Twanged (19 page)

“I know, Dot. It’s disturbing,” Arnold said quietly.

“No. You don’t understand. That’s my friend Cindy’s doll!”

“What?” Regan asked quickly.

“She makes them.”

“She makes them?” Regan repeated.

“Yes.” Dot started breathing fast. “A few months ago just for fun she made one for her granddaughter. The child loved it and so did her friends because they like to play catch with it. . . . “

“Right,” Regan said encouragingly, nodding her head as if that would make Dot continue.

“So Cindy made a whole bunch of them just the same.” Dot stared at the doll. “Her granddaughter has red hair. . . . She’ll be so upset that one of them was used for this.”

“Where does she sell them?” Regan asked.

“She just started. Yesterday she had a table at the crafts fair in Water Mill. I spoke to her last night, and she’d sold all of them.”

“How many did she sell?” Regan asked.

“A hundred.”

Oh brother, Regan thought. “A hundred?” she repeated.

Dot shook her head. “She said it was a madhouse. One customer after another. I’m telling you, the kids love them. They’re a perfect little present. Not too expensive. She made some nice spending money for her trip.”

“Her trip?” Regan echoed. Don’t tell me, she thought.

“She and her husband left on their sailboat today.”

“Where were they going?”

“Points unknown,” Dot replied with admiration. “They sailed out of Sag Harbor and were headed up the coast. Her husband had a serious case of wanderlust. He said he wanted to see which way the wind blew them.”

Wonderful, Regan thought, just wonderful. “When will they be back?”

“In a month or so.”

“Do you know if she had anybody helping her out at the fair yesterday?”

“Oh yes,” Dot responded brightly. “She did.”

“Who?” Regan asked eagerly.

“Her husband.”

The words fell flat on Regan’s ears. “Is there any way to get in touch with her?” she ventured.

“Not really. They were going to be out at sea for at least a couple of days and then check in with their daughter when they sailed into port. Whenever that is.”

Knowing that it was a hopeless cause, Regan wrote down her number for Dot to give to Cindy’s daughter. “Ask her, if she doesn’t mind, to call me. Maybe she’ll check in sooner than you anticipate.”

When Regan drove away, all she could think about were the three people she’d love to talk to most at that moment. A couple out at sea and a certain six-foot, brown-haired male in his early twenties who plays tennis. She couldn’t decide who’d be harder to track down.

33

D
uke and Chappy scurried across the basement floor, fumbled with the door of their hideaway, and once inside shut it securely behind them.

“Duke! Duke! We got it! Will you look at this fiddle? Will you look at it?” Chappy demanded, his voice rising to a fever pitch, his heart beating wildly.

“Sit down, man,” Duke urged his boss, whose chest was heaving up and down as they both breathed in the cool damp musty air of the Tinka Men’s Lounge.

Chappy had snuck the copy of the CT fiddle into the house, been relieved to find that Bettina had disappeared, and then frantically located Duke. Now, tucked away in the depths of the Tinka homestead, they had a chance to examine their quarry.

With a case of the shakes, Chappy reached around with his free hand and sunk back into his chair. “Look at it!”

Duke leaned over, the light of his helmet shining on the initials CT. “Wow,” he said. “It looks pretty good.”

“PRETTY
good?” Chappy countered.
“PRETTY
good? It looks great! It looks old! It looks like the real thing!” He caressed the wood, his fingers lingering over the carved initials. “Chappy Tinka,” he said softly.

Duke sat on the other chair opposite Chappy. Spotting the fiddle he had lifted from Malachy in Ireland, he went over, picked it up, and brought it back to his chair. “Now we’ve got two extra fiddles,” he said.

“But
THIS”
—Chappy indicated the one he was holding—”this is the important one. Brigid will never know the difference. Now we can switch them.”

Duke adjusted the helmet on his head. “Now we don’t have to drive over in that traffic and pick it up.”

“UGHHHH!
When Enders pulled in with his wife, I almost fell to the ground. Regan Reilly was standing right there!”

“She was?”

“Right there. Which reminds me: Keep the key to the glove compartment on the station wagon key chain, you moron. It was your fault she was hanging around.”

“But I haven’t driven that car in . . .”

