Twanged (18 page)

“GET OUT!”
Chappy ordered.

Duke raised his hands. “No problem. Thank you. Nice seeing you, Regan.” He turned and pushed open the swinging door into the kitchen, where a brief glimpse of Constance revealed her chasing down an airborne insect with a fly swatter.

“We’re sorry about the interruption, Regan,” Bet-tina said.

“Not at all. I just wanted to say that I got in the station wagon to do some errands and checked to make sure the registration and insurance cards were there, but the glove compartment door is locked. I asked the guys if they had the key, and they said they didn’t. They admitted they hadn’t thought about it when they drove the car. So . . . do you know where it is?”

“Oh dear, oh dear!” Chappy cried. “Of course. That glove compartment door is a funny thing. If you don’t lock it, it flies open. All the time! Very distracting. No one around here drives that car very much. It’s left over from the old days when Papa used to go off digging for clams and fishing and such and. . . oh dear. I’ll be right back. The key must be in my study.”

He disappeared down the hall in a frenzy.

“So, ya having a good time?” Bettina asked.

“Oh yes,” Regan said, “although we could have done without the intruders.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Bettina petted the dog, who was now licking from her plate. “Chappy and I always want our guests to be happy, and we get very upset when something bad happens.”

“Uh-huh,” Regan said. God, this woman is no rocket scientist, she thought. Something bad happens? That’s putting it mildly.

“Here we go!” Chappy called ecstatically as he practically skipped down the hall. “Here is the key. Let me walk you outside and make sure it still fits.”

Regan said her good-byes to Bettina and followed Chappy out the door. The red station wagon was parked right outside. She unlocked the door for Chappy.

“Locking the doors in front of our house?” Chappy joked.

In this place especially, Regan wanted to say. “Habit, I guess,” she responded. She didn’t want to tell him that the fiddle and the doll were under a blanket on the floor of the backseat.

Chappy quickly opened the passenger door, leaned over, and fit the key in the lock of the decrepit glove compartment. “Voilà!” he rejoiced as he pulled out the key and the unlocked door collapsed open with a thud. He rustled through some maps of Long Island and found the registration and insurance cards.

“Now you’re safe to drive!” he declared proudly.

Regan briefly glanced in the car to make sure there was still a lump beneath the blanket on the floor behind the driver’s seat. “Thank you, Chappy,” she said. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” He got out, smiling, and handed the key to Regan.

Suddenly the noise of a car pulling into the driveway could be heard. They both turned to see a big, old-fashioned, four-door pale blue car slowly making its way through the Compound, as if the driver weren’t sure of where to go.

“Who is that?” Chappy mumbled.

Regan went on the alert. After what had just happened, she wasn’t taking anything for granted. Standing next to Chappy, she could almost feel the beads of sweat popping out on his forehead.

“Oh my God!” he said.

“What?” Regan asked quickly.

“Nothing,” he said. “You’d better be on your way.”

“Is everything all right?” Regan asked.

“Yes, of course.” Chappy led her around to the driver’s side door. “It’s someone who used to work here,” he whispered to Regan. “He drops by and never leaves. If I were you, I’d scram as fast as I could! I wish
I
could escape!”

Regan smiled and gave him the
OKAY
sign.

She put the key in the ignition. The car took a few starts to turn over. In the rearview mirror she could see an older man and woman getting out of the blue car. As she started to pull out, she could hear the man saying, “Mr. Tinka, it’s ready! I finally finished it and it looks exactly the same . . .”

Regan shrugged and proceeded down the drive, anxious to get over to Welth College and talk to the security guard.

31

S
omeone had tried to hurt Brigid! He knew it was going to happen!

In his little dark room with the flimsy bedspread, he sat at the tiny desk and stared at the sheet of paper in front of him.

“Dear Brigid,” it began. “I love you.”

He couldn ‘t write anymore. He was so distracted and upset. After what had happened at breakfast, he’d come back here to calm down.

