Twanged (22 page)

“You can’t be too careful,” he said.

“Well, let me know when you want me to hear your lines,” Angela called as they stepped off the porch.

“Okay, Angela,” he said. “Maybe sometime in the next couple of days.”

Regan and Brigid and Duke wandered over to the guest house. It was completely dark.

“I guess no one is back yet,” Duke said.

“Guess not,” Regan answered.

Regan and Brigid said their good nights to him and, agreeing they were both tired from the long day, went directly upstairs, turning on lights along the way.

Brigid went into her room and collapsed on her bed. “Oh!” she called out to Regan. “I’m glad we don’t have to get up so early tomorrow morning.”

“Me too,” Regan said as her fingers fumbled to turn on the bathroom light. She shut the door and stopped dead in her tracks.

The toilet seat was up.

The guys left before us, she thought nervously. And I was the last one to use the bathroom before we walked out the door to go to dinner. What’s going on?

Duke had been asking all those questions about who was home tonight. Had he slipped in here? But why?

A sense of dread swept through Regan. Don’t jump to any conclusions, she told herself. Maybe one of the guys stopped back at the house for some reason.

But why would they use
this
bathroom?

Regan leaned against the pedestal sink and slapped the seat down into a female-ready position. It landed with a bang.

After Chappy builds the theatre, he can turn the guest quarters into a haunted house, she thought. Complete with a handle-free door downstairs.

Regan stared at the commode. There might be a good explanation for this, she thought. But what can I do? I can’t go asking the guys tomorrow if they left the toilet seat up. I won’t sound like an investigator, I’ll come off like a nag.

And if the only lead I have to go on is a guy who leaves the toilet seat up, most of the male population would end up on the list of suspects.

She sighed. I’d better go downstairs and make double-sure the doors are locked. She knew the others had keys.

Regan hurried down the steps and checked the back door that faced the beach. She and Brigid had come in this way, and, as she had expected, it was securely locked. She went around the ground floor making sure that all the windows were closed and locked as well. She pulled on the front door, which no one really used, to open it. She wanted to slam it shut and make sure the lock was in place. The door was the kind that stuck. It required a couple of pulls for Regan to get it open. When she did, the sight of a smashed cassette propped up against the screen door made her gasp. She leaned down to pick it up.

A cassette of Brigid’s hit single, all crushed and bent, looking as if someone had pounded it with a hammer. Someone in a rage, Regan thought. She shut the door, locked it, and hurried upstairs with the cassette. Brigid is not going to see this, she thought. I’m not going to let whoever is doing this ruin everything for Brigid.

She sat on her bed and stared at the cassette. A smiling Brigid staring out through the crushed, fragmented plastic holder. It eerily reminded Regan of the nearly beheaded doll.

Oh, Brigid, she thought, who wants to hurt you?

41

TUESDAY, JULY
1

R
egan slept fitfully. All night she kept awakening, staring at the clock, thinking about everything that had happened. Finally, before dawn, she fell into a deep sleep.

When her eyes started to flutter, she looked at the clock for what felt like the twentieth time since she’d gone to bed. It was 8:37
A.M.

The room feels too dark for 8:37, Regan thought. Even with a shade. And it’s chilly. She threw back the covers and hoisted her body out of bed. Walking over to the window, she yanked on the shade. Obediently it flew all the way up to the roller, disappearing out of sight except for its cord, which slapped the ceiling several times before calming down.

Outside the day was gray and overcast. It was still dry but it didn’t look as though it intended to remain that way for long. The smell of rain was in the air.

Oh great, Regan thought. There’s nothing like a rainy day at the beach to drive everyone bonkers.

Yawning, she threw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and went out into the hallway. Brigid’s door was closed.

Regan hurried into the bathroom. The tile floor felt cold and damp against her bare feet. Rainy days at the beach, she mused as she applied toothpaste, to her curved toothbrush, whose makers promised it removed more plaque than you could ever imagine in your wildest dreams. Rainy days can seem endless, making you feel like a kid again, all cooped up and restless. Severe cabin fever can set in before the ground is completely wet.

Regan turned on the tap and ran water over her brush. You don’t have your bills with you to pay, you don’t have your closets to clean out, you don’t have your laundry to do. You just don’t have your stuff around to keep you busy, she thought.

Regan stared in the mirror and began to brush.

You have too much time to think and worry.

