Free Twanged by Carol Higgins Clark Page B

tired. “We’ve always been a superstitious lot.”
    Brad Petroni, ever anxious to plug his radio station, jumped in. “Brigid’s agreed to talk about that with us on our radio show Monday. We’ll be discussing curses and superstitions and the fiddle. Right, Brigid?”
    “Right.” She managed a smile.
    L ater, after dinner, the crowd gathered with their ice cream sundaes in the drawing room, where an eight-foot portrait of Alvin Conrad Tinka, founder of the Tinka thumbtack fortune, was hung near the portrait of his beloved wife, Agneta. Positioned between them on the wall was the baby portrait of their only grandchild, Chappy, in all his rosy-cheeked and ringlet-haired glory.
    Chappy sat in a thronelike chair directly beneath his likeness of over fifty years ago. Bettina sat at his feet.
    To Regan, who had taken a place in the back by one of the doors, where she could keep an eye on the crowd, he couldn’t have looked happier.
    “Let’s see that fiddle!” he urged her. “Play the fiddle for us, Brigid,” he said.
    “Okay,” Brigid responded. “I’ll play a song with the fiddle, and then I want my band here to join me.” She picked up the fiddle with an almost reverent feeling, Regan thought, balanced it on her shoulder, closed her eyes for a brief moment, then started to play. Lively music filled the room and Regan watched at Brigid’s eyes started to sparkle and her body began to move. Her fatigue seemed to be swept away by the music.
    She loves what she does, Regan thought. She’s coming alive. It’s as if playing the music is all that counts.
    After the first song, Brigid said, “Come on, guys, I want you to play with me.”
    “Play your hit song,” Brad urged.
    “Coming right up,” Brigid answered with a chuckle.
    Kieran stood next to her, and Teddy and Hank took their places in the background as they went into a spirited rendition of the song that was making her famous. “If I’da known you were in jail,” she began. Brigid’s voice sounded so clear and young and fresh. The guys sang backup, with Kieran having a couple lines of his own, singing the part of the unfortunate inmate professing his undying love.
    They’re really good, Regan thought. They’re going to make it. A that moment Regan realized something was bothering her. She looked over and noticed that Herbert was nervously glancing back at the door every few seconds.
    Louisa was not there.
    She hadn’t been there for any of the music.
    She wouldn’t miss this, Regan thought anxiously. She hurried out of the room and down the hall to the two guest bathrooms. Both doors were open. They were empty.
    Running father down the hall, she glanced into the living room, where the waiters were folding the tables.
    No Louisa.
    Maybe she went outside, Regan thought frantically. Maybe she needed some air.
    She hurried through the dining room and poked her head in the kitchen door, where the housekeeper was washing dishes at the other end of the room. Not wanting to waste time asking questions, Regan ran out onto the deck, where the containers of ice cream were slowly melting.
    “Louisa?” she called into the darkness.
    The only sound she heard was the breaking of the waves on the beach.
    Oh God, she thought. Those drinks Louisa had were strong.
    Taking the steps off the deck two at a time, she raced toward the water and then turned around. She wouldn’t have gone near the ocean, Regan thought. Let me check the pool. Maybe she wanted to sit outside.
    Regan’s sandals were becoming weighed down with sand. She kicked them off and ran to the side of the house where the pool was. Everything seemed still, but when she raced up the steps, the sight of Louisa in her red-and-white caftan floating facedown in the pool sickened her.
    “LOUISA!” Regan shrieked at the top of her lungs as she unfastened her fanny pack, dropped it to the ground, and quickly dove in.

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    W hen he saw she was being rescued, he turned and ran.
    A fter arriving back in