Twanged

by Carol Higgins Clark

  The patrolman tipped his hat. “Hello, sir.”

  Chappy made the introductions to the others.

  “I just came to welcome you to town, Brigid,” Arnold said, “and to deliver a package that was left for you at the college. I can see I picked the wrong time for that.”

  “Not at all,” Brigid replied graciously. “It’s great to meet you. I’m looking forward to the concert.”

  Arnold shook her hand and gave Brigid the box.

  “Are you going to open it?” Bettina asked. “I can’t wait to open the presents Chappy gives me.”

  “Hold on a minute,” Regan said. “In view of what just happened, who knows what we might find in that box. It could be dangerous.”

  “My secretary thought it sounded like vegetable seeds,” Arnold Baker offered. “That’s what someone left for the performers at last year’s concert.”

  “Let me take a look,” the policeman said. He accepted the package from Brigid. It rattled in his hands. “Sounds like kernels of corn moving around.” The tape over the flimsy brown paper came undone and the paper slid away, revealing a white box with a top. “It seems like it wants to unwrap itself,” he observed.

  “I’m dying to know what’s inside,” Bettina commented in her loud voice.

  “Well, from the sound of it, it’s definitely not a bomb,” the policeman said. He turned away, lifted the top off the box, and pulled out a beanbag doll with long red hair and green eyes. The head was practically severed from the body. Scribbled in black letters across its white bib was the word BRIGID.

  A collective gasp rippled through the room.

  “Looks like there’s a note here,” the policeman said as he pulled a piece of paper out of the box.

  “What does it say?” Brigid asked.

  An uncomfortable look came over the face of the officer of the law. “It says, ‘This could be you.’”

  “Appalling!” Chappy cried. “I think this is appalling.”

  “Brigid, we’re so happy you’re our guest,” Bettina declared. “We don’t want you to think that this is typical of the way people act around here. It’s true they can be pretty nasty in these parts but this is terrible. Terrible, terrible.”

  Two incidents within minutes of each other, Regan thought. Could a third be far behind?

  Brigid smiled wanly. “I guess this means I’ve really arrived in show biz. Someone’s sitting up and taking notice of me.”

  The police officer adjusted his cap. “Miss O’Neill, do you have any idea who could have sent this?”

  Brigid looked perplexed. “No, not at all.”

  Regan turned to the officer. “On the radio show this morning, some strange guy called in. Someone also left a threatening letter for Brigid at Fan Fair in Nashville when she performed there. . . .” Briefly Regan explained what Fan Fair was. “Because the letter was just left there, it had no postmark. This box wasn’t sent through the mail, either. . . .”

  “Which means that the stalker or stalkers who wrote the note and dropped off the package have always been in Miss O’Neill’s vicinity,” the officer concluded. “Whoever called the radio station must be in the area.”

  “That’s right,” Regan said. “And you have the two who were here a few minutes ago . . . and the incident the other night with Louisa being pushed in the pool. . . .” She turned to Chappy and Bettina. “I think we should get some security guards to patrol the compound until Brigid leaves.”

  “Whhaaaat?” Bettina said.

  “Oh my,” Chappy uttered. “My my. I don’t know whether that is, uhhh, really necessary, do you?”

  Brigid straightened up. “Regan, no. I don’t want to live like that, and this is supposed to be a vacation for everyone. You’re here with me, this house is full of people, so is Kit’s. Bettina and Chappy are right across the way.”

  “We’ll all watch out for her,” Kieran said firmly.

  “That’s right,” Pammy declared.

  Hank and Teddy nodded their agreement.

  Brigid pointed to the box. “Whoever did this is not likely to come after me. And that letter from Fan Fair was left by someone in Nashville. That guy on the radio sounded like a loose cannon, talking about Louisa being pushed.”

  But I think she was pushed, Regan thought, envisioning the paint mark on the back of Louisa’s caftan.

  “What about the boys who barged in here today?” Pammy asked as she pushed her hair behind her ear. “That’s really scary.”

