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meet their fans,” he explained hurriedly. “Mobs of people there. There are concerts and parties. The stars sign autographs for hours. On the last day they have a big fiddling contest.” Austin paused, then announced with pride, “Brigid won.”
    “That’s fantastic,” Regan said. “I’m not surprised. When she and Malachy played together at her party, it was incredible.”
    “Well, she won the contest with Malachy’s famous fiddle,” Austin informed her.
    “Malachy’s fiddle?”
    “He decided to give it to her for her twenty-fifth birthday. The day after the party.”
    “Wow,” Regan said slowly, thinking of all the talk at the party about the celebrated fiddle. “He gave it to her for keeps?”
    “Yes. He said he was getting old and she should have it now.”
    “So Brigid won with it. Talk about the lucky fiddle!”
    “Well,” Austin elaborated, “lucky and unlucky. A few things have happened since.”
    “What?”
    “A journalist in Ireland looking for a story is making a big stink, saying the fiddle should have never left the country. He’s blowing it up to being a national treasure. He unearthed this whole story about there being a curse on it if it leaves Ireland. But get this, Regan. Someone walked right into Malachy’s home last Saturday night when he was sleeping. They stole a fiddle off his very lap, probably thinking it was the famous one. Actually, it was Brigid’s. She insisted on swapping when Malachy gave his to her.”
    “Talk about a thief with bad timing.”
    “Indeed. Now everyone back at home is arguing about the fiddle and the curse, and she’s starting to get incredible publicity here in the States about the whole business.”
    “Well, her album is coming out. That can only help the sales,” Regan said practically.
    “True. Now the latest is she’s been invited with her band to play at the Melting Pot Music Festival on July Fourth in Southampton. Have you heard of it?”
    “Of course!” Regan replied. “It’s a benefit they’ve had for the last couple of years at a college in the Hamptons. It’s quite a scene.”
    “Well, it just came up. Some guy in the Hamptons saw her on TV. He’s involved with the festival and he’s loaded. He got in touch with Brigid and invited her and the band to come up for the week, all expenses paid, to stay at his guest house and perform at the festival.”
    “That’s a great festival for a new band. It gets a lot of hype,” Regan said.
    “That’s what Brigid figured. The guys in the band agreed to it and are bringing their golf clubs. It’ll be a nice little break before they start their tour, which will be fairly grueling.”
    “Brigid must be pretty happy,” Regan responded.
    “Indeed. But there is a problem. That fiddle is getting so much attention, it’s like she’s traveling with the crown jewels.”
    “And fame always attracts weirdos.”
    “Exactly. She called me the other night and read me a threatening letter that had been left for her at Fan Fair, which shook me up quite a bit. I told her, between that and someone stealing the fiddle from Malachy, things were getting a little scary.”
    “Is Brigid upset by it?” Regan asked.
    “Yes, but not as much as we are. She’s too excited about going on tour to give it much thought.” He paused. “We were wondering, would you have any interest in taking on the job of being her bodyguard out there for the week? She liked you, and I know you’re headed there anyway. My family is a bit concerned and would like to have the peace of mind that someone was looking after her. Brigid didn’t want to ask you herself. She feels a bit silly about the whole thing and knows that you’re going out there to be on vacation. . . .”
    Regan hesitated, then thought of how much fun Brigid had been the night of her party. This would certainly be an adventure. “I’ve always wanted to be a groupie, Austin. Maybe this is my chance.”
    Austin laughed. “Thanks, Regan. This will