Cursed With a Twist (Grumpy Chicken Irish Pub Series Book 4) Page 8
The others are oblivious to the mental damage that two tours in Vietnam do to a person. Even Guardrail is unaware at times of the anguish I carry from those years. However, they accept me as a member of the group. They are my family and their support is invaluable. Plus I love the mysteries we investigate, maybe a little too much.
I made the short walk to the Holland house and found Elias home. On cracking the door, he said, “Hey Dog Breath.”
“Hello, Elias. We haven’t seen you in the pub in a while.”
He sighed. “I know. But I haven’t been in a real social mood after the troubles. But thanks for coming by.”
“You’re welcome. But I’m afraid I’m here on business. We have a problem you might be able to help us with. It has to do with the chicken ghost.”
Elias chuckled. “I don’t believe in the grumpy chicken. You know that. But what’s your problem?”
“We found a chest with a weird lock and maybe you can help us open it.”
Elias tilted his head. “Didn’t expect something like that. Why do you think I can help?”
“Because there is no keyhole. It is a mechanical puzzle and you are good with that kind of stuff.”
“Locks with no keyhole tend to have a trigger, like a magnetic key, or a hidden latch. And did you examine the hinges? The keyhole may be on the hinge. That is a trick I learned from a friend in a chat room. And of course, there is the old deception of a hidden drawer or a secret door to the inside”
I smiled. “See, I came to the right person. We have some smart people back at the pub, including a professor from Atlanta, and none of them thought of that.”
“Wow, so this is a big mystery if you have experts from Atlanta in town.”
“Yeah, his visit just kind of happened, like most things around here. But this chest is a doozy of a brain-teaser. I appreciate your input.”
“No problem. After you try my suggestions, let me know if you can’t get it open. Maybe I’ll come on over then.”
“Thanks, I will if we need you. Take care.”
Elias smiled and closed the door. I turned and started my return trip by navigating around all the cats as I marched down the front walk. During the walk back, I thought of how Elias endured his mother’s murder and understood that he preferred to stay at home. Even the offer to come down to the pub was a big deal for him. Perhaps his mental wounds are healing.
I was back soon enough and reentered the pub, taking my usual stool. Everyone silently stared at me. “What!”
Ginger spoke. “Well, glad you made it back, Dog. But where is Elias?”
“He didn’t want to come. But he had a couple of ideas. He said there may be a magnetic latch or that the lock is actually disguised as one of the hinges. Oh, and that we should look for a secret door.” A beer appeared in front of me. “Thanks, Dixie.”
Blake said, “An expert in Denver said something similar. He told me to look for a sliding panel or secret drawer.”
“So did you look?” I took a sip of beer and stared at the odd scientist while waiting for my answer.
Blake jerked back. “Of course, but I found nothing.”
Ida had moved to the chest, which still sat on the dining table in front of Star. After hearing my comments, Ida inspected the hinges. She carefully probed the metal with her fingers and said, “I think this one is different.”
Blake asked, “Why?”
Ida continued, “It looks the same as the other hinge, but it doesn’t sound as solid when I tap it with my fingernail.”
Blake went to the chest to try for himself. His eyebrows rose. “Dang! You’re right. There is something different with this hinge. Piper, can I have the keys to your car? I have some tools in my travel bag.”
Piper threw him the keys and Blake left to retrieve the needed items. Piper laughed. “Who has tools in their overnight bag.”
Digger volleyed back, “A flaky historian.”
Piper chuckled. “You promoted Blake from a handful to flaky.”
Digger stared at his beer. “No, just showing off my limited vocabulary.”
Blake returned with a small toolbox. He opened it and took out a jeweler’s loop. After examining the suspect hinge with magnification, he said, “I think this is the latch. It has some expertly crafted cavities shaped like a heart. They could be tiny screw drives for a specialized screwdriver. One with a tiny heart-shaped tip to fit the socket.”
Digger snorted. “Where are we going to find a screwdriver like that?” He patted a pocket to confirm the locket was still safe.
