9: VERNAL EQUINOXSmith awoke in a sweaty panic, wiping the bloody images of his first wife’s murder from his vision as the sanctity of his bedroom came into focus. As the dream-state replay of Wendy’s final minutes faded, the sound of a ringing telephone became louder. He glanced at Wynn; the noise had not yet stirred her.
He swung his rickety legs from the side of the bed and traipsed into the kitchen.
“This better be good,” he said into the receiver and cleared the phlegm trapped in his throat.
“Smith, love! Did I wake you?”
“Hank, it’s”—Smith glanced at the large yellow clock in the shape of the sun hanging over the kitchen table—“not even six o’clock here yet. The real question is, why aren’t you sleeping?”
“HBO had a marathon tonight. First Grease Two, Rocky Horror Picture Show,