He stared at the unmade bed with the coarse white sheets all rumpled and messy-looking. He’d tried to lie down again but couldn’t rest, even though he was so tired after staying up all night waiting for her to come on the radio.

He’d turned on the radio again and heard those two guys talking about the scary thing that had happened to her!

He had to save her now! He had to take her away. She would want him to. This morning she had smiled at him and waved. Maybe she loves me already, he thought. I wish I could have talked to her.

He banged the desk with his fist. When I called the radio station I should have disguised my voice, he thought angrily.

I’ll come get you, Brigid. I’m not even mad at you for talking about our song with other people. As long as we can be together. The song is what made me notice you in the first place!

He rubbed his eyes. His head was pounding, as it always did when he started to get confused.

I’ll be there soon, Brigid. I’ll take you away and hold you in my arms and squeeze you to death.

I can’t wait much longer.

31

R
egan pulled up the long driveway of Welth College, past the rolling green lawn where the concert would take place on Friday night. She parked the car in the nearly empty lot behind the brick administration building. The campus had that quiet school’s-out-for-the-summer look.

But Friday night this place will be hopping, Regan thought. Full of music and lawn chairs and cheering fans.
And who else?

Regan made her way to Arnold Baker’s office and was greeted by his assistant, an amiable woman who introduced herself as Dot. Through the partially opened door of Arnold’s office she could hear his voice, which sounded upset and placating.

“Darla, I will try to give you more time at the concert. . . . I know it doesn’t seem fair but we have to make time for Brigid O’Neill. . . . I think you’re a wonderful singer. . . . Let me see what I can do. . . . “

“Can I get you a cup of coffee?” Dot asked Regan.

Regan got the feeling she was trying to distract her. She hesitated.

“I just put on a fresh pot,” Dot informed her quickly.

“Actually, I would love a cup,” Regan replied. She just didn’t want Arnold Baker to think that she would be planting herself in his chair for a long visit.

Dot cocked her head. “I think he’s off the phone now. Let me bring you in.”

She led Regan into a stately office with oak paneling and shelves of books and floor-length, tie-back, red-and-blue curtains. Laminated diplomas hung on the wall, along with pictures of Arnold in his cap and gown posing next to various dignitaries.

He stood up and shook Regan’s hand. In a somewhat embarrassed tone he said, “I’m getting so many calls. . . . There’s so much to do about Friday night.”

“I can imagine,” Regan answered as she took a seat in one of his red leather chairs. She put the fiddle case and the doll box on the floor at her feet. There was no way she was going to leave the fiddle in the car in a parking lot.

“So you’ve had an exciting few days over at the Chappy Compound,” Arnold remarked.

Regan nodded and picked up the box. “We have at that. It’s all so unsettling.” She shrugged. “I know it’s a long shot, but I thought that if I talked to that security guard, I might find out something helpful about this.” She held up the box.

Arnold nodded. “I called the security office and asked him to come over—Ah, it looks like he’s here.”

Regan turned to see an olive-skinned, dark-haired guy in his mid-twenties wearing a blue security uniform standing outside the office at Dot’s desk.

“Come in, please,” Arnold requested.

The guard turned and shyly walked into the office, introducing himself to Regan as Earl Barkley.

Arnold motioned for him to take the seat opposite Regan.

“As you know,” Regan began, “the contents of that box you found were pretty disturbing.”

Earl whistled softly. “Man, was I surprised to find out what it was. I never suspected a cut-up beanbag doll. The contents were rattling around. I actually thought it might be seeds.” He shifted in his chair. “Like somebody left last year.”

“I heard about that,” Regan said. “So you found this box yesterday, which was Sunday?” she asked.

“That’s right.”

“Do you know what time it was?”

“Let’s see.” Earl squinted one eye and leaned back in the chair. “I’d say it was lunchtime. Yeah. Lunchtime.”

“What do you consider lunchtime?” Regan asked.

“About twelve o’clock.” He smiled. “I remember I was hungry when I drove around checking things out. After that I had lunch.”

“And you found the box where?”

“The back door of this building. Just sitting there.”