“Never mind.” Chappy waved his hand at Duke and hugged the fiddle closer. “I managed to get rid of Regan Reilly, and then Enders and his wife start hinting around to get invited inside! Can you imagine? If anyone had seen this fiddle . . .”

Duke nodded. “So do we go with Plan A or Plan B?”

Chappy’s brow furrowed. He sat there thoughtfully in the gloomy dusk, his sneakered feet tapping up and down on the cement floor.

“Plan A!” he cried. “I think this should be done as soon as possible. After all, those thieves barged in here today, and if it weren’t for Regan Reilly, they would have gotten away with my fiddle!”

“We oughta thank her.”

“As long as she doesn’t get in the way of US stealing it.”

“True.”

Chappy stood up. “I think the band is over at their house now, aren’t they?”

Duke nodded. “I was out by the pool talking to Angela. They’re all around.”

“So we can’t do it just yet.” Suddenly Chappy felt a sense of urgency. “But it has to be done soon. Get out there and find out what their plans are for tonight. Hopefully they’re going out, and we can make the switch then.” Chappy took one last lingering look at the fiddle before they reentered the upstairs world. “Be good to Brigid,” he said. “She will love you like you’re the real thing.” Laughing, he turned to Duke. “Now let’s get out of here so you can get to work!”

Duke saluted.

“MOVE!”

34

R
egan drove to her parents’ house, her eye on the road but barely noticing her surroundings. Her mind kept going over the incidents of the last couple of days. She turned and glanced at the fiddle case on the seat next to her. “Maybe you are cursed,” she mumbled.

I’m glad Brigid let me get this fiddle out of the way for a few days, she thought. Although that won’t stop someone from trying to get it if they think it’s still at the Chappy Compound. Regan squeezed the steering wheel. How long will Brigid have to put up with all this? Will things calm down when she goes on tour?

Who in the Hamptons would want to scare her with that doll? From what she’d overheard of Arnold Baker’s conversation, there was at least one disgruntled singer who wasn’t thrilled about Brigid being in the festival.

Regan turned onto her parents’ street and navigated the big old station wagon down the block. I feel like I’m driving an enormous red boat, she thought. A boat with a funky glove compartment and a seat that’s an ordeal to move forward. At least I won’t have to parallel-park this bomb.

She pulled Chappy’s clunker into her parents’ driveway, turned off the engine, and sighed. Time to fill in the folks on what’s been happening since this morning. If they haven’t already heard. She picked up the fiddle case. “Let’s go find a good hiding place for you.”

With the case in one hand and the doll box in the other, Regan entered the front door.

“Well, look who’s here,” Louisa called from the den. “Hello, Regan! Long time, no see. What is it you’ve got there? A fiddle case? Don’t tell me you’ve come over to play for us!
Hnnnnnn.”

Regan smiled as she walked in. Louisa was sitting on the couch in a blue caftan with little orange open-mouthed goldfish swimming around the material, her feet propped on the coffee table, her computer on her lap. Regan could see through the window that Nora, Luke, and Herbert were just getting out of the pool.

“I think I’d need some lessons first.” Regan put the fiddle case on the floor. “You look pretty busy.”

Papers surrounded Louisa, and the plug to the phone was hitched up to the back of her computer. I hope no one is expecting any calls, Regan thought.

“I’ve been sitting here all afternoon with my laptop on my lap, which I naturally thought was the perfect place for it, and now my thighs are burning!” Louisa reached out her hand, but luckily Regan’s elbow was too far away to clutch and shake.

“That must mean you’re working too hard. Maybe you should put a pillow between your lap and the computer.”

“Oh, Regan! You sound like my grandmother! When I was a teenager, she always said if you’re going out in a group, bring a pillow in case you have to sit on a boy’s lap in the car.
Hnnnnnnn.”

Regan laughed. “She told you that?”

“Oh yes! It was much different in those days!”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Regan, I’ve been doing research for my article on the Hamptons. A little while ago I called over and got that Chappy on the phone. I wanted to set up an interview with him and Bettina in the next couple of days, but now he wants to wait until after the concert, when Brigid is gone and the excitement has died down. The other night he said he’d do it anytime, and Bettina was most excited about it. But today he was a little short with me. He sounded distracted.”

