Twanged (27 page)

“PLEASE!”
he groaned. Sighing, he decided to give up. There’s no use throwing out my back. I have the magic fiddle, and that’s all that counts. I’ll have plenty of time to play it later in the light of the guest house. For now I’ll do it in the men’s lounge. He turned around and ran back down the steps, across the floor, and through the door to the tunnel. He resumed his singing as he ran toward Grandpa’s speakeasy.

Back in the lounge where he had spent many a happy moment, Chappy sat down in his favorite chair, lovingly inspected the initials CT on the fiddle, drew it close to him, and began to play.

He had no idea that two people were on the other side of the door listening.

D
arla was in her assigned classroom, preparing for her big moment. Each performer had been given a “dressing room” equipped with a couple of comfortable chairs and refreshments. Darla’s husband wasn’t there yet. He’d be coming over soon.

There was a knock at the door. She opened it to find Ned, the feng shui master, with a blond-haired woman next to him. He was holding a large bouquet of flowers.

“We wanted to wish you the best of luck!” he cried, peering into the classroom. “Would you like me to rearrange those chairs they set up for you?”

A
s Duke pulled into the winding road at Welth College, which had been closed off except for special vehicles, a broad smile came across Brigid’s face. The lawn was crowded with concertgoers who were busy with their picnics and socializing.

“Where do you want me to let you off?” Duke asked.

“Up on the left near the radio station booth,” Regan said. “Brigid’s supposed to meet whoever won the contest. What are you going to do, Duke?”

“I thought I’d go have a beer and then come back when it’s time for the concert.”

He let them off at the top of the hill, near the stage and in front of the administration buildings, where the Country 113 booth was set up. Brad and Chuck were there, clad in their C&W regalia. People were wandering around all over, and music was playing over the sound system.

A birdlike woman who must have been in her eighties stopped them, putting surprisingly firm hands on both their arms.

“Well, this is my lucky day—to come face-to-face with country music’s current star. I always wanted to be a singer and you’re just wonderful.”

“Thank you.” Brigid smiled.

“And aren’t you Regan Reilly, whose mother writes those books?”

“Yes,” Regan said.

“Could I get autographs? My grandson collects autographs.” She fished in her bag for blank three-by-five-inch cards, presenting the first one to Brigid.

Quickly Brigid signed it.

“And Miss Regan, would you ask your mother to please—oh dear!” She dropped her pocketbook. Glass cases, a wallet, loose change, handkerchiefs, cough drops, family snapshots, medicine vials, more three-by-five-inch cards, key rings, and a compact were among the many items to scatter on the ground.

As Regan and Brigid bent to assist with the picking up, Brad from the radio station tapped Brigid’s arm and pulled her back a few feet. “Brigid,” he said. “The contest winner is here, but he’s all upset. He won’t tell us why. We’ve got to calm him down enough to accept the award on the air. We made such a big deal out of it, we’ll look like dopes if we can’t get him to take it. He said he might just go home.”

“The poor guy,” Brigid said. “Why is he upset?”

Brad shrugged. “Oh God, look. There he goes.” He pointed to the administration building. A man with a blue baseball cap was coming out and heading for the parking lot. “I’ll go get him.”

Brigid put a restraining hand on his arm. “Let me try.”

L
ook, the lens came out of my reading glasses!” the old lady cried. Her voice was trembling. “Regan, don’t let anyone step on it.”

Regan could hear Brad and Brigid talking as she felt in the grass for the lens. “We’ll find it,” she said hurriedly. “It can’t be far.”

I
feel like such a baby, he thought as he came out of the building where he’d gone to the bathroom. He wiped his nose and sniffled. There are too many people here. He headed to his car. I’ll put in Brigid’s cassette and blast it. How did I ever imagine I’d be able to get her away from here, too?

Just then he heard her voice. He turned his head. She was running toward him! Oh my God! She wants me!

“Hello,” Brigid said breathlessly as she approached him. She was holding a fiddle case. “I hear you’re our contest winner.”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Will you come with me and accept the award?” Brigid asked.

I
want you to come with me, he thought.

“Yes, but could I take a picture of you first? My mother won’t believe that I really met you if I don’t get a picture with my camera.”

“Sure,” Brigid agreed. “Where’s your camera?”