  “They didn’t want to get rid of me, they just wanted the fiddle. From now on, I’ve got to be more careful about who I grant interviews to. Right, Regan?” Brigid joked.

  Regan nodded. “We can’t let anyone who just shows up come in the door. Any interviews will be cleared in advance.” And I’ll bring the fiddle over to my parents for safekeeping, Regan thought.

  “Besides a couple of phone interviews, the only other thing I have scheduled is going back to the radio station on Thursday. I have to call my manager, Roy . . .”

  Arnold had been standing there quietly, taking it all in. He stepped forward. “Brigid, I’m so sorry.”

  “Yes, oh yes,” Chappy mumbled.

  “Hey, it’s not your fault. I can’t wait to play on Friday night.”

  “Good. Because as a representative of the college and the Melting Pot Festival, I find this whole business to be reprehensible. I can assure you that your presence at the festival is eagerly anticipated and will add to the evening’s enjoyment immeasurably. Now, that said, I think I’ve done enough harm, and I’ll get back to work.”

  Brigid shook his hand again. “Thanks for dropping by.”

  “Yes, oh yes,” Chappy mumbled.

  “Sir,” Regan said as Arnold started to walk out, “I’d like to talk to you for a moment before you go.” She followed him outside and made arrangements to stop by the college that afternoon. She wanted to talk with the security guard who’d found the package. Maybe he’d seen something.

  “I’ll be there all day,” Arnold told her.

  Regan watched as he backed out. The driveway was a sight: two police cars with flashing lights, the twenty-year-old station wagon Chappy had lent the band stopped behind them, Chappy’s dented Rolls, and the tour bus and Peace Man’s camper sticking out from the other side of the castle.

  Where is Peace Man? Regan wondered. Did he meditate through all this commotion? Is he planning to spend the seven days of silence in his camper?

  I have to watch out for him, she thought as her eyes swept the grounds of the Compound. The pool area where she was sure Louisa had been pushed the other night was calm and quiet.

  Not only is that fiddle cursed, Regan thought, I think the Chappy Compound has a few ghosts haunting the place. She took a deep breath of the ocean air. An uncomfortable feeling was settling across her chest like a dead weight, a feeling that Regan was sure wouldn’t go away until Brigid was safely out of the Hamptons.

  Four more days until the concert, she thought. To think that this week was supposed to be a fun week for Brigid.

  She walked back into the house and spoke again with the police. They agreed to let Regan keep the doll for her own investigation.

  “Until Miss O’Neill files a complaint she can do what she wants with it,” the officer said. “We’ll keep the letter in case we want to check it for fingerprints.”

  “Thank you,” Regan said, as the question kept running around in her head: Who would leave that doll? Let’s hope my visit to Welth College this afternoon will shed a little light on that subject, Regan mused. Maybe I’ll learn something that will be of help.

  28

  Pearl, I can’t believe I finished the damn thing.” Ernie was sitting at the kitchen table having a cup of coffee. He’d just eaten breakfast, even though it was past noon. After Chappy Tinka had skedaddled out of his house yesterday, Ernie had worked nonstop, staying up until four o’clock in the morning putting the final scratches on the fiddle.

  “It turned out so nice, Er
nie,” Pearl said as she cleaned out the refrigerator in preparation for their trip. She opened a jar of mayonnaise and sniffed. Deciding with a wrinkle of her nose that it wouldn’t be any good by the time they got back, she chucked the jar in the garbage by her side. It landed with a thud.

  “Nice, schmice. It’ll have to do.”

  “Whatever you say, I’m proud of you.” Clunk went an old hunk of cheese.

  “Are you throwing everything out?” Ernie asked.

  “Only what might stink or decide to grow mold before we get back.”

  Ernie stood up. Now that his task was completed, he felt satisfied but itchy. He’d been working on that fiddle day and night for a week. Instead of feeling worn-out, he was restless. Like he wanted to get away. Get out and see something new. Do things. He’d been cooped up for only a week, but dealing with Chappy Tinka made it feel like an eternity. “Are we all packed?” he asked Pearl.

