Cursed With a Twist (Grumpy Chicken Irish Pub Series Book 4)

by Constance Barker

  “What makes the map special?”

  “I’m not sure. Here look at this.” I handed my phone to Bones after pulling up a picture of the locket front. “See the engraved pattern?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Now look at the map.”

  Bones complied and his reaction reminded me of the Grinch story. Instead of his heart growing three sizes, though, his eyeballs grew three sizes to golf balls and they may have even glowed in the bad lighting. He uttered, “It’s the same scrolly things around the pub name.”

  “My eyes are not what they used to be. But I thought so, too. I want to check it out under better lighting and see if there is any other information on the map. I can do a better internet search back in the hack shack, too.”

  Bones added, “Let me look at the books again. We might have missed something.” And he did. The young grill master and dishwasher went through every book and ledger a second time. After twenty minutes, he sighed, “Well, that wasn’t real productive. But this one book has one transaction that is different from all the others.”

  I smiled, “It was good that you rechecked. And it gave me time to sift through some on the Walsh's I found in my queries. Seems there was a Walsh that married a girl from the Byrne family. An Erin.”

  Bones gasped. “So you found our Erin Byrne.”

  “Maybe. I got some more deep web searches going on back at the hack shack. I will see what they find and will wait till then to make any conclusions.”

  “So the map goes with us. And I want to take this book, too. The quantities of goods traded is large for one deal and maybe it means something.” Bones displayed the book to me.

  “Well, that sounds like a good find. Good job. You may have just earned your grumpy chicken detective badge.”

  Bones popped, “You mean we even have a cool secret name and titles?”

  “No, you nitwit. I was just saying you did good. Why does everyone think we need a name? Jeez.”

  “I’m sorry. I just wanted to be part of the gang.”

  “Now you’re getting it, we’re just a group of friends who help each other. Now let’s go show Ginger what we found.”

  We put everything away, headed down the attic stairs, and folded the narrow contraption back into the ceiling. After making a pit stop in the upstairs guest room to clean up, we headed down to the first floor. Bessie and Ginger sat in plush wing chairs sipping tea in the living room. Macrame lied sleeping at Bessie’s feet. Ginger spotted us first. “Well, the dust miners return!” The dog woke and came over to check us out, tail again wagging.

  I patted the canine and glanced at Ginger. “Some of us are apparently tougher than others.”

  She chuckled in response. “I’ll give you this one, Ida. But I was doing nothing anyway, the space was too small.”

  “Well, Bones and I found a couple of things that are interesting. Is it OK, Bessie, if we take them to make copies?” I held up the map and Bones displayed the book for her to see.

  Bessie nodded. “Sure. I want to help.”

  Ginger added, “So are we ready to head over to town hall?”

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  Ginger put her cup of tea on the coffee table. “Bessie, this was real sweet of you. Thank you. And I look forward to our next Stitch...I mean craft night.”

  Bessie bowed her head to indicate thank you and she smiled. “I can’t wait for it. I will let you know what Carl picks for the menu.”

  Ginger smiled and nodded back at her, then we all made for the door. Once outside, Ginger asked, “So, Ida, was that worth the time?”

  I answered, “Sure, if nothing else it gave me time to look at some my internet searches and they are finding information. I found an Erin Byrnes, but that is her maiden name, and her married name my be Erin Walsh. If this Erin Walsh is our Erin Byrnes, well, there’s lots of weird tales on the internet about her as Erin Walsh. We should get to the bottom of who Erin Byrnes is today. And maybe more.”

  “Why maybe more?”

  “I don’t know. The map just feels like it’s important to me.”

  Bones blurted out, “Tell Ginger about the scroll work.”

  I chuckled, “It may be nothing, but the scrolls around The Fickle Waterwheel pub name on the map are the same as the scrolls on the front of the locket.”

  “Wow. No, that sounds like something. How did I miss that?” Ginger tilted her head like she was searching for an answer to her own question. “I couldn’t see a thing up there. That dust cloud refused to settle.”

