’t know about you.”

She put down her glass and dabbed the corner of her mouth with the napkin. “My daddy drank too much. Then he’d beat me up.”

Smith was taken aback by the straightforward confession. Paralyzed, he couldn’t even reach for his drink.

“Sorry, was that too forthcoming? I didn’t mean to damper—”

“No, no. I’m really sorry. I—I had no idea. I would never have teased you about drinking if I had known.”

“Prohibition was the catalyst of his downfall, if you can believe the irony. The one law put into place to curb alcoholism and violence became the vehicle for many beatings and a deadbeat father. A few blocks from our apartment was a speakeasy—passcodes at the door, secret knocks, the whole nine yards. Like hiding the drinking and it being a dirty, illegal secret gave him permission to drink more.”

moreSmith consumed his current glass of wine and pointed at hers. “Finish that.”

Wynn sighed, and he thought a glimmer of a tear formed in the corner of her eye. He stood from the table, and she emptied her glass in four solid gulps. Reaching for her hand, he felt the wine warm his insides and watched the soft candlelight play on her features: her button nose, her baby-blue eyes, her small mouth. He decided to take a gamble on whether or not she was in the right frame of mind to submit to him. It was always touch-and-go with Wynn. And she could change her mind in a flash, like a yo-yo jerked up and down. He thought she was giving him silent permission to woo her. But he knew his window of opportunity could close in a jiffy—it almost always did.

Smith leaned down and forced her lips open with his. She reached behind his neck, and he guided her to her feet. She walked backward toward the couch, pulling him down with her. They crashed onto the cushions, stripping as many articles of clothing off each other as fast as they could. Smith pressed his tongue deep inside her mouth and tasted the wine on her breath, exciting him even more. He slid his hand along the curves of her hips and found her waistband. She moaned as he yanked off her pants.

“God, I want you,” he whispered as his fingers and hands went into automatic pilot, fondling creases and caressing her smooth inner thighs. “You’re the sugar that makes the medicine taste so sweet.”

She used her fingernails to slowly draw ten visible lines up his n***d back. She arched her back in pleasure when he entered her and gripped the back cushion with one hand and the bottom of the couch with the other. Smith’s thrusts grew faster and harder until he pushed in … and didn’t immediately pull out. He gasped loudly, and she knew he had finished. Inside her. He collapsed onto her n***d body, allowing all his weight to relax on her.

Wynn wrapped her arms around his torso and closed her eyes. “Stay with me tonight. Here. We can just lie here and not worry about the Boulevard—”

“You sneaky dame!” he said and quickly pushed himself up onto the palms of his hands so he stared directly down into her eyes. “This was all just a ruse to stall me from following the killer tonight!”

“Absolutely not,” she said and shimmied her body from underneath his, nervous of his temper. His couch’s upholstery chaffed her bare skin.

“Don’t jive me. I can see right through you, bringing your picnic and asking for wine and talking about your dad and luring me into shacking up with you again with those bedroom eyes of yours!”

wineWynn pushed his chest to get his body off her. “What are you talking about? Everything here has been sincere! I thought we were having a nice night—connecting even—maybe leaving our past behind for the first time and starting fresh. But obviously you just do what you always do. You turned this into someone sabotaging what you want to do. Jeepers, Smith. I’m thinking maybe the sheriff and his deputies weren’t the shady ones, and Wendy was smarter than I gave her credit for by leaving.”

youSmith punched the wall above the back of the couch as hard as he could, sending thread-like cracks outward from the point of impact. “Damn you, woman. Damn you for making me fall for you again. Damn you for getting in the way of my work. And damn you for—”

“No, Smith. Damn you for making me think I was something more important than a bunch of dead hookers. Go find your friend and j******f while he kills another girl.”

“You know what?” he yelled, stepping aside so she could stand up from the couch. “This conversation’s over. Pack up your … pretty things there and get the f**k out!”

Wynn wiped the snot dripping from her nose and frantically tossed everything she had brought into the brown wicker picnic basket. She accented her anger by slamming the decorations with as much force as she could muster into the basket. She hoped the sound would add to his regret and haunt his dreams.

“You know what my problem is? Every single time when it comes to you and me?” she asked, closing the top of the picnic basket. “I always give myself just enough rope to hang myself.”

Smith chuckled sarcastically as she stormed toward the door. “And I’m terrified I’ll never learn,” she spat before slamming

the door behind her, leaving Smith alone to do whatever he pleased with the remainder of his night.

And the night was young. Very young, indeed.