  “I’ve been packing and unpacking for days. There are a few more things to stick in the suitcases . . . and maybe a few others to take out.”

  Ernie stared out the window at the greenhouse. “Pearl, let’s get out of here. Let’s leave today,” he blurted.

  Pearl looked up from the produce drawer, where she had discovered a lime, now rotten, that she’d been searching for last week when her neighbor Bea had stopped by for a cocktail. Her mouth dropped open. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “But. . .”

  “No buts,” he said, walking over to his wife. Tenderly he patted the soft skin on Pearl’s face.

  Pearl smiled. “Massaging my wrinkles?”

  “I love your wrinkles. And I’ve been ignoring you all week. Why don’t we throw our bags in the car and go into New York City?”

  Pearl’s eyes widened. “New York City?”

  “Yeah, New York City. We’ll get a room at the Plaza, buh buh buh, go out to dinner, buh buh buh, live it up for a couple of days, maybe go to a show, then we head to Pennsylvania.”

  “Are you feeling all right, Ernie?” Pearl asked suspiciously. Suddenly she got very frightened and her voice rose as she spoke. “Did the doctor tell you something was wrong at your checkup, and you’ve been keeping it from me? Did that cough you had turn out to be—”

  “Oy! Pearl!” Ernie interrupted. “No! Can’t I just do something nice?”

  “It’s a little unusual, that’s all.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  Pearl laughed. “I’d love to go. But Ernie, New York City is so expensive! We made a budget for the trip.”

  “Forget the budget,” Ernie said. “This is special. Tinka is paying me double, remember? We’ve got to live a little.” He leaned down and gave her a kiss. “Why should I work like a dog if I can’t enjoy the money?”

  “Oh, Ernie! This is so exciting!” Pearl puckered up and kissed him back. “We haven’t done anything this spur-of-the-moment since 1965!”

  “What did we do in 1965?”

  “We drove in to the World’s Fair in Queens with no advance planning.”

  “Oh yeah.”

  Pearl looked around as if deciding what to do next. “I’ll call Bea next door and tell her we’re leaving today. . . .” All of a sudden a thought struck her. “Ernie, what about the fiddle? Isn’t Tinka coming later this week to pick it up?”

  “We’ll surprise him and drop it off at his house on our way out.”

  “You know where he lives?”

  “His address was on the check.”

  “He’s getting it early and special-delivered!” Pearl said with glee. “Boy, will he be surprised!”

  29

  I can’t believe I missed the excitement,” Kit moaned as Brigid and Regan filled her in on all the details. They were sitting on the beach together in low lawn chairs, Brigid and Regan in their wet bathing suits. After everything that had happened, Brigid had wanted to go for a swim in the ocean.

  “I want to let the water wash over me, Regan,” she’d said. “I need to clear my head.”

  Pammy and the guys were up in the guest house making sandwiches for lunch.

  Kit had been out with Angela, doing food shopping. When she got back and knocked on the guesthouse door, Pammy had told her what happened and pointed to Brigid and Regan out in the water.

  Kit had coming running down and made them get out of the water and talk to her. “It figures that I’m in the grocery store when something like that happens. If I’d been here . . .”

  “Kit!” Regan said. “We’re just lucky the whole thing wasn’t more serious.”

  “I suppose,” Kit grumbled, her toes playing with the sand. “I can’t believe it about the doll, too.”

  The three of them—one blond insurance saleswoman, one brunette private investigator, and one redheaded country singer—sat in silence for a few moments, staring out at the water, looking for all the world like any three friends in the Hamptons simply enjoying a sunny day at the beach. But in all likelihood very few conversations among the groups of women clustered in little groups up and down the miles and miles of shoreline vaguely resembled what these three were talking about.

  “Brigid,” Regan said, breaking the silence, “about the fiddle . . . I want to make sure nothing happens to it. What do you say I bring it over to my parents’ house and leave it there for the next few days?”

  For a moment, Brigid looked startled.