  “I agree. We need to look at the map in a better light. And Bones found an unusual transaction in one of the ledgers.” I pointed at the book he held.

  Bones added, “Yeah. Seems an awful lot of goods were traded in one day. So, I took that book, too.”

  Ginger said, “Well, every clue is important. Great, on to town hall.”

  We walked with a new spring our step and a focused sense of purpose. That lasted for a whole minute till Beth Givens appeared on the sidewalk and destroyed it all.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Digger

  Blake Winston grated my nerves and this meeting frustrated me because I took a vacation day to make this trip. He blathered on with nothing useful, this was wasting our time. I grew up on a farm and worked hard every day, and sometimes at night helping to make moonshine. My parents taught me it was simple; if you slacked off, you went hungry. You made sure to use every single available hour to do something productive. Back at the cemetery, lawns needed grooming and the old perimeter wrought iron fence needed repair. The place could do without me for a day, but what was I doing sitting here listening to this fool? It was time to leave.

  We asked him to help with a few simple questions and he was telling tall tales about a stranger. And he constantly looked at me like he wanted to pick my pockets or read my mind. I hated it so I said what was on my mind. “I found this locket and I will pick who I show it to. I think it’s time for us to go.”

  Blake looked at me like I farted at his wedding. He said, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to offend. I’m just curious and always want to know more about the people I come in contact with. Where do they come from, who were their ancestors, what do they do for a living – it’s just habit. When I was younger, I did make a number of people uncomfortable with my need to study everyone, but I learned to be more polite and discrete about it. You are most perceptive and I apologize.”

  Piper glanced at me, her face red. “Digger, it’s alright. Blake is just excited about your find and he can help us. Let him have a look.”

  “Piper, I’m sorry. But I’ve never experienced anything like I did when I took this locket out of my pocket in the pub. It got cold all on its own and I could tell it’s important. Like it was able to make me feel what it wanted.”

  Blake squinted at me. “So is it telling you something now?”

  “Kind of. It doesn’t want to leave my possession.”

  Blake made a long face. “This is fascinating. But I don’t fully understand what is happening.” He paused. “Alright then, the locket isn’t to leave your possession. You are going to just let me examine it. You can sit right next to me and it never leaves your control.”

  I turned to Piper, searching for her opinion. She looked at me like a big sister telling me it was alright to eat my spinach. I snapped back at her. “Don’t look at me like I’m a ten-year-old. I get your point. I’m being too protective.”

  Piper added, “Overprotective? You’re acting like Gollum with the one ring to rule them all. Holy cow!”

  “Who is Gollum?”

  Piper laughed. “I should have guessed you don’t know who Gollum is, ‘Lord of the Rings’ doesn’t have pick-up trucks or football.”

  Blake interrupted, “I don’t mean to be rude, but we only have so much time. Digger, if you would be so good as to place the locket on this little platform right here. Under the microscope.”

  I sensed Piper trusted this man and he was trying meet half way by letti
ng me place the locket. “Alright.” The flap on my pocket was fastened tight to make sure the locket was safe. After wrestling with the button, I reached in and retrieved it.

  Blake pointed, “Right there, that will be fine.”

  I put it down and Blake turned on a special light. It was like a goose neck that he bent in all kinds of directions till it shot centered bright light down on the locket. He then focused the microscope. I was surprised when the image popped on a computer monitor. Apparently, you do not have look into the microscope eyepieces in today’s modern world. You can watch on TV.

  Blake pointed. “Just as I thought. See that.”

  Piper and I squinted at the enlarged image of the locket back. Fancy scrolls and decoration surrounded the engraved “To my love Erin Byrnes.” But under magnification, we saw initials. Someone secretly engraved tiny letters inside one of the decorative decorations on back.

  Blake added, “H.C. This was custom made by Henri Chorette. He was a French jewelry maker that came to New York City. He opened shop and his pieces sold well to the wealthy from eighteen-twenty to eighteen-forty. Wearing his jewelry was a sign of wealth just before the civil war.”

  I had to point out, “There ya go again. Talking about some dead guy we don’t know or care about.”

