Twanged

by Carol Higgins Clark

  Herbert was busy chewing. He nodded his head.

  Regan looked around and surveyed the rest of the tables. She noticed that Bettina was sitting with Garrett and Peace Man and Duke and Angela. Brigid was at the “media” table with Chappy and the radio station guys and two reporters from the local papers. Everyone at that table looked as if they were trying to be polite, listening as Chappy’s hands flapped about. He’s obviously in the middle of a story, Regan thought.

  As all the guests seemed to be finishing up, Regan excused herself and walked over to Brigid.

  “Sit sit sit, Regan,” Chappy said to her. “Brigid was just telling us about the fiddle . . .”

  Another chair was instantly produced by one of the waiters, and Regan squeezed in next to Chappy.

  “. . . You know my theatre is opening next summer?” he asked Regan.

  “Yes,” she said, noticing that the two reporters who had their pads out and their pens poised had stopped writing when Chappy began to speak.

  “Brigid, are you afraid of the curse on the fiddle?” the elegant seventyish woman who was the society reporter from the Southampton Sun asked in a well-bred voice. She sat ramrod straight and looked to be of the old guard.

  Brigid laughed. “Oh no.”

  “But facing an accident or death is a pretty scary superstition,” the young cub reporter from the Hamptons News said with enthusiasm.

  He looks like he really wants to play that up, Regan thought.

  “It’s the Irish,” Brigid answered, looking to Regan as if she were getting tired. “We’ve always been a superstitious lot.”

  Brad Petroni, ever anxious to plug his radio station, jumped in. “Brigid’s agreed to talk about that with us on our radio show Monday. We’ll be discussing curses and superstitions and the fiddle. Right, Brigid?”

  “Right.” She managed a smile.

  Later, after dinner, the crowd gathered with their ice cream sundaes in the drawing room, where an eight-foot portrait of Alvin Conrad Tinka, founder of the Tinka thumbtack fortune, was hung near the portrait of his beloved wife, Agneta. Positioned between them on the wall was the baby portrait of their only grandchild, Chappy, in all his rosy-cheeked and ringlet-haired glory.

  Chappy sat in a thronelike chair directly beneath his likeness of over fifty years ago. Bettina sat at his feet.

  To Regan, who had taken a place in the back by one of the doors, where she could keep an eye on the crowd, he couldn’t have looked happier.

  “Let’s see that fiddle!” he urged her. “Play the fiddle for us, Brigid,” he said.

  “Okay,” Brigid responded. “I’ll play a song with the fiddle, and then I want my band here to join me.” She picked up the fiddle with an almost reverent feeling, Regan thought, balanced it on her shoulder, closed her eyes for a brief moment, then started to play. Lively music filled the room and Regan watched at Brigid’s eyes started to sparkle and her body began to move. Her fatigue seemed to be swept away by the music.

  She loves what she does, Regan thought. She’s coming alive. It’s as if playing the music is all that counts.

  After the first song, Brigid said, “Come on, guys, I want you to play with me.”

  “Play your hit song,” Brad urged.

  “Coming right up,” Brigid answered with a chuckle.

  Kieran stood next to her, and Teddy and Hank took their places in the background as they went into a spirited rendition of the song that was making her famous. “If I’da known you were in jail,” she began. Brigid’s voice sounded so clear and young and fresh. The guys sang backup, with Kieran having a couple lines of his own, singing the part of the unfortunate inmate professing his undying love.

  They’re really good, Regan thought. They’re going to make it. A that moment Regan realized something was bothering her. She looked over and noticed that Herbert was nervously glancing back at the door every few seconds.

  Louisa was not there.

  She hadn’t been there for any of the music.

  She wouldn’t miss this, Regan thought anxiously. She hurried out of the room and down the hall to the two guest bathrooms. Both doors were open. They were empty.

  Running father down the hall, she glanced into the living room, where the waiters were folding the tables.

  No Louisa.

  Maybe she went outside, Regan thought frantically. Maybe she needed some air.