  “Only if you want,” Regan said, looking up at the guest house. “But there’s no alarm system here for us to turn on when we go out. And we’re all in and out to the beach, so the doors aren’t always locked. Someone could easily slip into our place.”

  Brigid peered up at their living quarters. It looked peaceful and pretty and Currier and Ives-ish with its white exterior and black shutters, shining in the sunlight, sitting above the beach against the backdrop of a brilliant blue sky. A postcard-perfect image that only a couple of hours ago had been the scene of a foiled crime.

  “What about asking Chappy to hold on to it?” Kit asked. “In all those rooms of his house, there must be a safe or someplace to hide it.”

  Regan shook her head. “There are so many people coming and going in that place. I’d rather get it away from here. You can be sure the word is going to spread around town about what happened. It might give somebody else ideas.”

  “Okay, Regan,” Brigid said finally. “I guess it’ll be a relief not to have to worry about it for a few days. Whoever said that possessions possess certainly had it right.”

  Regan nodded. “I think it will give us a little peace of mind. I’ll go get it from my parents’ place on Thursday or Friday before the concert. When you leave the Hamptons, maybe some of this hype will have died down.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Brigid said. “But you realize, don’t you, that on the other side of this ocean, someone tried to steal what they thought was the same fiddle from Malachy?”

  “Yes,” Regan said.

  “And they walked right into his house when he was sleeping and took it off his lap?”

  “I know.”

  “You’d better bring it over to your parents’ this minute!”

  Kit stood up. “How about dinner at my place tonight? Angela and I bought the makings of pasta.”

  “I love pasta,” Brigid said. “That sounds great!”

  “You’re cooking?” Regan asked Kit in mock disbelief.

  “Well, Angela is in charge,” Kit admitted. “I’m not a natural cook, but I can follow directions.”

  “Who’s going to be there?” Regan asked.

  “Angela and Garrett definitely. We’ll see who else is around. Some of the others had to return to the City to work and are coming back out on Thursday for the weekend. Do you think the guys and Pammy would like to come?”

  Brigid stood up. “We can ask them.”

  “Brigid,” Regan said, “I want to run over to the college about the doll and then go bring the fiddle to my mother. But I want to make sure I’m not leaving you alo
ne.”

  “Regan, I’ll be fine,” Brigid replied with conviction. “The others are here. I’d like to do some reading. I suppose I should call my mother. . . . I don’t want her hearing about this from anybody else. She’s in Ireland, but bad news always travels fast.”

  Regan thought again of Brigid’s mother, Eileen. “Can you believe that’s my kid?” she’d asked the group around her laughingly after Brigid had sung her hit song at the crowded party. Her face had been glowing with pride.

  “I’m sure it will be easier for her to hear it from you,” Regan said. “It’s less upsetting. Just start the conversation with ‘Mom, everything is fine but. . .’”

  “But someone sent me a beheaded doll that looks like me. And another nut called me at a radio station. Other than that, things are just fine.”

  “I’m not going to leave you,” Regan decided.

  “Go! The guys are up at the house. Everybody’s on their toes.”

  “Lock yourself in your room!” Regan said. “I’m not kidding!”

  “Okay, okay!”

  “Okay.” Regan nodded. “Kit, can I borrow your car again?”

  “Angela took it. She said something about going to visit a friend.”

  Regan frowned.

  “Regan,” Brigid said, “take the station wagon. Chappy left it for all of us to use.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Take it.”

  “Okay. Kit, can I pick up anything for tonight?”

  “There’s a fruit and vegetable stand right around the corner. We were going to stop but it was really busy. If you can pick up some strawberries . . .”

  Regan’s eyes twinkled. “Kit, don’t tell me you’re going to make your famous strawberry shortcake.”

  “I just might,” Kit said as she folded up her chair.

  “Brigid, I’ve got to tell you,” Regan commented with a smile, “tonight you’re in for a real treat.”

  30

  I can’t believe she wanted a security guard around here,” Bettina said for the twenty-fifth time since she and Chappy had walked back over to their house.