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

  As it turns out, Digger provided better company on the three-hour drive than anticipated. I asked, “Digger, what are you going to do after we’re done at the newspaper, while I go to lunch with Jayson?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll find something to do.”

  “You want me to drop you off someplace?”

  He shrugged. “Where would you drop me?”

  “You want to see the World of Coca-Cola?”

  “Why would I spend a couple of hours looking at bottles of soda?”

  “It’s a lot more than Coke bottles.”

  “No thanks.”

  “Well, what are you interested in?”

  “I don’t know. Pick-up trucks, beer, football, tools.”

  “There’s a college football hall of fame.”

  “Nah, too close to a museum. I don’t do museums.”

  I sighed. “Well, I know a real interesting hardware store in a walking mall. It’s in Buckhead. It’s more of a step back in time than it is a store.”

  “That sounds good.”

  “So we have a plan. That will work well. We’re to meet with the historical society at two-thirty and that is also in Buckhead. All our business is to the north of midtown and that makes it easier. We should have plenty of time unless traffic is bad. Which it is most of the time. But we have all day and there is no rush.”

  “When you go to lunch, don’t get caught up in the moment with your old fling and lose track of the time. I know how it is when two young-ins get all googly-eyed with each other.”

  I laughed, “O...M...G. There is so much wrong with that statement. Jayson and I are just friends and I want to get to the historical society, too. Don’t worry.”

  We arrived at the paper and conducted our business as planned. It went quick, including Digger’s tour. We left and on the way to the car, I spotted it. “Digger, where in the world did you get ink on you?”

  “What?”

  “You have ink on your overalls.”

  “Well, look at that.”

  “You're not getting ink on my seats. Wait.” I dug into the trunk and found an old blanket. “Here sit on this.”

  “OK. You sure? Looks like a nice blanket.”

  “It’s fine. It’s an old beach blanket.”

  Digger placed the blanket on the seat, making sure it was secure and would prevent ink from soiling my car. I underestimated my fellow investigator. He was considerate and careful.

  We buckled up and headed for our lunchtime appointments. I dropped Digger at Buckhead Atlanta and went to meet Jayson. To my surprise, my old boyfriend found a new girlfriend. And that was all he wanted to talk about, so I cut the lunch short.

  On returning to the walking mall, I found Digger chatting with a crowd of people. The old gravedigger engaged the audience and I caught him in a rare smile. “Digger, what are you doing?”

  “Emily here recognized me from The Ghost Hounds episode and had some questions. Seems a few more people had questions, too.”

  I failed to prevent my jaw from hanging. The man who sat at the bar quietly, enduring all kinds of bad cemetery jokes, now entertained a crowd. I stammered, “Well...well, let’s go. We have an appointment to keep.”

  Digger turned to the crowd and waved. “Thanks to all. And thanks, Emily, for the soda. That was real nice of you. I have to go now. We have another riddle to investigate.”

  We climbed into the car and I asked, “Did she really get you that soda?”

  “Yep. Said it was thanks for taking the time to chat. And she asked for an autograph. It was my first.”

  “I don’t believe this. You’re worried about me getting all googly-eyed, but you’re out losing your autograph virginity.”

  “It just sounds weird when you put it that way.” Digger eyed me sideways.

  I sighed, “Let’s just get to the Atlanta History Center. This lunch period did not go as envisioned.”

  Once again, we buckled up and made a short drive. We arrived to find the history center was a huge complex. Our appointment was with a respected historian I worked with back in my days as a journalist in Atalanta, but first, we had to find him.

  We parked in the large municipal parking lot and walked, for maybe a mile. Old farms, residences, and botanical gardens passed by as we hunted for the research center. After checking the map app on my phone a few times, the modern, masonry building was in front of us and it contrasted with all the surrounding historic places.

  Digger struggled to catch his breath. “This place is huge. I hope he has comfortable chairs in there. I need to sit.”

  I chuckled, “Well, there’s only one way to find out. Let’s go see him.”