Down in the kitchen she found Brigid and Pammy sitting at the table drinking coffee. Brigid was in her robe but Pammy was dressed. Bagels and donuts were set out on plates and several newspapers were stacked up on the table.

“Good morning,” Regan said.

Brigid smiled. “ ‘Morning, Regan.”

“Regan, I made a pot of coffee,” Pammy announced cheerfully. She gestured to the table. “And there are donuts and bagels here. Help yourself.”

“Thanks,” Regan said. She reached for a mug and poured herself a cup. “Did you go to the store already?”

“Yes. I was up early. The guys aren’t going golfing until this afternoon, so I thought I’d pick up some breakfast and the newspapers.”

Little Suzy Homemaker, Regan thought. There’s always one in every crowd. She sat down at the table. I shouldn’t be like that, she thought. Especially because those donuts do look good. She chose a glazed one and took a bite.

Pammy put down her cup and hesitated. She crinkled up her little nose and pushed back her long, golden brown hair.

“Brigid had a rough night,” Pammy finally said.

So did I, Regan thought. She turned to Brigid. “What happened?”

Brigid looked up from the newspaper and waved her hand as if to dismiss the whole issue. “I had a few bad dreams. No big deal.”

“About what happened yesterday?”

“Yes,” Brigid replied. “Someone was chasing me with a gun.”

Pammy got up from her chair and walked behind Brigid. She put her arms on Brigid’s shoulders and began to massage them. “Ever since his accident, Kieran sometimes gets a stiff neck. He loves it when I do this to him.” She started working her way up Brigid’s neck to her scalp. “How does it feel, Brigid?”

“Good,” Brigid said quickly.

Regan thought she seemed uncomfortable but was too polite to say anything.

“You’re very tense,” Pammy declared. “But it’s a natural reaction,” she said with an air of authority. “Post-traumatic stress syndrome can manifest itself in many ways. I’ve seen it with patients.” She paused. “I’ve seen it with myself.”

Regan looked at her. “You have? What happened?”

Pammy’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “When I was a kid my cousin drowned. Right in front of me. She was my best friend.”

“Pammy, I’m so sorry,” Brigid replied.

“It’s okay,” Pammy said. “After that, I learned CPR. I said if that ever happens again and I can get to whoever is in trouble, I want to know what I’m doing. That’s why I jumped in the pool so fast the other night to help Louisa. I couldn’t help my cousin, so I feel as if I’m making it up to her by helping other people. I guess it’s one of the reasons I became a nurse. I like to help people. Nothing gave me greater satisfaction than nursing Kieran back to health . . .”

I’ll bet, Regan thought.

“. . . and encouraging him to play again.”

“I’m so sorry about your cousin,” Brigid murmured.

Pammy nodded. “I took it real hard. I kept dreaming about her calling out to me. That was over ten years ago and I still dream about it sometimes.”

They all remained silent for a moment.

What a revelation, Regan thought. Especially at this hour of the morning.

“. . . So I know how upsetting it can be to have those kinds of dreams,” Pammy continued. “When I came down this morning, Regan, I could tell Brigid was a little out of sorts.”

“Well, thank God it turned out all right for me yesterday. Thanks to Regan. Hey, I’ll write a song about it. In the meantime . . .” Brigid sat up straight as Pammy stopped the massage and sat down at the table. “Thanks, Pammy,” Brigid said, handing Regan a couple of the newspapers. “Everyone can read all about the cause of my nightmares.”

Regan looked at the snippet in
USA Today.
It talked about Brigid O’Neill and her cursed fiddle, which a couple of teenagers had tried to steal only to be thwarted by the quick action of her bodyguard. The
Hamptons News
had a bigger piece that asked again if the fiddle was really cursed.

“I’m surprised the reporters didn’t call about this yesterday,” Regan said.

Brigid slathered a hunk of cream cheese on a sesame bagel. “They might have tried. We were out at the beach, and then I was on the phone with my mother and Roy yesterday afternoon. There’s no call-waiting here, so they would have gotten a busy signal. Last night everyone was out. Like I said yesterday, it was a good idea to call my mother to let her know what happened.”

With that pronouncement, the phone rang.

Brigid started to get up.

“You want me to get it?” Regan asked.

“Nah,” Brigid responded. “I may as well bite the bullet.” She started to laugh. “Bad pun, I guess.”

