Twanged

by Carol Higgins Clark

  “Probably because your mother’s not here to bug her all the time,” Duke replied.

  “Don’t talk about Mother like that!” Chappy snapped.

  “But you do.”

  “It’s different when I say it. She could be difficult at times, but she’s now resting in peace, and let’s leave it at that.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  Chappy stood up and wordlessly walked out the door. Under his breath he mumbled, “Country Tunes. How ridiculous.”

  51

  The day passed quickly. Everyone took advantage of the much-welcomed good weather and spent most of their time on the beach.

  The other members of Kit’s house had started arriving in the morning, ready to celebrate the long Fourth of July weekend. They came out on the sand and pretty soon several blankets were spread in the same area.

  “This is heaven,” Brigid said.

  They went into the water, chilly thanks to the rain and the relatively early point in the season, but the waves were big enough to keep everyone bouncing around and warmed up.

  When Brigid and Kit and Regan came out of the water and headed to the blankets, Regan told Brigid that she’d go pick up the fiddle from her parents’ house.

  Brigid lowered her sunglasses. “I hate to make you get in the car again. . . .”

  “That’s okay. I’d rather get it now. Tomorrow will be hectic, and I know you want to practice. But I don’t want to leave you alone.”

  “Regan,” Brigid said, motioning to the group around her, “I’ll be fine.”

  “I promise I won’t leave her side,” Kit said in an uncharacteristically serious tone. “My keys are under the seat.”

  “Thanks, Kit,” Regan replied. Kit’s reassurance made her feel better. She had to get the fiddle and knew Brigid didn’t want to be dragged along. Not on her last day of vacation.

  Regan ran up to the guest house, quickly changed, and on her way out walked around to look once again in the basement windows. She leaned down and pushed her face against the dirty glass. Yup, she thought. It looks like a basement.

  She hurried to Kit’s car and drove over to her parents’. It felt so good that the sun was out again.

  At the house she found the foursome out by the pool.

  Louisa was sunning herself. “I decided to enjoy the sunshine, since Lambie and I will be leaving on Saturday. How we hate to go!”

  I’ll bet, Regan thought.

  “Brigid sounded good on the radio this morning,” Luke said. “How is she doing?”

  “Her reviews have put her in great spirits. She’s excited to start the tour.”

  “Did you show her the pictures, Regan?” Louisa asked.

  Regan squinted. “Not yet. To tell you the truth, I don’t think she’d love seeing Pammy in the middle of a band photo that’s going out over the Internet.”

  “Oh my,” Louisa said. “And I bet Pammy wouldn’t like to see some of the letters that fans have posted on the Internet. So many of them asked why Brigid and Kieran aren’t together. I quote, ‘When you sing together, it looks like you’re really a couple.’”

  “No kidding?” Regan asked.

  “No kidding.”

  “I’ve really got to get back now. Mom, could you get that famous cursed fiddle out for me?”

  “Of course, dear.”

  Regan and Nora went inside. In her room Nora unlocked the safe and handed her daughter the object of so much speculation. “It’s been some week.”

  “I know,” Regan said. “Thankfully, it’s almost over. By the way, I’ve decided to stay through next week with you.”

  “Wonderful.”

  When Regan pulled back into the Chappy Compound, Duke was coming out of Kit’s house. Angela was standing at the screen door. Regan waved to them and parked Kit’s car.

  “Regan,” he said as he walked over, The Complete Works of William Shakespeare under his arm. He pulled a letter out of his pocket. “Someone left this letter in the mailbox for Brigid. Would you mind giving it to her?”

  “Not at all.” Regan took it and looked at the writing on the envelope. Oh God, she thought. It was the same big black angry lettering. There was no address on it. No return address on it either. Just Brigid’s name.

  Duke started to walk off.

  “Duke?” Regan called.

  He turned and looked at her. “Yo,” he answered.

  “When did you find this letter?”

  “This afternoon when I went out to get the rest of the mail.”

  “Was anyone else around?”

  “I didn’t see anybody. Why?”

