Second Time Around (17 page)

Bangor

Dina Edmonds hated having a clean desk—yet strove for it. As Mr. Stancowsky’s personal secretary for forty-six years, she prided herself on being the essence of organization. Hence, a clean desk was proof of her abilities.

Yet now, with David gone, a clean desk was a gaping testament to the fact that she had little to do. Without his presence, her life was empty. Boring.

But he’ll be back. He’ll come back to me.

She shook her head adamantly and whispered under her breath. “Stop it, Dina. He will not be back. He’s with Millie. She wins.”

Again. Millie would win again.

Though Dina had loved David from the first moment she’d met him in 1958, he’d never returned the emotion. Not that she hadn’t tried to change his mind. She still felt shame at her reaction to Millie’s death. At the time, she’d thought of it as an opening. Surely it was fortune smiling down upon her. After all, the poor widower would need comfort as he found a way to go on with his life.

The trouble was, David never “went on.” Not emotionally, anyway. Career-wise, he lucked out when Millie’s father allowed him to continue his transition to become head of Mariner Construction. Ray Reynolds had accepted David as the beloved son-in-law he would never have. Yet, set for life in his career, David had poured his attention in that direction and had politely refused Dina’s overtures toward sharing a more personal part of their lives. He’d been polite enough but was unyielding, until she’d finally realized—it had been a Tuesday, May 12, 1964—that she had a choice: She could be in David’s life as his secretary or not at all. It hadn’t been that hard of a decision. She knew she wasn’t a pretty woman, and her talent with men was limited to her ability to organize and be efficient. Since there never had been a string of suitors in her life, since she’d come to grips early on with the possibility that marriage might not be a reality—ever, with anyone—Dina made the choice to be David’s right-hand man. Woman.

Now, at age seventy-four, her life
had
contained moments of satisfaction. She’d taken quite a few business trips with David. All on the up-and-up, of course. She never would forget the time they’d celebrated a huge contract in New Orleans by going to dinner at a top-floor restaurant that revolved and offered an amazing view of the city. It could have been a romantic evening…

Day to day, she took her pleasure in small things. In David’s “Well done, Dina” and the vase of flowers he always had delivered on her birthday. And she liked nothing better than to stand beside him as he gave her instructions, drinking in the marvelous, woodsy smell of his aftershave.

Monetarily, her compensation was more than fair. In fact, she knew she was overpaid for her position, but also knew he could afford it. And wasn’t loyalty worth something? Forty-six years at one job was nothing to sneeze at. In truth, she had more money than she needed and had used a chunk of it to purchase a lovely home that offered a magnificent view of the Maine woods. It wasn’t showy, but it was hers.

David had never seen it.

She rearranged her stapler a half inch to the left, making it parallel with her in-box. She could have retired years ago, but as long as David kept working… Actually, it was imperative they both continue to work. How else would she get to see him?

She had saved enough to go on a world cruise, but what fun was such a trip alone? Her most avid hope was that one of these days she’d have the nerve to ask him to join her. Platonically. As a dear, lifelong friend. She’d been on the verge of asking right before Christmas but had chickened out.

And now it was too late. He was gone. And he wasn’t coming back. Why should he? Millie was in the past. Only old age was here in the future.

She jumped when the phone rang. “Mariner Construction, David Stancowsky’s office.”

“This is Bonnie Brown from
USA Today.
We were wanting some more information about this woman Mr. Stancowsky is visiting in the past. We’ve found clippings about her tragic death, but we were wondering if there was anyone there who knew her who could tell us about their relationship?”

For once in her life she abandoned rationale. She found herself saying, “I can talk to you.”

“And you are…?”

I’m the woman David should have loved.
“I’m Mr. Stancowsky’s secretary. I’ve worked for him the last forty-six years.”

“Really? Tell me more.”

“You said Millie was unappreciative in regard to the wedding?” Bonnie Brown asked. “Can you give me an example?”

If Dina had been in a court of law, an attorney would have jumped out of his chair and yelled, “Objection! Hearsay!” regarding what she was about to say. Yet, since there was no one to object, no one at all… “I witnessed Mr. Stancowsky’s detailed preparations for their wedding.” She remembered seeing the sketches and swatches for the dress after the fact. “He was involved in every detail. He cared immensely. They were just beginning to plan things when she died, but from his level of discouragement, I got the impression she wasn’t cooperating.”

“In what way?”

Speculation, Dina. This is all speculation.
“She didn’t appreciate his amazing attention and eye for detail, his interest. Most grooms want minimal involvement in wedding plans— especially back in 1958. But not Mr. Stancowsky. He did everything for his Millie. I know her stubborn disinterest and willfulness hurt him.”

“She sounds a bit immature. Was she younger than he was?”

“Six years younger.” A thought came to her. “In fact, I think her immaturity had a lot to do with her death.”

“Oh?”