  She hurried through the dining room and poked her head in the kitchen door, where the housekeeper was washing dishes at the other end of the room. Not wanting to waste time asking questions, Regan ran out onto the deck, where the containers of ice cream were slowly melting.

  “Louisa?” she called into the darkness.

  The only sound she heard was the breaking of the waves on the beach.

  Oh God, she thought. Those drinks Louisa had were strong.

  Taking the steps off the deck two at a time, she raced toward the water and then turned around. She wouldn’t have gone near the ocean, Regan thought. Let me check the pool. Maybe she wanted to sit outside.

  Regan’s sandals were becoming weighed down with sand. She kicked them off and ran to the side of the house where the pool was. Everything seemed still, but when she raced up the steps, the sight of Louisa in her red-and-white caftan floating facedown in the pool sickened her.

  “LOUISA!” Regan shrieked at the top of her lungs as she unfastened her fanny pack, dropped it to the ground, and quickly dove in.

  12

  When he saw she was being rescued, he turned and ran.

  After arriving back in the Hamptons and enjoying his late afternoon meal of “poached eggs on toast, none of that gooky hollandaise sauce, miz, a side order of French fries, and a Dr Pepper,” he ‘d driven over and parked his car down the street from the Chappy Compound. He’d known Brigid was there, and he had to be near her. He couldn’t approach her yet, but just being in the same vicinity was very exciting.

  What had his mother told him when he ‘d started to get crushes on movie stars?

  She’d said, “Get a life.”

  That had hurt him very badly. She was the one who loved to watch old movies. Especially The Sheik. He had no father to go to. He ‘d disappeared so long ago he couldn’t even remember him. Brigid had lost her father, too. He’d read that. So they had something in common and could talk about it when they finally were together. If he could just get the chance to carry Brigid off, she ‘d fall in love with him, too. He was sure of it.

  That night he spent in jail he’d heard her hit song and knew that she was sending a message to him. Over the radio. Just to him. He didn’t want her singing it to anyone else.

  After parking his car, he’d walked onto the beach and down to the water in front of the Chappy Compound. He’d wanted to get a look at the setup. Because people were out for a stroll on the beach, he’d been able to blend in, but still he’d taken care to stay far enough away to not be noticed.

  He decided he’d better keep moving, so he walked down past several of the big houses, then turned around and come back. That was when he saw two guys and a lady setting up food and a bar on the deck of the big house at Chappy’s Compound. He decided to take a chance. When the coast was clear, he ran under the deck and hid.

  They were going to have a party! How perfect!

  When the crowd had gathered, he could hear them all laughing and talking above. Brigid was standing right over his head! He heard her answering questions about her music. She was going to be on the country radio station on Monday. She was looking forward to the concert. She was staying in the guest house by the pool.

  Then they all went inside to eat. He felt so left out. But he had to make the best of it.

  The sand under the deck started to feel damp. But he didn ‘t want to leave. He squiggled to get into a more comfortable position and waited. He could hear the waiters moving around over him. He peeled the hard-boiled egg he had in his pocket and ate it.

  Then everyone came outside to get ice cream. Some kl
utz knocked over a bowlful of sprinkles, and some of them fell through the cracks in the wood. He managed to catch a few in his palm. Slowly he licked them off with his tongue.

  He could hear them talking about going back inside to listen to Brigid play. Time to go look at the house where Brigid was staying, he thought. It was dark now, and he could creep over there. After they all went back inside, he waited a little longer and then crawled out from under the deck, trying to brush off the sand messing up his Buster Brown haircut. What a pain.

  He sneaked past the pool area and then picked up speed, feverishly heading across to the guest house where his Brigid was staying.

  That was when he heard the noise—someone coming out of the big house and walking to the pool, making a funny grunting sound. He ran to the side of the cottage so he wouldn’t be seen. When he’d positioned himself where he could take a good look without being noticed, he could see a woman leaning over the pool by the diving board.

  When she fell in and made that splash, he was sure he’d seen a figure running away, even though the area was poorly lit.