  “Just curious,” Regan said. She didn’t need to tell him her concerns. When he walked off again, she ripped the envelope open. She read it quickly and gasped. Except for the last sentence, it had exactly the same sentiments as the message in the letter left in Nashville.

  DEAR BRIGID,

  YOU’VE TAKEN SOMETHING THAT DOESN’T BELONG TO YOU. I DON’T WANT TO HEAR YOU SINGING THAT SONG ABOUT JAIL ANYMORE. YOU’VE BEEN WARNED, WHAT IS IT GOING TO TAKE TO MAKE YOU FINALLY LISTEN?

  No. Regan decided. I don’t think I’ll pass this on to Brigid. After the concert I’ll turn the doll, the smashed cassette, and the letter over to the police. There’s nothing they can do about them now, and I don’t want to upset Brigid. When she’s left the Hamptons, I’ll call her manager and have a long talk about measures they should take to ensure Brigid’s security in the future.

  The thought made Regan shiver.

  They’re having a BARBECUE!” Chappy cried. “Doesn’t any one of them ever plan to spend a dime on a restaurant in this town? Won’t they ever go out?”

  Duke shook his head back and forth. “They’re going to set up a grill on the beach.”

  “Were you invited?” Chappy asked suspiciously.

  “Yes. So were you and Bettina.”

  “My nerves can’t take it.”

  That night, Angela sat in the sand, holding a script. “Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?” she asked Duke as she bit into a hamburger.

  Well, this is it, Brigid,” Regan said as they talked in the hallway before calling it a night. “Tomorrow is the big day.”

  “And what a day it will be,” Brigid answered cheerily. “It’s going to be so exciting.”

  “No doubt,” Regan agreed.

  He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He’d had the country music radio station on, and they’d done nothing but talk about Brigid and play the song. He was about to go crazy.

  He ‘d made his plans. He couldn ‘t bring Brigid back here right away. He’d packed the car with his camping equipment. He’d take her to the woods, like he’d planned to do in Branson, and she would fall in love with him.

  Then he could bring her back here and they‘d live together happily ever after.

  All night he stared at the ceiling.

  52

  FRIDAY, JULY 4

  On Friday, the Fourth of July, there was a sense of excitement and anticipation in the air. It felt like the day of a prom or graduation or wedding.

  The morning dawned brilliantly, and as the sun ascended into the sky, it shone down with a vengeance on the field at Welth College, doing its best to continue desquishing it.

  Arnold Baker was a happy man. Casually dressed, he was outside his office, checking the progress of workers as they set up the stage on the field. Thanks to the rain, the grass looked greener and more lush than ever.

  Tonight this field will be filled with music lovers having a good time, he thought. The day was saved. He looked up at the sky, smiled, and uttered three words: “Thank you, God.”

  Over at the Compound, the day was just beginning in the guest house.

  When Regan came down to the kitchen at nine o’-clock, Teddy and Hank were walking in the door with bags of bagels and the newspapers. Brigid was at the table by herself.

  “Hey, Brigid,” Hank said. “Your face was staring out at me from this paper this morning, so I thought I’d
better buy it.”

  Brigid laughed heartily. “Throw it over.”

  Regan leaned over Brigid’s shoulder to get a glance at the Southampton Sun. A publicity photo of a smiling Brigid looked back at them.

  “Great shot, Brigid,” Regan said.

  “Thanks.”

  “What does that say?” Regan asked and began to read aloud. “ ‘Country music singer Brigid O’Neill will be appearing at the Melting Pot Music Festival on Friday, the Fourth of July. As with most country music singers, her songs will be about love and heartbreak, but Brigid herself has yet to find the man of her dreams. However, with her looks, talent, and charm, it shouldn’t be long before she steals someone’s heart and is singing from her own experience of being in love. . .’”

  Brigid looked up at Regan and rolled her eyes. “How embarrassing.”

  The phone rang. Teddy and Hank were both in the kitchen getting out the cream cheese and jelly and butter. Hank walked into the pantry and grabbed the phone. “Hello . . . yeah. Hey, Roy! . . . What? . . . Oh, that’s great! . . . Here’s Brigid.” He walked over and handed the cordless to Brigid. “You’re booked on Imus’s radio program next Tuesday morning, and that night we’ll be playing on Conan O’Brien’s show.”