It was as if someone else were in control of her mouth. Dina knew she should stop saying such negative things but couldn’t stop herself. The dam of silence had been breached, and decades of bitterness streamed out, unstoppable.

“Mr. Stancowsky took Millie for a weekend trip to a bed-and-breakfast. All very proper, I assure you. He just wanted to show her this particular place because he planned to go there for their honeymoon. It was a lovely place. I saw a brochure.”

“This was close to the location where she crashed?”

Dina nodded, though Bonnie couldn’t see her. “Yes. Mr. Stancowsky told me later that they’d gotten into an argument and Millie had driven off—in his prized Pontiac Bonneville. A beautiful car. Sage green. She drove off in the rain, showing no concern for him or the weather. She had a tantrum and died for it.”

“That’s a strong statement.”

Dina clamped a hand over her mouth.
Too strong!
This was not what she wanted people to focus on. If David were here, he would be appalled at her words. In his absence, she was his advocate. She needed to let the world know what a wonderful man he was. She had to turn the attention away from Millie and onto David’s good works. “If you don’t mind, Ms. Brown, I know Mr. Stancowsky would rather you focus on his public life. Did you know he has received twenty-four awards for his business acumen? Mariner Construction, which started as a small Bangor company, has now completed projects in forty states and two countries. It is a multibillion-dollar business.”

“Billion you say?”

Money always was an attention-getter.

Montebello

Toby skipped work. Again. After his interview on the morning show, he’d hurried home to wait for other calls. From other reporters on other TV stations. He wasn’t dumb. He knew how this worked. If the weekly loser on one of those reality shows could get a gig on national talk shows, so could he. After all, he wasn’t a loser. He was the true love of a Time Lottery winner and a movie star. Double bonus points.

By the time he got home, he had three calls on his answering machine, the most exciting from a network morning show in New York City. They wanted him. Tomorrow. They were sending a car for him in an hour. A plane ticket would be on the computers at the airport. Then a limo ride and a couple of nights at a ritzy hotel. Meals included, of course.

Finally, he was going to get a feel for what Lane enjoyed every day of her life. It was his turn now, and he wasn’t going to waste a moment of it.

He shoved a pair of khakis into his duffle bag. The phone rang and he cleared his throat, preparing for another interview request. Maybe he should charge a fee…

“Mr. Bjornson?”

“Yes?”

“This is Alexander MacMillan from the TTC.”

“The what?”

“The Time Travel Corporation. The Time Lottery people.”

Uh-oh. This couldn’t be good. “I can’t talk now. I’m just heading out the door.”

“We really need to talk, Mr. Bjornson.”

“I told you, I don’t have time.” He thought about bragging and decided,
why not?
“I have to get to the airport. I’m going to be on TV tomorrow. Network, national TV.”

“I… I don’t think that’s wise, Mr. Bjornson.”

“Hey, people think I’m interesting. And they have a right to know me. I’m the man Laney went back to see. I’m important in her life. Giving me up was her biggest regret.”

“But you weren’t engaged, were you?”

How did he know that?
“We were engaged to be engaged. If Laney hadn’t gone to that stupid audition, we would have been.”

“You shouldn’t say you were engaged.”

“I can say anything I want to.”

“You shouldn’t lie, Mr. Bjornson. It will whip around to bite you. Lies always do.”

“I don’t need a morality lesson from you, Mr. Whatever-your-name-is. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a plane to catch.”

Toby hung up hard. Nobody was going to stop him. Nobody.

Kansas City

Mac sat with his hand on the receiver. Toby was on a roll, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him without bringing the guy even more attention. He just hoped Toby’s fifteen minutes would fade before Lane’s week was up.

He turned toward his credenza and flipped the TV back on.
Please, Lord. No more bad press.
When he saw a teaser that showed a picture of Vanessa’s father, his stomach dropped. He caught only the tail end of the promo and heard “…what is Vanessa Caldwell’s father covering up? Exclusive footage, right after the break.”

Mac had met the man only once in the Time Lottery waiting room, but in that short time Yardley Pruitt had revealed himself to have an ego. He was a man used to getting his own way. But what did the reporter mean about “covering up”?

Mac wanted to go home. He ran his hands over his face, waiting for the commercials to be over. He tried not to think of possible scenarios with Mr. Pruitt. Why borrow trouble?

Speaking of…

Wriggens came in. “You’re watching?”

“I’m watching.”

Wriggens sat in a guest chair, moving it for the best view of the television. “What do you think he’s covering up?”

“I prefer not to speculate.”

“Mmm. Did you take care of the Toby situation?”

Might as well come out with it. “He won’t talk to us. He’s having the time of his life. He’s going to be on a national morning show tomorrow.”

“Why didn’t you stop him?”

“And how should I have done that?”

“Offer him money. Anything.”

Mac knew the limits of the Time Lottery budget. A couple hundred bucks wouldn’t stop Toby Bjornson. “It’s not about money. It’s about fame. Getting attention. Nothing can stop him until Lane comes back.”