“In my car. Right here.” He walked the ten feet over to the special space that had been reserved for him, opened the passenger door, and reached in for his camera. He picked it up and turned to Brigid. “Would you mind sitting right in the passenger seat here? Everybody will laugh, thinking that I got Brigid O’Neill to ride in my old car.”

“Okay,” Brigid answered. She sat down in the car, keeping her feet on the ground and the door open. “Cheese,” she joked.

“I need a close-up,” he said, leaning toward her. With all his strength, he pushed her back. She dropped the fiddle case as her head smacked against the steering wheel. He forced her feet inside, slammed the door, and ran around to the other side.

I’m finally taking her away with me, he thought.

R
egan’s hand closed over the eyeglass lens. She handed it to the old lady and looked around. Brigid was gone!

“Brad, where’s Brigid?” she yelled.

He turned to her and pointed. “She’s with the guy who won the contest.”

Regan squinted and saw Brigid getting in the car of a man who had a camera in his hands. As he shut the door and started hurrying around the car, Regan took off like a thunderbolt, sprinting across the lawn.

“Stop him!” she screamed.

He was turning on the ignition when Regan reached the car. She yanked open the door and grabbed the keys as people came running.

“You’re not going anywhere,” she said breathlessly.

“Go away! I want to be alone with Brigid!” he started to cry.

It was the guy from the diner! The one who liked eggs. I guess my theory about the eggshells was correct, Regan thought.

Brigid sat up in the car, rubbing the side of her head.

“Are you okay, Brigid?” Regan asked.

“I think so,” Brigid said as she turned and opened her door.

Ned, Claudia, and Darla had come running out of their classroom when they heard Regan screaming. “He had a special parking space that would have enabled a quick getaway,” Ned declared. “The car was positioned perfectly, facing the exit.”

“Are you all right?” Darla asked Brigid tentatively.

“Yes,” Brigid said. “I’ll be fine.”

“I suppose you’re the one who wrote Brigid those letters and bought her that lovely doll,” Regan hissed at the would-be kidnapper.

“No, I didn’t,” he sobbed.

“Sure, and you didn’t try to kidnap her either, you creep. Get out of the car.”

When he got out, Regan spotted Brigid’s cassette on the front seat of the car.

“I see you like cassettes. You also like to leave mangled cassettes lying around for people to find?”

“NO!”
he cried. “I just want to be with Brigid!” His whole body convulsed with sobs as two security officers handcuffed him and led him away. “I love you, Brigid,” he called out to her. “I heard your song when I was in jail. You were singing it to me, weren’t you? I would never hurt you!”

A crowd had gathered. Regan took a look at Brigid’s head. “That guy gave you a good wallop. You’ve got a little bump there, just like Louisa had.” I can’t wait to find out if he has an alibi for the night Louisa was pushed, Regan thought. Pushing seems to be his MO. “Let’s get you inside.” She picked up the fiddle case from the floor of the car and put her arm around Brigid for support. They walked the short distance to the steps of the building.

A distressed Arnold Baker came out the door. “I’ll show you to my office upstairs. There’s a couch in there where Brigid can lie down.”

A familiar voice called from behind them: “Brigid!”

Regan and Brigid turned to see Malachy standing there with Pammy.

“Malachy,” Brigid cried as he reached out and hugged her. “What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t miss your first big concert. Not for the world. Are you getting yourself into more trouble?”

“Word travels fast. I can’t believe you’re here.”

“He was looking for you backstage. I told him you were probably in your dressing room and I’d bring him over,” Pammy said cheerfully.

“Why don’t we walk Brigid inside?” Regan suggested, explaining what had just happened.

In Arnold Baker’s office, they helped Brigid onto the couch. Pammy put a pillow behind her head. “She needs rest,” she said firmly.

Regan put the fiddle case down on the floor next to the couch.

“Hey, Malachy,” Brigid joked. “Maybe that fiddle you gave me really is cursed.”

“Oh, love!” he replied. “Bite your tongue!”

Arnold Baker stood there awkwardly. “I’ll leave you here in some peace and quiet. I’ll be out by the stage if I can be of any help. . . .”

