Twanged (16 page)

“What are you doing with that rope?” Brigid asked suddenly. The fear in her voice was unmistakable.

“We have to tie you both up,” Phil said quickly. “We’re not going to hurt you. We just want the fiddle.”

Oh God, Regan thought. She’d had a weird feeling about these two, an instinct she should have followed. Time to stop these boys. She reached down, pulled her pistol out of the sack tied at her waist, and spun around. While Phil was starting to tie up Brigid, Nick was heading toward Regan. “Hold it right there,” she said.

The expression on Nick’s face was priceless. “This was his idea!” he cried, pointing to Phil. “He thought we could look up the lady who called the radio station wanting to buy the fiddle. Or else we could find somebody else who would want it.”

“Shut up, Nick,” Phil squealed as he dropped the rope in his hands.

“I should have known something was up when you didn’t take off your sunglasses when you came in here. Did you really think you could get away with this?” Regan asked.

“We weren’t going to hurt you,” Phil protested.

“Just tie us up,” Regan said sarcastically. “And hopefully not give us rope burn. Brigid, why don’t you get up and make room so these two buddies can sit together on the couch until the police arrive?” She gestured with her gun to the couch. “Nick, have a seat.”

He almost tripped over his feet in his urgency to obey her.

“I’ll call 911,” Brigid said in a greatly relieved tone. She stood up. “You boys are off on the wrong track in life.”

“We really like your music, Brigid,” Phil said in what sounded like an effort to make amends.

“Then you shouldn’t have tried to steal my fiddle. I like to make music with my fiddle.”

Regan shook his head. “Boys, I suppose you’re not on the school newspaper here in the Hamptons, are you?”

They both mumbled a negative response.

“Something tells me you don’t even live out here at all. Who’d be stupid enough to try a stunt like this and live nearby? But I did notice that your car had New York plates.”

“It’s a Rent-a-Heap,” Nick moaned. “We’re here on vacation from Nebraska.

27

T
he wail of sirens pierced the ocean air as two police cars sped into the Chappy Compound for the second time in less than forty-eight hours.

Chappy and Duke were returning from a trip to Saks, where there’d been a sale on men’s bathing suits. Since Chappy liked to take a two-minute dip in the ocean every morning and afternoon, his one concession to exercise, he collected bathing suits like Peace Man collected crystals.

Chappy also had begrudgingly agreed to go to the car wash with Duke.

“Oh all right,” he’d said. “As long as we’re out. But I don’t know what I’m paying you for!”

Now, as they rounded the bend and caught sight of the commotion, Chappy screamed, “What’s going on?”

Duke shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“Well, step on it.”

Duke pressed down on the gas pedal and the Rolls-Royce sailed into the Compound. Duke kept going past the police cars parked at odd angles by the guest house—lights flashing, doors open, radios squawking—and drove around the circle in front of the castle.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
Chappy screeched.

“After the car got dented, you told me to always pull it all the way around and out of the way.”

“AGH! STOP!”

Duke slammed on the brakes, and the car lurched to a stop. Chappy unbuckled his seat belt just as Duke started to back up.

“STOP!”
Chappy screamed as he was thrown forward,
“LET ME OUT!”

Duke stepped on the brakes again.

Chappy fumbled with the door, jumped out, and went running to the guest house as Bettina, carrying Tootsie in her arms, scurried across the pool area in the same direction.

“I’m here!” he cried. “I’m here.”

“Oh, Chappy,” Bettina said breathlessly, grabbing his hand as they covered the rest of the ground to the door of the guest house together.

Inside two police officers were handcuffing the intruders. Another was questioning Regan and Brigid.

“What happened? What happened?” Chappy demanded. “Is everyone all right?”

Brigid answered. “We had a little excitement. It seems these two”—she pointed to the baby-faced criminals who were now being led out to the patrol car—”wanted to play cops and robbers with my fiddle.”

Chappy’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “What?”

“We feel terrible,” Bettina declared, her hand still holding Chappy’s with a firm grip.

Tootsie barked her agreement.

“I’m so lucky I had Regan here,” Brigid said.

Regan shrugged. “I’m just glad everything’s okay. I shouldn’t have trusted those two. It’s just that I’ve been around my mother so much when school kids want to interview her at book signings. We never think a thing of it. They usually act sweet and shy. Like those two.”

“Who are they?” Chappy asked urgently.

The young sandy-haired patrolman signed. “A couple of kids who aren’t too bright. They heard someone offering big money for the fiddle on the radio this morning. They thought if they could get their hands on it, they’d be able to turn it over and make a quick buck. Miss O’Neill and her fiddle have been in the news a lot lately. Unfortunately the perceived value of that fiddle is all too inviting to the lowlifes of this world.”

Chappy tsk-tsked and clucked his agreement. “How disgusting.”

“Terrible,” Bettina reiterated. “Terrible.”

“Hey, what’s going on?”

Regan turned. Kieran was standing in the doorway, his expression troubled as he looked straight at Brigid. Regan could see Hank and Teddy and Pammy following him.

The police officer quickly explained to him what had happened. “Crazy kids,” he concluded.

Kieran hurried over to Brigid and put his arms around her. “When I saw the police cars I got so afraid. Are you okay?”

Brigid nodded and smiled and leaned her head against his chest. Regan could see a chemistry between them that she hadn’t noticed before.

Kieran reached over and grabbed Regan’s hand. “Thank you, Regan,” he said simply.

“Hey, that’s why I’m here.”

“What’s going on?” Pammy asked as she stepped into the room. Her expression was less than thrilled.

Kieran dropped his arms and turned to her. “It’s okay now. The trouble is over.”

No, it’s not, Regan thought. It looks like it’s just beginning.

Brigid quickly explained to Pammy what had happened.

“Well well,” Chappy said. “Look who else is here.”

Arnold Baker, the immaculately attired president of Welth College, appeared in the doorway. He was holding the small brown package addressed to Brigid O’Neill.

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.

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