  Blake smiled at me. “Be patient. It’s a clue where this came from. Henri’s shop was in New York. Conner Walsh had this made special for Erin Byrnes as a sign of his love. It may have even been an engagement gift. So, Conner had money back then and traveled. He would need to actually travel to New York to get this locket back then. There was no Amazon in the nineteenth century.”

  I huffed. “So the guy had money and traveled.”

  Blake sat up straight. “Well, the records show he played a key role in developing Bear’s Paw Swamp into Potter’s Mill.”

  I rolled my eyes this time and interrupted. “Someone shoot me! This is so boring! Wait a minute. Did you say Bear’s Paw Swamp?” Blake nodded yes. I added, “That’s the name of the swamp down near the cemetery.”

  Blake’s face lit up. “Yes it is. But back before the Civil War, the whole area was called Bear’s Paw Swamp. It earned the name from a legend that a hunter found huge bear prints in the swamp. He attempted for years to trap the huge black bear, but failed. The bear paw prints were said to be almost as large as Babe the Blue Ox.”

  Piper said, “Digger is right, that’s all interesting, but we don’t care about Paul Bunyan’s pet. What about Erin Byrnes?”

  Blake continued, “Sorry, so Conner Walsh owned a large farm in Bear Paw’s Swamp and opened a number of businesses in the burgeoning town. He had five children and they owned and operated some of them, like the general store and the local pub.”

  Piper interrupted, “The Grumpy Chicken?”

  Blake shook his head. “No. It was called The Fickle Waterwheel back then. I haven’t confirmed if it is the same or a different pub yet. They’re both in the same spot, but so many buildings were destroyed during the war. I assume the old pub was burned during Sherman’s March, almost all buildings there were destroyed.”

  I sighed, “So where is this all going?”

  Blake smiled back at me. “The pub is haunted by a grumpy chicken right?”

  I glared at the odd man. “We didn’t need to come to Atlanta to find that out. Me and Piper have seen the grumper do things with our own eyes.”

  Blake continued, “Follow me. You have a chicken ghost. And Conner’s children, well more important Erin’s children, ran the old pub.”

  I slumped in my chair. “I give up. I don’t know where this is going.”

  Piper hissed at me, “Hush!”

  “See there is an old legend about General Lee. And it involves a chicken.” Blake used his hands to animated his sentence as he spoke.

  I stood, “I’m done. Babe the Blue Ax, or ox or whatever, rich guys in the Civil War, a legend in the swamp, now General Lee and his chicken; this guy is all over the place, Piper. We’re wasting our time.”

  Blake waved at me to sit and continued, “They’re all connected. During and after the Civil War, ghost stories were rampant. And many of them remain unexplained today. There was one in particular about General Lee that always interested me. It may be the key to your mystery. See, a Virginia farmer gave a flock of chickens to the general and his troops ate them all, except one. This particular chicken survived by making her nest over General Lee’s tent. Lee took a liking to the little black chicken and even gave it a name, Nellie. Every day, Lee raised the flap of his tent and she used the tent as a roost. Nellie even started to lay eggs under the general’s cot everyday. But just before the Battle of the Wilderness, Lee’s personal cook was out of food and had no choice but to slaughter and serve Nellie to all the generals. Lee was furious and it was said it was the only time he reprimanded his slave.”

  I shrugged, “So?”

  Blake’s eyes were alive. “What if the chicken was mad, just like General Lee. It’s possible that this chicken haunting your pub is General Lee’s Nellie.”

  Piper moaned. “I don’t know. Digger might be right. What’s this all got to do with the locket?”

  Blake took a deep breath. “Well, if Conner Walsh, Erin’s husband, had money he certainly had acquaintances before and during the war. It would almost be impossible for a prominent man in a growing town to stay neutral. And this locket proves Conner traveled, he would have to go to New York to buy this locket. It is possible he knew Lee from his travels and somehow the ghost of Lee’s pet chicken, Nellie, ended up haunting the pub in Bear Paw’s Swamp.”