  She had been pushed! He didn ‘t know what to do. Then someone came out yelling a name, found her in the pool, screamed, and dove in.

  There was no way he could be found here. They couldn ‘t think that he was the one who pushed her.

  People came running out of the house. He turned and ran. What was going on in that place anyhow? Was Brigid in danger?

  Brigid, I’ll be back, he thought. I will be back.

  13

  SUNDAY, JUNE 29

  Regan awoke early. With all the excitement, she’d slept fitfully. turning on her side, she stared at the window, whose shades was flapping slightly.

  What a night! she thought. A perfectly pleasant evening capped off with Louisa nearly drowning.

  Regan sighed thinking back on the chain of events. She’d hauled Louisa down to the shallow end of the pool; the radio station twosome had jumped in and helped lift Louisa out. What was it they had yelled? Regan wondered. Something like “The posse’s here,” and then “Clear the way, this lady needs some air.” Well, that had to be the understatement of the evening, Regan thought. But they were helpful, and their cowboy boots were probably ruined.

  The big surprise was Pammy. Before Regan could get out of the pool and do it herself, Pammy had flipped Louisa on her stomach, turned her head to the side, straddled her, and begun pumping her back. All her cutesyness evaporated as she’d taken charge, rhythmically pounding on Louisa’s back until she’d begun to spit out water. Herbert had been beside himself with relief as everyone had cheered.

  “I was a lifeguard when I was sixteen,” Pammy had said crisply to Regan. “It’s obvious she couldn’t have been in long.”

  I was a lifeguard, too, Regan had wanted to say, but she didn’t bother. She remembered with amusement the moment that Pammy had reverted to her usual persona. The reporters had been snapping pictures. Pammy had stood up, her halter dress damp and rumpled. “I must be just a mess,” she’d said with a self-satisfied smile. Kieran had looked at her with an expression Regan still couldn’t quite figure out. A combination of pride and wistfulness, she thought.

  Of course, Regan had been standing there looking like a drowned rat.

  There was something about the whole incident that didn’t sit right with Regan. How could Louisa have just fallen in the pool? Did something else happen?

  Stretching, she got out of bed. She pulled a bathing suit out of the suitcase on the floor. I’d like to go take a dip in the pool and wake up, she thought. The events of last night still seemed so unreal. She felt the need to go back out there.

  It was nine-ten. She and Brigid and Kit were going over to her parents’ house for brunch at eleven. Last night she had asked her mother if they could come by today. She knew then that she wanted to question Louisa.

  Regan went downstairs, where the house was quiet. Everyone must still be asleep, she thought. Stopping at the refrigerator, she poured a glass of the orange juice Chappy had stocked and gratefully finished it off in about three gulps.

  The day was bright and sunny. The ocean looked blue and sparkly, and boats dotted the horizon. At the pool area she found Duke in his bathing suit, using a skimmer to clean the pool.

  “Hey, Regan,” he called.

  “Hi,” she said, throwing her towel on a chair. The water in the pool looked calm and peaceful. It was incredible that this same place was the scene of such chaos less than twelve hours ago, she thought. “You’re working early,” she said to Duke.

  “Oh yeah. It’s my job to keep the pool clean. Chappy wants to make sure it’s nice for you folks.” He laughed. “Bettina got mad at me yesterday when we were cleaning up. I accidentally plunked the handle of the skimmer in a can of white paint.”

  Regan noticed the sign tacked to the door of the cabana: WET PAINT. She remembered Kit saying that they had been scurrying around getting ready for Brigid’s arrival.

  Regan smiled. “These things happen.”

  “Yeahhhh. They just happen to me a lot,” he answered good-naturedly. “Say, you were a hero last night, Regan. Chappy was talking about how lucky Louisa was you went looking for her. He said you must have a lot of intuition.”

  “Well, thanks,” Regan replied quietly. “Hey, did I hear you’re an actor?” she asked.