Blake saw him feel for the trinket and asked, “Can it be? Digger, can I see the locket again?”
Digger glared at the historian but eventually handed it to the historian. Blake studied it with the magnifying loop. “How did I miss this. I guess it wasn’t hard. It’s in the hinge and we never really studied the hinge under the microscope.” With the locket closed, he slid a finger along the spine of the small hinge. A tiny wire protruded from the hinge. “So beautiful, and clever.”
Dixie snorted. “That has to be the oldest James Bond style device ever.”
Blake smiled. “You may be more right than you know.”
He carefully took the exposed, minuscule screwdriver sticking out of the locket hinge and held it to the larger chest hinge.
The air went cold, the lights flickered, the chicken wailed. “SQUAAAAAAK!!!”
All the usual grumpy chicken temper tantrum tricks. But this time the chest floated off the table a foot into the air and spun, slowly. Then it continued to rise. Blake reacted to the movement and jumped onto it, holding tight. He spun with the chest, the rotations increasing steadily. A blood-curdling “NO!!!” reverberated before Blake and the chest crashed back to the floor.
Guardrail chuckled. “What do you think, Dog? That was either really stupid or really brave.”
I added, “Riding a floating chest? My money is on stupid.”
Blake stared at the two of us with blurry eyes. Piper helped him up and into a chair. She got a wet cloth and wiped his face. Blake protested. “Stop. I’m fine, I’m just a bit stunned. I have never seen anything like that. It was incredible.”
Piper snickered. “You’re a regular now, I think.”
Blake scanned the area where he fell. He panicked. I learned why when he got down on his hands and knees and retrieved the locket. Blake glanced at Digger. “It’s alright. Nothing broken.”
Digger glared at the old historian, quiet and motionless. Then he gave a slight nod to Blake. The historian understood and resumed his work. This time, he placed the chest on the bar in front of him so he could work standing. Once again, he held the tiny screwdriver protruding from the locket hinge and worked at the trick chest hinge. With caution, he used the small tool and in less than a minute, the hinge popped open like a latch. He exclaimed, “Voila!”
Everyone gathered around with the chest on the verge of revealing its contents. Dixie blurted out, “We need Geraldo Rivera like when he did that special with Al Capone’s safe.”
Ginger chuckled. “No way. He found that safe empty. I want to find something inside this puppy.”
Blake continued to play with the chest top. “It appears that once this hinge is released, it is still a bit of a puzzle. I need to find the right way to twist or slide the top...” The lid rotated off to one side exposing the contents.
Ginger approached the open chest and reached. Blake grabbed her hand. “No, wait. You need to put gloves on. And be very gentle. This is very old and fragile. And it may be one of the more important finds from the Civil War.”
Blake produced two sets of rubber gloves from his toolkit. He gave Ginger one set and put the other on his own hands. Once she had the gloves on, they proceeded. Blake laid out a clean towel and removed the first item. It was a quilt square and a second fabric square followed. He placed them both gently on the towel. Ginger was busy removing an envelope from the chest. Her peepers were so wide I thought her eyeballs might fall out.
Blake moved his stare from face to face, around the room. “It’s not the Confederate gold, but this is a significant find.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ginger
The chest produced an envelope with a handwritten letter, two quilt squares, and fourteen gold coins. Blake hovered over the fabric pieces. “These are quilt codes. The underground railroad used them to pass messages. You see, the patterns had meaning. In the locket, there is a photo of a man. I assume he is Conner Walsh and he is wearing a pin with that also depicts a quilt code. Then we find a chest with a letter from him and two quilt squares displaying known coded messages.” He picked one up. “This one is the monkey wrench. It means to gather the tools needed for your escape. The other one is called the drunkard’s path. It tells the fleeing slaves to take a zigzag path to evade the pursuers and their hounds. These are pieces of history. But all together they tell me Conner Walsh worked the underground railroad. He may have even been a conductor.”
Digger asked, “What’s a conductor on the underground railroad?”