  We made our way to the front door and let ourselves into a large, unattended lobby. I spotted a directory next to a phone, found his name, and dialed the number next to it. He answered and said he was on his way to the foyer.

  After a minute, Blake Winston came into the glass-walled entry to find us waiting. He had a full head of bushy gray hair and was in his mid-sixties, but still full of energy. He wore beige khakis and a green button down shirt, topped with a lab coat. His eyes sparkled as he examined both of us, revealing how this man’s mind constantly analyzed and contemplated everything. “Piper Freeman, welcome! We have much to discuss. I did some research earlier, based on what you told me and the photos you sent. Now I am now dying to examine this locket in person.”

  I smiled at him. “Hello to you, too. This is quite the place.”

  “That’s right, you’ve never been here. When we did prior business I met with you at the Constitution’s offices, or at some coffee shop.”

  “We did like our coffee shop meetings.”

  Blake turned to Digger. “I am Blake Winston, pleased to meet you.” He nodded to the gravedigger, studying the man.

  “Hello to you, too.” Digger took a small step back.

  Blake continued, “I see you visited the printing presses at the Constitution.”

  Digger wrinkled his nose. “How do ya know that.”

  “Ink on your pants.”

  I interjected. “Blake doesn’t miss a thing. It’s why I asked him to help with the locket.”

  Blake subtly bowed to me and said, “Thank you. Well, come on in. I’ll give you a quick tour. This is a private research center, not open to the public, so you’re getting a behind the scenes tour.”

  Digger huffed. “Great. This looks like a museum, this should be loads of fun.” I shot a stern look in reply. He must have received the message, because he countered, “I’ll be good.”

  To Digger’s delight, Professor Winston rushed our tour and in minutes, we arrived at his research laboratory. He wanted to examine the locket, not be a tour guide, that was clear.

  The room was filled with shelves loaded with boxes of old stuff. In the center, two large tables held an elaborate microscope and computers. One a number of rolling carts, bins held specimens and various paperwork. Blake pointed to wooden armchairs in front of the microscope and we sat.

  Digger exclaimed, “Oh my goodness, that feels good. I work on my feet all day, but the walking around this place was brutal.”

  I smacked his arm. “We’re here on business. Focus.”

  Blake said, “Yes, business. I researched the Byrne family name and they are a key family in the history of Potter's Mill. Many of the current local families have ties back to them, though some are hard to track due to poor record keeping.”

  I pointed out, “That’s interesting, so why isn’t the Byrne name known in town?”

  “Well, that is part of what is interesting about them. A man named Conner Walsh helped develop the pottery mill into a thriving business. He also helped the local farming community become one of the biggest suppliers of sweet onions. Potter’s Mill was a hub of business back then Conner Walsh had his hand in much of it.”

  Digger fidgeted and complained. “What are we talking about this old guy for? What has it got to do with the locket?”

  Blake repl
ied with a calm voice. “I’m getting to that. See Conner married Erin Byrne. And they had five children. Conner and Erin’s sons both died in the Civil War. So the three daughter’s went on to marry but the Walsh name ended after one new generation. It’s why the Walsh's are not well known today in Potter's Mill. But their blood flows through many of the locals there. That is profound.”

  Digger threw his hands in the air. “My head is going to explode. We asked you about an Erin Byrnes, but you keep talking about this Walsh dude.”

  “Digger, that is what they call you right?” We both nodded yes and Blake continued, “See, Erin Byrnes married Conner Walsh. Her parents moved to Potter's Mill and they were the only Byrnes in town. She was an only child so the Byrnes name ended with her marriage. Erin Byrnes’ name became Erin Walsh.”

  I asked, “You seem real excited about finding she was married to Conner. Why?”

  “You don’t understand. Erin Walsh is almost famous in some circles. And many of the stories are, well let’s say, inflated tall tales. However, a piece from her past falls into our laps giving us a chance to examine it. I hope that the locket will decipher a little about what is true and what is false in the myths and legends that surround her.”