“The place was all locked up?” Regan asked.

“Uh-huh. There wasn’t a car in the parking lot. It was Sunday morning. Things were quiet. School’s not in session, so there’s not much activity around here.”

Regan sighed. “Had you driven by earlier that morning?”

Earl nodded. “I patrol the buildings around here several times a day.”

“So you drove by in the morning?”

Earl nodded.

“How many times?”

“Once.”

“Do you know what time that was?” Regan probed.

Earl squinted again. “Nine o’clock.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. It’s my first loop of the day.” With his index finger he made a circle. “It’s always the same time, and I drive through here with a cup of coffee in my hand.”

“And you didn’t notice the box then?”

“It wasn’t there,” he said firmly. “I would have seen it.”

Regan glanced at Arnold, who’d been intently listening. “So whoever left it here dropped it off between nine and twelve on Sunday morning,” she continued.

Arnold’s face looked grave as he nodded his head.

“Where do you go when you’re not driving around?” Regan asked.

“Back to the security office to do paperwork. On days like that it’s usually pretty slow. No parking tickets to give out. . .”

“So you didn’t notice any cars around here?”

“No.”

“No one else was on the campus yesterday morning, then?”

Earl sat and thought about that one. He gestured out the window. “A guy was using the tennis court down there in the morning.”

Regan leaned forward. “Really?”

“He was by himself hitting the ball against the backboard.”

“Do you know who he was?”

Earl shook his head. “No. I drove by the court and he waved.”

“Don’t you have to show a college ID to use the courts?”

Earl looked sheepish. He glanced quickly at Arnold. “Usually. But no one else was waiting for the court and he seemed like a nice guy, so I didn’t bother to check.”

Regan drew a quick breath. “Which time did you see him? At nine or twelve?”

“Twelve. Definitely twelve. I remember because it was getting hot out and he looked all sweaty.”

“You can’t identify him, then?”

“Well, I could if I saw him again, but I don’t know who he was. He was about six feet tall with brown hair.”

That really narrows it down, Regan thought.

“Did he look like he could have been a college student?”

“Yeah. He looked pretty smart.”

Inwardly Regan groaned. “I mean his age,” she said. “Did he look like he was in his late teens or early twenties?”

“I’d say he was early twenties. Like he might have graduated already.”

Regan turned to Arnold. “I don’t think the tennis player is the one likely to have left the box. One usually doesn’t hang around after depositing a little present like that. But he might have seen something that could be helpful.”

She turned back to Earl. “How well can you see the tennis courts from the back door here?”

“They’re pretty far down. You don’t really notice them. I didn’t realize he was there at first because he was by himself in the court on the end. When I drove down by the courts I could see him.”

“But he could see up here.”

“Yeah. This building is on a hill, and from the courts you just look up.”

“He didn’t have a car here?”

Earl shook his head. “I didn’t see one. A lot of times people jog over with their rackets in one hand, can of balls in the other, then they jog home.”

Regan put the box with the doll on the corner of Arnold’s desk. She wrote her number at the Chappy Compound and handed it to the guard. “If he comes back to play tennis, could you please call me right away? Don’t let him leave without at least getting his name.”

Earl nodded. “Of course,” he said. He pulled out his wallet and placed the piece of paper inside. “I’ll put up a notice in the security office for the others to be on the lookout for him, too.”

“Thank you,” Regan replied.

“Miss, if you don’t mind. I’m just curious. Could I see what the doll looks like?”

“Of course.” Regan pulled the cover off the white box and gingerly lifted the nearly beheaded beanbag doll with the flowing red hair and the white bib that said
BRIGID
out of the box. Little white pebbles now lined the bottom of the box. The doll’s head was bent to one side.

“That’s nasty,” Earl said. “Whoever did that is really nasty.”

“I’m afraid they’re worse than that,” Regan said.

“Excuse meee,” Dot murmured as she sauntered in with Regan’s mug of coffee. “That coffeepot gets slower and slower . . . Oh dear!” she gasped as she took in the sight of the slashed doll.