Twanged by Carol Higgins Clark Read Free Book Online Page B

that was plugged into the wall of the pantry.
    After they had settled in, Regan and Brigid and Kit had congregated in the kitchen to catch up with each other.
    Chappy and Duke had helped them shlep in their bags. “I hope these quarters will suffice!” Chappy had cried. “I’ve never had any complaints! But if you do, you must speak up and your needs will be attended to!”
    After assurances were uttered over and over that indeed this was a most delightful, charming place to stay, with such an incredible view of the water, Chappy had, to the relief of them all, retreated to his castle to prepare for the party.
    Upstairs were six bedrooms. Regan’s room faced the road and Kit’s house. Brigid’s room was right across the hall and had a view of the ocean. They were furnished in typical old-beachhouse style: floral wallpaper, wooden dressers circa who knows when, and beds somewhere in between twin-sized and full that very well might have been passed down by Chappy’s pilgrim ancestors. The bedspread were the knotty white kind that Regan never ever saw for sale anywhere but always seemed to come across in people’s vacation homes, particularly if they were near the water.
    “What style would you call this decorating?” Regan had asked Kit while surveying her room.
    “Early leftovers,” Kit had answered. “Our house is much the same. I must say it’s been a long time since I’ve seen a TV with rabbit ears.”
    “That’s what I like about these kind of joints,” Regan had said. “They take you back.”
    “To the Dark Ages. I feel as if our place is a set for a fifties television show, and Father Knows Best is going to walk in any minute,” Kit had said while putting Regan’s bag down on the hooked rug and studying the sheer white curtains blowing in the breeze. “I will say this: It’s got that good beachy smell.”
    “Early mildew?” Regan had asked.
    They were barely seated at the table when the call from Roy came in.
    A few minutes later Brigid walked across the room, winding up the conversation. “Keep calling with good news. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Roy.” She clicked off, laid the phone on the table, reached for the soda she had abandoned, and smiled at them benevolently.
    Regan smiled back. “Good news?”
    Brigid shook her head. “I can’t believe how much has happened since I met you two in Ireland! This whole fiddle business is unbelievable! A couple of guys who started a country music station out here want me on their show on Monday. They’re hosting the music festival.” She put her feet up on the wicker chair next to her and glanced out at the water, as though to assure herself that she was so close to the Atlantic Ocean.
    “Can I borrow the fiddle next time I go on a date?” Kit asked.
    “Only if I go as your bodyguard,” Regan answered.
    “I’ll take a pass.”
    Brigid laughed. “It’s great to see you two again.”
    “You too, Brigid,” Regan said. “Now that we have a quiet moment, would you mind showing me the letter that Austin spoke about?”
    Brigid’s face turned serious. “He’s such a worry-wart. I read it to him on the phone the other night, and he got all nervous and called my mother. I’m glad you’re here, Regan, but I didn’t feel that threatened by it. I know a lot of people in the public eye get nasty letters.”
    “I understand,” Regan said. “But after the theft at Malachy’s cottage, we’ve got to be extra cautious. So can I see it?”
    Brigid swung her legs down off the chair. “Why not? Time for show-and-tell.”
    “By the way,” Regan said as Brigid got up, “where is the fiddle?”
    “Under my bed.” She arched one eyebrow. “Where no one would think to look.”
    The nice part about being in a private place like this, Regan thought, is not having to worry about leaving the fiddle in a hotel room or lugging it around everywhere.
    “As a matter of fact,” Brigid said, “Chappy asked if I would bring the fiddle over tonight and