  Digger snorted. “Well, what are some of these old legends about her. I never heard any of ‘em.”

  Blake inhaled. “One of the most repeated myths states she was cursed, forced to haunt Potter's Mill for eternity.”

  I gasped. “And her locket is found on a headstone in the Potter’s Mill cemetery. I am starting to understand why you are interested in this locket.”

  Blake’s eyes sparkled. “Can I see it?”

  Digger glared back at Blake and said, “No!”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Ida

  As we exited, the bell over the general store’s door jingled. The Angel’s Glow story Edith told us was interesting, but was of no help with our search for information on the mystery woman. I wished to be back in my office, with all my computers, where I was most comfortable.

  My mom died giving birth to me, so Dad raised me alone. He told me as a little girl to pursue whatever I wanted and he supported all my wild experiments, including the karate phase. The arrival of computers in our homes enthralled me and Dad made sure I had the latest and greatest machine. Because of him, I found my calling. And right now, my instincts told me that I should be using my skills to find information on Erin Byrnes, but I was squandering time with this tour of town. However, I do trust Ginger. She has good instincts and is an excellent detective. This current task required patience and I attempted to conform.

  At least it was a nice sunny day, perfect for a walk, and many of the shopkeepers on Main Street were out setting up sidewalk displays or chatting with the passersby. We started for town hall and marched on for one whole half block before we halted. Bessie Houston worked in front of her store stacking something colorful when she spotted us and yelled, “Ginger, a minute if you could?”

  Ginger waved and nodded yes, so we diverted over to Sew Fabric to chat. Ginger asked, “What can I do for ya?”

  “It’s been so hectic in the pub with things like the television show, the attempt on your ex-husband’s life, and all the tourists that come and go to see The Grumpy Chicken. But things have calmed a little and I thought we could have a crafts night again at the pub.” Bessie waved at the storefront to emphasize the knitting and crafts.

  Ginger glanced up at the sky, then back at Bessie. “Sure, that’s a great idea. We haven’t had Stitch ’N Bitch in a long while. It’s time and we have lots to gossip about.”

  Bessie made a face like she bit down on a dozen lemons. “No, I hate that name. Please don’t say that. It sounds so crude. But I would like to host a crafts night and we can do something special with the food.”

  Bones added, “No chicken wings. They’re bad luck.”

  “Bones. That’s just silly. We can make whatever you like. Bessie.” Ginger glared at Bones with a smile. She had a way of telling people things with her eyes. Bones understood, be accommodating with the customer wishes even when you are right and they are wrong.

  “Oh, I haven’t thought about what to serve. I have to talk to Carl. He looks forward to your food more than me, so he’s the one to pick.”

  Ginger smiled. “Whatever you want. Hey, have you ever heard of a woman named Erin Byrnes?”

  Bessie jiggled her head no. “Not really. Why do you ask?”

  I said, “Digger found a mysterious locket and the grumpy chicken didn’t like it. To be honest the feathered poltergeist threw a fit. So we are trying to learn more about it and this woman’s name was inscribed on the back of the locket. Freddie thought the Byrnes name was part of the town’s history.”

  Bessie’s eyes grew wide. “Wow. There is always something going on with you guys, isn’t there. That is intriguing. Ya know, I have an old trunk in my attic with all kinds of old stuff. Most of it is about Potter’s Mill. Maybe something in the chest can help you find this Erin Byrnes?”

  Ginger glanced at Bones and me. We both nodded to confirm and she said, “Bessie, that is real nice of you. We won’t take too much of your time, but that would be great.”

  “Sure, let me tell Carl I’m heading to the house for a few minutes.” Bessie went into the store for a few minutes then came back carrying her handbag.

  We walked a short way to their old, but quaint home surrounded by the cliche white picket fence. “Come on in, the place is a mess, but the attic is worse. It’s so dusty.” Bessie opened the door and a black Labrador met us, tail wagging. She patted the friendly dog and said, “Hello, Macrame, how’s my good girl?”

