The Second Time Around Read Online Free PDF

was asking the questions. However, I realized that like it or not, I was now going to be perceived as Lynn’s spokesperson and defender. It was not a role I wanted, nor was it an honest one. I was still not at all convinced that she was a naive and trusting wife who never sensed that her husband was a conman.
    But was he? When his plane crashed, he supposedly had been on his way to a business meeting. When he got in that plane, did he still believe in Gen-stone? Did he go to his death believing in it?
    This time the Cross Bronx Expressway ran true to form. An accident had it backed up for two miles, giving plenty of quiet time to think. Maybe too much time, because I realized that despite everything that had beendisclosed about Nick Spencer and his company in the past few weeks, there was still something missing, something wrong. It was too pat. Nick’s plane crashes. The vaccine is declared faulty if not worthless. And millions of dollars are missing.
    Was the accident rigged, and was Nick now sunning himself in Brazil as Sam suggested? Or did his plane crash in that storm with him in the cockpit? And if so, where was all that money, $25,000 of which was mine?
    â€œHe liked you, Carley,” Lynn had said.
    Well, I liked him, too. That’s why I would like to believe that there was another explanation.
    I drove past the accident that had reduced the Cross-Bronx to a one-lane road. A trailer truck had overturned. Broken crates of oranges and grapefruits had been shoved to the side to open the single lane. The cabin of the truck seemed intact. I hoped the driver was all right.
    I turned onto the Harlem River Drive. I was anxious to get home. I wanted to go over next Sunday’s column before I e-mailed it to the office. I wanted to call Lynn’s father and reassure him that she was going to be all right. I wanted to see if there were any messages on the answering machine, specifically from the editor of Wall Street Weekly. God, how I’d love to get a job writing for that magazine, I thought.
    The rest of the drive went quickly enough. The trouble was that in my mind I kept seeing the sincerity in Nick Spencer’s eyes when he talked about the vaccine. I kept remembering my reaction to him: What a terrific guy.
    Was I dead wrong, stupid, and naive, everything a reporter should not be? Or was there perhaps another answer? As I pulled into the garage, I realized what else was bothering me. My gut was talking to me again. It was telling me that Lynn was much more interested in clearing her own name than she was in learning the truth about whether or not her husband was still alive.
    There was a message on my answering machine, and it was the one I wanted. Would I please call Will Kirby at Wall Street Weekly.
    Will Kirby is editor in chief there. My fingers raced as they pushed the numbers. I’d met Kirby a few times at big gatherings, but we’d never really talked. When his secretary put me through and he got on the phone, my first thought was that his voice matched his body. He’s a large-framed man in his mid-fifties, and his voice is deep and hearty. It has a nice, warm tone to it, even though he is known as a no-nonsense guy.
    He didn’t waste time chatting with me. “Carley, can you come in and see me tomorrow morning?”
    You bet I can, I thought. “That would be fine, Mr. Kirby.”
    â€œTen o’clock okay with you?”
    â€œAbsolutely.”
    â€œFine. See you then.”
    Click.
    I had been screened by two people at the magazine already, so this was definitely going to be a make-or-break interview. My mind flew to my closet. A pantsuit was probably a better choice for the interview than a skirt. The gray stripe that I’d bought during a sale in Escadaat the end of last summer would be great. But if it turned cold, the way it was yesterday, that would be too light. In which case, the dark blue would be a better choice.
    I hadn’t felt this combination