  That ought to sell a few albums, Regan thought. Millions of people listen to “Imus in the Morning.” If he likes an album, he’ll play it on the air and talk about it. Regan knew that he particularly liked country music. And Conan O’Brien’s late-night television talk show was known for being a great jumping-off point for young new bands.

  “Yes!” Brigid said, giving Hank the thumbs-up as she grabbed the phone and started walking around. “Roy, that’s great news!” she exulted.

  Regan whispered to Hank, “Does that interfere with your tour?”

  “No, they scheduled the shows for when we’d be swinging back past New York anyway.”

  Kieran came into the room and sat down at the table. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  As Hank told him, he caught sight of Brigid’s picture. He pulled the paper over to him and began to read the article. Regan thought his expression looked troubled. Before he could finish the article, Pammy came bounding down the stairs and into the room with Kieran’s rubber ball in her hand.

  “What’s all the excitement?” she asked. “I heard Hank and Brigid and . . .” She looked at Kieran, whose nose was buried in the newspaper. “Kieran, what are you reading that’s so important?” She leaned over his shoulder.

  Regan poured herself a cup of coffee and watched the animation on Brigid’s face as she talked to her manager. The image of the mutilated doll bearing Brigid’s name raced across her mind. Only a psychotic would have done that. If the person wanted to harm Brigid, the concert would be a logical place to try. I’ll stick to her like glue today, Regan vowed silently.

  Chappy woke up and was shocked to see that it was after nine o’clock. Actually, I shouldn’t be too surprised, he thought to himself. I was tossing and turning so much, I didn’t fall asleep until dawn.

  He turned on his side, disturbing Tootsie, whose snout was resting on the edge of Chappy’s pillow. A low growl emanated from the dog’s throat.

  Bettina, sprawled out on the other side of Tootsie, slowly opened her eyes. “What’sa matter, baby?” she asked lovingly.

  “Ohhhh, nothing, I guess,” Chappy replied.

  “I was talking to my other baby.” Bettina reached out her manicured hand and stroked Tootsie’s back. The dog rolled over and stuck her four legs straight up in the air, quickly taking on the look of deep rigor mortis. It was her favorite position for a doggie chest rub. “Did Daddy wake you up? Daddy didn’t mean to wake you, did you, Daddy?”

  “I’d have to say that wasn’t my intention,” Chappy answered wryly. God, how I hate that mutt, he thought.

  “Daddy, say Happy Fourth of July to Tootsie.”

  Give me a break, Chappy thought. “Happy Fourth of July, Tootsie,” he said quickly, throwing back the covers. “I’m getting up.”

  Bettina grabbed Tootsie’s paw. “Wave good-bye to Daddy. . . . That’s right, honey. . . . ’Bye, Daddy . . .’ byyye.”

  Chappy turned away from the sight of Bettina aiming Tootsie’s paw in his direction and moving it up and down. The best piece of luck that could come from that fiddle, he decided as he headed into the bathroom, is if that four-legged bark factory decided to run away. Even Lassie had managed to get herself lost. Chappy shut the door behind him and gazed in the mirror. Look at the bags under my eyes, he thought. Stress is doing me in.

  Oh well. It will all be over with today. Either I get that fiddle before Brigid O’Neill departs the Chappy Compound, or I’m doomed to a life of the humdrum.

  He reached for his swimming trunks hanging by their white netting from one of the many shower heads. A quick dip is in order, he thought. Hopefully it will make me feel better and help me cope with what will be a most dramatic day in the life of Chaplain Wickham Tinka.

  I can’t wait for the concert tonight!” Louisa cried at the breakfast table. “It will be such fun.”

  “Regan said we should get there by five to set up our chairs. It starts at six. I’m putting together a picnic basket for us,” Nora commented as she spooned a piece of juicy cantaloupe from its rind.

  “I’ve got my cowboy hat ready,” Luke drawled.

  Lambie looked up from the bran muffin he had just sliced into four perfect bite-sized sections. “I left mine at home, darn it.”