  The building was an old farmhouse, three stories tall. We climbed all the stairs with dog in tow, and to our dismay, Bessie pulled another folding set of steps from the ceiling. Out of breath, everyone climbed the last narrow steps into the dark, musty attic, except for the pooch.

  Bessie pulled a string and light filled the small space. All kinds of junk surrounded us like boxes, clothing, old lamps, and broken chairs. Under a stack of discarded clothing, some still holding idle hangers in the neck hole, sat an ancient wooden trunk. Bessie pointed to it and said, “That’s it. Carl’s father left it to him and it’s filled with all kinds of weird books and documents. Most of it is Potter’s Mill history.”

  Bones moved the clothes pile and tried to open the chest. Bessie chuckled, “You need this.” She held up an old skeleton key.

  Bones took the key and unlocked the trunk. A gray cloud formed and we all placed a hand over our mouths to filter the air we breathed. After allowing a minute to literally let the dust settle, we peered into the chest. Bessie was right, this old-fashioned trunk held lots of stuff.

  Bones gushed. “Holy moly, look at all this. This book is about farming in Bear’s Paw Swamp. And this one is a catalog for the pottery that used to be made at the mill.”

  I leafed through the items and discovered old pottery catalogs and ledgers to account for the produce grown on nearby farms. Trivia, mostly useless, but I was learning a thing or two. For instance, back in eighteen-fifty, I confirmed farming and pottery were the two businesses that supported and grew the town. After a few minutes of scanning items in the trunk, it appeared. An old piece of parchment clung to the backboards of the trunk, as if trying to stay out of sight. I carefully removed it and unfolded the document. It was a map.

  Bones gasped. “Wow. That’s so cool. It looks like it’s the town back a thousand years ago.”

  Ginger laughed. “That’s too long Bones. This town is only about two hundred years old.”

  I studied the map. “It says here eighteen fifty-eight. So, yeah, Ginger is right. It’s the town one hundred and sixty years ago.”

  Ginger examined the map. “Hey, look at this. The pub is on the map. But it was called The Fickle Waterwheel.”

  I saw some small print under the pub name. “It says the pub was owned by the Walsh family.”

  Bones muttered, �
�Who’s the Walsh family?”

  Ginger looked at me. “Ida, can you help answer that?”

  I pulled out my phone. “Sure, let’s consult the web.” I punched in the search and found thousands of Walsh's. “I need to spend more time on this. That is a common name and I need to refine the search.” I tried focusing on Potter’s Mill in the nineteenth century and that helped. “There does seem to be a family that worked and lived in town back then, but nothing about them on the net that says they ran a farm or pub.” I scanned the search results. “But get this, there was an Erin Walsh. And there are lots of references to odd occurrences associated with her...But they seem as reliable as Bigfoot sightings.”

  The dust took a victim. Ginger began coughing and descended the attic stairs. She hollered back at us, “This dust is killing me. And there’s really only room for two to work. Bring down anything of interest for us to make copies down at town hall. Bessie and I will wait downstairs. We have business to discuss anyway, for the next crafts night.” Bessie and Ginger backed out of the tight attic space and down the stairs.

  Bones hollered after them, “Will do.” He looked at me and whispered, “She trusts us to do this?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  Bones dove back into the chest. “Well, let’s get to it.”

  We rummaged all the old catalogs and ledgers. The Byrnes name did not appear, but the name The Fickle Waterwheel and Walsh appeared in a number of places. The old documents told us the family participated in the pottery and farming business of the time, but nothing more.

  “Bones, I’m not sure, but I think the map is important. We should take it to make a copy.”

  “Not any of the books?”

  “No. They tell us who traded onions and pottery here, sure. But that’s it. Nothing about where they came from, how they died, if they fought in the war, or how they lived. We can come back for the books if we have to, but I want a copy of the map to better study it.”