  I laughed but Piper frowned. She said, “There are a lot of missing pieces if that is true. How did the chicken get to Georgia, and Potter's Mill in particular? That’s a big question.”

  “Yes it is, but this is where Erin Walsh comes in. She was considered mad by some, but others thought she was brilliant, even clairvoyant. The stories of bizarre and mysterious events involving her are many. It is possible that Nellie’s ghost and Erin Walsh had a connection.”

  I groaned. “Again, this is weak.” Piper glared at me and I held my tongue from further remarks.

  Blake shrugged, “Maybe. But what do you know about the lost confederate gold?”

  I stared at the babbling fool. “Now you want us to go on a treasure hunt?”

  “No, but there was millions in gold unaccounted for after the war. And Conner Walsh had money. What if the gold was hidden in Potter’s Mill during the war? It would account for a small town popping up in the middle of nowhere and confederates would have been in and out of town to stash the gold. Maybe even Lee himself. So if the gold was hidden there, maybe the chicken is associated with it somehow. And if Erin was clairvoyant, she could communicate with the chicken.”

  Piper made a noise. “Hmmm. Star does seem to be able to communicate with the grumpy chicken.”

  Blake popped, “Oh Star, I remember her from TV in the episode about the pub on The Ghost Hunters. She is so pretty. And a medium, right?”

  I plopped my head back on my shoulders and stared at the ceiling. “Yeah, but Star has nothing to do with why we’re here. So what on earth are you trying to say?”

  Blake paused for dramatic effect. “There may be millions in gold stashed in Potter’s Mill and the ghost of Lee’s pet chicken is guarding it. Bear’s Paw Swamp was remote, and back then, there was a potential medium in town who would be able to communicate with the chicken spirit, to work with it. It was a perfect place to safely stash the gold. It all fits, albeit a few pieces of evidence to prove it are missing. But after the town was razed by Sherman, nothing was left, including Erin. She died that day trying to save some horses from a burning barn. The gold’s secrets would have been lost with no way to communicate with the chicken. But now her locket appears and finds it’s way to the pub. It’s a sign, a message, and it could be Erin herself trying to talk to us.”

  I felt a flash in my stomach. “Star said the grumpy chicken was worried. It could have
been upset that gold was in danger of being found?”

  Blake leaned towards Piper and me. “Precisely.”

  Piper gasped. “I’m starting to understand why you are so excited.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Ginger

  Tea with Bessie was enjoyable and perhaps helpful. As we made our way down the sidewalk for town hall, the sun shone and the temperature moderated, a beautiful day for a walk. However, Beth Givens was a rain cloud heading straight at us. I contemplated what tales she was busy spinning with her gossip and decided it was best to talk with her for a minute. She met us on the sidewalk in front of the sandwich shop, short of our intended destination. “Hello Ginger, looks like you three are up to no good. I heard the chicken ghost made a ruckus yesterday. I assume you are out and about today because of it, looking for something.”

  I sighed, “You are correct. We’re looking for information about an Erin Byrnes. We want to know more about her.” No need to say more than necessary.

  Beth looked down and shook her head no. “Not a name I know. Was she one of the pesky tourist who come to your squalid little pub? When and why was she here?”

  Bones chuckled. “No, she was here before any of us were, back during the Civil War, maybe. We think she lived here.”

  Beth’s lips puckered. “Oh, the war. Lots of history there. So many people passed through here then.”

  I asked, “What does that mean?”

  Beth smiled like she swallowed all the canaries in the south. “But surely you must know. Before and during the war, the underground railroad ran through here and many escaped slaves traveled through Potter's Mill. There were a number of routes to the north, but Savannah was a well known departure point back then. If you were an escaped slave, you headed for the coastal port to find passage by ship to New England.”

  Ida cracked, “Every town in the south dealt with fleeing slaves, so that is true of all towns back then.”

  Beth answered, “No, the road through here was a main route to Savannah and that meant a path to a free life for many slaves. However, this was a well known fact to both the escaped slaves and the confederates. So it was also perilous. The soldiers hunted the escapees and many of the runners were killed as they scurried for freedom.”