Regan thought about Chappy’s reaction when that car with his former employee had pulled up today. He seemed to be in a hurry to get me out of there, she thought. And he doesn’t want to have a security guard on his property. Is he up to something? she wondered. Or is he just a wealthy eccentric who gets upset easily, like when the coupon from the car wash was lost?

“Well, Louisa, a few exciting things happened over there today, which I’ll tell you about in a minute.”

“As exciting as me falling into the pool?”

“I’d have to say yes to that, Louisa.”

“Oh dear! I do want to hear all about it!”

Regan glanced outside. “I’d like to get everyone together. I’m sure they’ll want to hear about it, too.”

“Of course, Regan. It’s nearly four-thirty. It’s time for everyone to gather for libation.”

“I can’t stay long,” Regan said as she walked over to the sliding doors.

“Oh, Regan, one thing! I looked up Brigid and her band on the Internet. There are pictures of them and articles and letters from fans.”

Regan quickly turned back to Louisa. “Anything interesting?”

“Well, they all seem to love Brigid. . . .”

“That’s good.”

“I really just glanced at it. If anything juicy pops up, I’ll let you know.”

“Please do, and print it out.”

A few minutes later, the whole group was sitting in the chairs by the pool with their drinks in hand. As the smell of the chlorine wafted into Regan’s nostrils, she relayed the story of the would-be fiddle thieves.

“Oh my God, Regan,” Nora said. She was wearing a white swimsuit cover-up, big rounded sunglasses, and a straw hat. “Of course you can leave the fiddle here. We’ll keep it in our room in the safe.”

“In our room?” Luke mumbled as he ran his hand over the top of his wet head. A towel was draped around his neck. “Maybe we should leave it by the front door.”

Regan looked at her father. “Dad,” she scolded.

He smiled at her. “I’ll keep it in the bed right between your mother and me.”

“Like my grandmother’s pillow!” Louisa cried.

Lambie blushed and looked down into his drink.

Luke looked confused but didn’t bother to ask.

Nora smiled understandingly. She turned to Regan. “Honey, we’ll put it in the safe in our closet. It should fit in there. Lord knows we never use that space.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Regan said. “I’m glad the previous owner of this house had a lot of valuables to lock up. The other incident of the day,” she continued, “was the delivery of this doll.” She held it up for the group and explained its origins. “So as you can see, things have been a little tense. That’s why I’d like to keep the fiddle here. At least it’s one less thing to think about.”

Nora put her drink down. “Whoever cut up that doll is really sick.”

“I know,” Regan replied quietly.

“Is there anything we can do?” Nora asked.

Regan looked at her mother’s worried face. “Take care of the fiddle. That’s it,” she said. “Brigid wants to keep a low profile the next couple of days.” She placed her soda glass on a poolside table. “I’d better be on my way.”

Nora and Luke walked her to the car.

“Nice wheels,” Luke said. “Where did you dig up this wreck?”

“It’s Chappy’s,” Regan answered. “I didn’t dare ask if I could borrow the Rolls.”

Luke winked at her. “Who wants to drive a dented Rolls anyway?”

Regan smiled. “Not me.”

As Nora kissed Regan good-bye, she urged her, “Regan, please be careful. I’m worried about you and Brigid.”

“It’s all right, Mom,” Regan responded, trying to assure her. “We’ll be fine.”

As Regan motored down the dirt road, she tried to assure herself of the same thing. We’ll be fine, she thought. We’ll be just fine.

Won’t we?

35

A
t the roadside vegetable stand on Route 27 A, not far from Chappy’s house, Regan took a basket and began to load it with several cartons of strawberries that were nestled among the raspberries, peaches, plums, blueberries, and watermelons. The brightly colored display of fruit was sweet smelling and appetizing. The scent of the strawberries was so pungent, Regan could almost taste them. So she did.

This place does make you hungry, Regan thought, as her taste buds exulted with the flavor of the fresh fruit. And for the right kind of food. Heads of lettuce and plump tomatoes adorned the little stand. Peppers and carrots and celery were lined up and waiting to be bought.

“Is that all, miss?” asked a fiftyish man with leathery skin, a mustache, and tanned hands that looked as if they had personally picked all the fruits and vegetables, dumping the strawberries in a bag.