  “I’ve been working on it for fifteen years. I haven’t had my big break yet but it’s coming,” he said, smiling broadly. He pulled the skimmer out of the water. “Done for now. Or until Chappy throws another lemon in the pool.” He balanced the long pole on a table near the pool and looked at the slight coating of white paint on his hands. “The handle is still sticky, I guess,” he said, half to himself. “I’d better go get some turpentine to wash this off. See you later.”

  “ ‘Bye,” Regan said, and watched him walk away, shaking his head. She sat there quietly for a few moments, enjoying the peacefulness. The scene from last night was still so fresh in her mind. Someone had called 911. Within minutes the police had arrived with sirens blaring and lights flashing. By then Louisa had been sitting up and insistent that she not go to the hospital.

  “Lambie will get too upset,” she’d said, her speech slightly Slurred.

  So the maid had given Louisa a bathrobe to put on, and she’d worn that home, with Nora carrying her caftan in a plastic bag.

  Regan walked over to the diving board and studied it. From the little she could get from Louisa last night, she’d come out for air and then been intrigued by the musical note painted on the bottom of the pool. She’d leaned over to have a look, lost her balance, and fallen, hitting her head on the side of the diving board.

  The whole thing was strange. Even if she’d lost her balance, why would she hit the diving board like that?

  Regan dove in and felt the cool water once again invigorate her. Two nights of weird sleep, she thought. I should always have an ocean or a pool at my disposal to jump into when I’m tired.

  She swam several laps and got out. Time to grab a cup of coffee and go over to see how the world’s most talkative patient was doing.

  Regan, in the harsh unforgiving light of morning I feel mortified,” Louisa called from the couch as Nora led Regan, Brigid, and Kit to the back of the house. Louisa was stretched out with a washcloth over her head. Her bad-luck red-and-white caftan had been replaced by a blue-and-green one.

  Herbert was sitting at the other end of the couch silently massaging Louisa’s feet.

  “Don’t be embarrassed,” Regan said as she gently lifted the cloth. “You did get a good conk there. That diving board really jumped out at you.”

  “It sure did, Regan.” Louisa started to get up.

  “Don’t get up,” Regan cautioned as she accepted a cup of coffee from her mother. Luke was in the kitchen preparing brunch, the only meal he liked to cook. Blueberry pancakes were his specialty.

  “I’m good as new. I guess I had more to drink than I realized last night. Regan, if it weren
’t for you . . .” Louisa grabbed Regan’s hand. “Lambie and I thank you for saving my life. Isn’t that right, Lambie?”

  Herbert was in deep concentration, focusing on the little toe of Louisa’s right foot. He looked up. “That’s right. Thank you, Regan.”

  And this piggy toes goes wee wee, all the way home, Regan thought.

  “He barely slept last night,” Louisa said almost proudly, his insomnia making her feel well loved. “Hnnnnn.”

  She’s definitely feeling better, Regan decided.

  “Those waiters just kept pouring the wine. And I had a couple of those tropical drinks because it reminds me of when Lambie and I go to the islands. Lambie loves to snorkel.” She looked fondly at her husband, who was now concentrating on the big toe of her left foot as if it held the same fascination as an exotic tropical fish. “Hnnnnnn.”

  If somebody did that to my feet, Regan thought, I’d make funny noises, too.

  “Anyway,” Louisa continued, “I was so busy talking to everyone there that I didn’t notice how much I’d had to drink. When everyone was gathering in the drawing room, I knew I had to go out and get some fresh air.” She turned to Brigid, who was sitting next to Kit on the other couch. “Brigid, I’m so disappointed I didn’t get to hear you play that fiddle.”

  “That’s okay, Louisa. I’ll be playing it again this week,” Brigid said as she sipped coffee. She had on a pair of khaki shorts and a blue short-sleeved shirt. Her long red hair spilled over her shoulders. “Although I’m not sure if I should,” she added, laughing. “Something exciting always seems to happen, good or bad, every time I play it.”

  “The curse!” Louisa cried. “I know. Those young men from the radio station asked me to get material for them on superstitions and curses for your show tomorrow. Do you think they’d like to talk about my near drowning?” she asked hopefully.