  Louisa smiled at him. “Hnnnnnn.” She turned to Nora and Luke. “Lambie bought a cowboy hat years ago when we decided to take horseback riding lessons in Central Park. I had one, too, but it flew off when we went into a quick trot, and was trampled by the six horses behind me.”

  “That’s too bad,” Nora said.

  “Actually, I was glad to lose it. It gave me hat hair.” Louisa drained her cup of coffee. “Do you have any phone calls you’d like to get out of the way? Because I’d like to plug in my computer to the telephone line again and get some work done.”

  Luke and Nora shook their heads.

  “Good. I’d like to take a look at Brigid’s Web site for anything interesting she might like to know about, besides Pammy’s picture. If there is, I’ll print it out so she can see it when she’s on that bus roaming around the country. Those tour buses must get awfully cramped and cozy after weeks on the road.” Louisa stood up. “World Wide Web, here I come!”

  A taxi bearing Rudy, the rested, relaxed tour bus driver, pulled into the Chappy Compound at ten fifteen and stopped near the guest house.

  Rudy paid the fare and got out, hurrying to ring the bell in the hopes that he could avoid contact with Chappy Tinka. The image of the dented Rolls-Royce was still fresh in his mind.

  “Hi, Rudy,” Brigid called as she ran down the stairs to let him in.

  Dragging his duffel bag, Rudy stepped inside as she opened the door. “Brigid, good to see you. Are you ready for life on the road again?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Brigid said with enthusiasm. “We’re all about packed.”

  “Great. I’ll get the equipment over to the college right now. Your rehearsal’s at noon?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. After everyone’s back from that, we’ll load up the suitcases and be all ready to roll out right after the concert. We should make it up to Boston before the sun comes up. I hear your concert tomorrow night is sold out.”

  Brigid laughed. “I know. Roy called before.”

  Rudy reached over and squeezed her arm. “You deserve it.”

  “Thanks, Rudy,” Brigid said quietly.

  He sat in the diner, eating his scrambled eggs. He‘d gone to a barber yesterday and had him cut his hair short. He also was wearing a blue baseball cap. The last thing he needed was Brigid’s friend who’d called him weird recognizing him. He felt himself getting nervous. Today was his last chance to get Brigid to come away with him. He put down his fork and stared at his plate. His appetite
was gone. It’s not going to work, he thought. Brigid’s going to leave me and I’m going to be all by myself.

  Tears welled up in his eyes. I’ve got to get out of here, he thought. Or that waitress will think I’m a big baby.

  The rehearsal went well. Everything at the college was all set up and ready to go.

  At four o’clock the groaning tour bus, packed with the band’s and Pammy’s personal gear, pulled out of the Chappy Compound in the afternoon light.

  “Welth College or bust,” Rudy called. He made a point of announcing the next destination, no matter how close by, at the start of every run.

  Kieran and Pammy were the only ones on board.

  Teddy and Hank had driven over earlier in the station wagon, which Kit would drive back after the concert. She and a couple of the others from her house were already on the college grounds, staking out a plot for the ever-expanding number of friends who would be joining them. Angela, in charge of the food detail, had organized a smorgasbord of delights that would be spread out on a blanket.

  Now, with everyone else gone, Regan and Brigid looked around the house one last time to make sure that nothing was forgotten. Brigid’s fiddle was in its case by the door.

  “I think we’ve got everything,” Regan said. “Time to say good-bye to this place.”

  “Even though we had a few problems at the beginning of the week,” Brigid added, “this has been fun.”

  “It has,” Regan agreed, thinking of both the smashed cassette and the letter she didn’t dare mention. She looked over at the couch. “I hope Chappy likes the new position of his couch.”

  Brigid shrugged. “It looks a lot better where it is now. Heck, he probably won’t even notice.”

  Regan laughed. “You know, Brigid, I’m glad we won’t have to say good-bye to each other today. I’m looking forward to seeing you next week in New York.”

  “Doesn’t that work out great?” Brigid commented. “You and Kit can come to watch the show, and then we’ll all go out to dinner. Where should we eat?”