After he departed, Malachy knelt on the floor next to Brigid. He opened the fiddle case and pulled out the instrument. “Let me get a look at my old friend here,” he said. When he picked it up, he looked distressed. He ran his fingers over it. He squinted and held it closer. “This isn’t our fiddle,” he finally pronounced.

Brigid’s half-closed eyes opened. “Oh, Malachy, don’t even joke like that.”

“I’m not joking, pet. This is a spitting image, but before I gave mine to you, I carved
BON
in the tiniest of lettering on the side. You’d barely see it if you didn’t know it was there.”

“Malachy, I just played it forty-five minutes ago,” Brigid protested.

“And I played it for more than forty-five years. This feels a little different. If it had
your
initials on it as well as CT, I might not have noticed. But where are those initials? Could someone have stolen the magic fiddle the way they stole the other fiddle from my house?”

Regan’s mind was replaying the events from the time Brigid played at the house up to this moment.

“I believe that whoever tried to steal the fiddle from Ireland was from the Hamptons.” Malachy pulled out his wallet. “Look at what I found in my house. I think it was dropped when the fiddle was stolen.” He handed Regan the slip of paper.

A green coupon for the Hamptons car wash. The same type of coupon that Chappy collected. The same kind of coupon that Duke and he’d lost a couple of weeks ago. A couple of weeks ago was when Malachy’s fiddle was stolen.

It slowly started to make sense. That golf bag in the trunk had no clubs in it. Had Duke put the original fiddle in it and substituted this copy in the case Brigid was carrying? What about that older man who had pulled into the driveway and said, “It looks exactly the same”? What was
he
talking about? Out of the blue, Chappy had invited Brigid to stay at his home. And the initials CT stood for Chappy Tinka!

“I’ve got an idea where it is,” Regan said grimly.

Brigid, Malachy, and Pammy all looked at her.

“Where?” Brigid asked.

“With Chappy. I think Duke switched them when we were in the car.”

“No!” Brigid cried. “We have to get it back! Regan, do you think you could get it from him?”

“Brigid, I don’t want to leave you again.”

Brigid started to cry. “I’ll never see it again. Malachy gave it to me and now it’s gone.”

Malachy turned to Regan. “Do you think you could go and try to get it back? I’ll stay right here with Brigid, I promise.”

“So will I,” Pammy declared.

Regan hesitated. Brigid was so upset about losing the fiddle. The person who had been threatening her was now in police custody. Malachy and Pammy promised to stay right here with her.

“I’ll go,” Regan said. “But I don’t want Brigid to set foot outside this room until I get back. I mean it.”

“She won’t. I guarantee it,” Pammy said. “We’ll stay with her and lock the door.”

Brigid smiled. “Thank you, Regan. Why don’t you take the police with you?”

“No,” Regan said. “We have no proof that he did it. Besides, I want to catch him by surprise.” She turned to go.

“Regan, please be careful!” Brigid called after her as she hurried out of the room.

Feeling wildly uneasy, Regan ran the length of the hallway, down the stairs, and out the door to the end of the parking lot, where she knew the red station wagon was parked. She hopped in and reached for the keys under the seat. She knew the guys had left them there so Kit could drive it home later. She backed out of her space and was ready to throw the car into
DRIVE
when she heard someone calling her name. Up from the tennis courts came Earl, the security guard, with a man dressed in tennis whites. She rolled down the window.

“This is the guy,” Earl said proudly. “The guy who was playing tennis last Sunday when the doll was left here. I recognized him.”

“Oh yes,” Regan said quickly. “I don’t have much time and I think we have our man anyway, but I was wondering if you saw anything last Sunday when you were playing tennis. Did you notice any cars driving around?”

He looked at her quizzically. “Yes, I did.”

“What did you see?”

“A car pulled up in the parking lot and stopped.”

“What kind of car?”

He laughed. “You’re sitting in it.”

“What?” Regan said. “This kind of car?”

“I believe it was this car. How many big old red station wagons do you see being driven around here? I remember because it’s so distinctive.”

“Last Sunday?” Regan said almost to herself. It didn’t make sense.

Y
ou’ve got quite a bump there,” Pammy said to Brigid. She turned to Malachy. “I noticed a soda machine downstairs. Do you think you could see if it has any ice, or even a cold can, to hold up against Brigid’s head?”