Out in the pantry she picked up the cordless.

Regan looked out at the ocean. Whitecaps were doing their dance on the churning surf as the waves angrily thrashed the shoreline. “I don’t know whether the guys will be doing any golfing this afternoon,” she said to Pammy.

“Oh, I know,” Pammy answered as she turned to look out at the water, “they’ll be disappointed.”

“Do you golf, too?”

Pammy laughed and rolled her eyes. “Not at all.”

“You don’t?” Regan continued. “What do you do? Ride along with them in a cart?”

“Sometimes,” Pammy admitted. “Or sometimes I’ll sit in the clubhouse and read.”

Talk about keeping a watchful eye, Regan thought. “Are you going on the tour with them?” she asked.

Pammy’s expression became dejected. “I can’t. I have to get back to work. When we leave here Friday night, they’ll drop me at a hotel near Kennedy Airport and I’ll fly home in the morning.”

“Oh,” Regan said. “Where do you work?”

“I’m a private nurse in Nashville.”

“Will you meet up with them at all during the tour?”

“I’m planning on it.”

Regan turned to see Brigid walking over to them, the cordless up against her ear. She was laughing. “Hold on a second, Roy. Regan, Pammy, guess what? My album’s gotten some great reviews!” Brigid turned back to the phone. “What’s that, Roy?” She looked at Regan. “They said my voice is ‘rich and pure and’ . . . what? . . . ‘and has a wide range. Brigid’s songs will make you laugh and cry. She’s someone to watch.’” Brigid stomped her foot. “All right!”

Regan raised her hands over her head and clapped them. “Brigid, that’s great.”

“Wonderful,” Pammy murmured.

“Who else has called?” Brigid asked into the phone. She was laughing and giddy, the demons of the night seemingly banished from her thoughts. “Hey guys, Garth and Clint and Dolly have already called Roy this morning to make sure I’m okay. They saw the papers. Hey Roy, anybody else? No!” Brigid guffawed. “Well, it’s still early. Hey, maybe that fiddle is bringing me good luck after all!”

Regan sat back in her chair. It was great to see Brigid looking so elated. Elated because she’s getting great reviews for the album somebody took the trouble to smash. Inwardly, Regan shuddered.

Pammy was across the table, bent over the newspaper.

“Yes!” Brigid yelped as she turned off the cordless phone and plopped it on the table. “Things are looking good!”

“That is fantastic!” Regan said.

Pammy looked up. “Congratulations, Brigid.”

“Thank you both!” Brigid sank into her chair. “Suddenly the day doesn’t look so gloomy. I just wish that festival wasn’t three whole days away! I want to get out there and make some music!”

“Once you start on Friday, you’ll be doing it practically every night all summer!” Regan said.

“I can’t wait!”

Pammy got up with her cup of coffee. “I’m going to see if Kieran is awake yet. I’m sure he’ll want to hear the good news.”

Brigid’s smile faded ever so slightly. “Please tell him.”

“Oh, I will. Now let’s hope nothing happens to ruin this fun for you, Brigid. We wouldn’t want you to have another day like yesterday that you dream about tonight.”

“Oh, I bet my dreams tonight will be good ones,” Brigid assured her with a smile. “Because having my first album well received is a dream come true. A dream I’ve had all my life.”

Pammy smiled at her and nodded as she walked out of the room.

Regan turned to Brigid. “We’re in for some lousy weather. How about a walk on the beach before it starts?”

“I’ll be walking on air,” Brigid said. She jumped up. “Let’s go!”

42

N
ed and Claudia were at their office bright and early on Tuesday morning. Ned had insisted on it. Thanks to his appearance on the radio, their office had been deluged with calls for consultations about feng shui, and Ned was practically out of his mind with joy. Claudia had to drag him out of there on Monday night to go home.

“I don’t want to miss a call,” he’d complained.

“That’s why we have voice mail,” Claudia had said. She’d been firm with him. Loving but firm. “You need your rest.”

From one day to the next, Ned’s self-esteem had quadrupled.

Claudia was now at the table in her office poring over plans for a house that the owner kept changing his mind about. Ned had tried to tell him he should by no means have a bathroom by the front door. It was bad luck. But the owner had wanted one for guests, and that was that. After catching the show on the radio the home owner had made an emergency call to Claudia. Scrap the bathroom by the front door, find a new place for it.