“Someone who guided the escaped slaves along the way.”
Guardrail asked, “So this underground railroad was real, and Potter’s Mill was part of it?”
Blake bubbled, “Yes, well technically the underground railroad was a concept, not a place. But it appears Conner Walsh may have been a key player in operating it.”
Dog Breath cut in, “Wow! So what happened to the Walsh family?”
Blake spun to face him, “Good question. If I remember right, Conner and Erin Walsh had five children, two boys and three girls. Both sons were killed in the Civil War, meaning the name was lost when the three girls married and changed their last names.”
“So are any of us descendants still in town?” For some reason, I feared the answer to that question, but the history was too interesting to ignore.
Blake smiled at me. “That is another good question, Ginger, and as the owner of an old pub, I am sure you want to know. But I have to defer to others back in Atlanta who are doing some work to follow up on our findings.”
The envelope seemed unimportant next to the gold coins and the historically significant quilt squares. But I needed to know what it contained. I picked it up, lifted the flap and removed a three-page letter. It was handwritten and hard to read, but I read it out loud.
To Winny Carter,
The Conner family sincerely regrets a misunderstanding when on one fateful day you approached my wife Erin, who churned butter in a field and you asked for her help in Bear’s Paw Swamp. According to my wife, she froze and did not know what to do. The barking of dogs drove you off before she could collect her wits. Your group of five surprised her in broad daylight, in view of others. We worked so hard to keep the railroad secret, and please, believe me, Erin wanted to help. She told me that night about the incident and I promised to look for your group the next day.
But the next day, General Sherman sacked our town, burning it all to the ground. My wife, Erin, was killed as she raced into a burning barn to save our horses. The loss was devastating to me as my only two sons were also lost in the war. I forgot the incident with you for years and tried to get on with life.
We eventually rebuilt our town, including the pub owned and managed by one of my daughters. When the pub reopened, almost immediately the strange occurrences began. Soon, rumors started that the place was haunted, and even worse, the ghost was said to be my wife Erin.
A few years later, I learned of a story. A ship’s captain told me about a slave who encountered a woman churning butter on her way to Savannah. The incident with you the day before Erin’s death came flooding back.
This slave further told the sea captain that she ran from New Orleans and she was a Voodoo priestess. And as the pursuing dogs barked, she fled from a butter churner who she cursed to spend an eternity as a coward, experiencing life in chains for not lending help. After hearing this tale, my daughter saw the ghost haunting the new pub and it was a chicken wearing a shackle. I believe this strange yarn as true, and my beloved wife, Erin, has been forced to spend eternity as a chicken wearing a shackle.
I have sought the Voodoo priestess for years and my research indicates that you are the slave from that day who applied this wretched curse. Enclosed are two quilt pieces used by Erin and me as proof that we served to assist many fleeing slaves on their way to Savannah. This was a misunderstanding and you mistook my wife’s fear of witnesses for not wanting to help you.
I was pleased to learn you made it all the way to New England and I am happy that you have found success in life. Now, years after war’s end and emancipation, I ask for your forgiveness and implore you, please lift this horrible curse. As I understand the situation, you are the only one who can remove the hex and let my wife rest in peace. I beg that you hear my plea and let my family find harmony after the sufferings of war. For your trouble, I have enclosed an advanced payment as a sign of my true intentions to make peace with you.
Truthfully yours,
Conner T. Walsh
Treasurer, Bear’s Paw Swamp
I felt the tear trickle down my cheek. The grumpy chicken was part of my life since birth. But never did I ever suspect it was a woman cursed to this existence.
Blake said, “This is incredible. I was so sure the chicken ghost of yours was Nellie, General Lee’s pet chicken. But to find it is Erin Byrnes, this is incredible.”
Dog Breath chided, “So you believe in ghosts now, do ya, Blake?”
Blake laughed. “You’re asking the man who just did a bucking bull ride on top of a whirling, floating chest.”
Dog chuckled. “Good point.”
The letter attracted Star. She approached me and took it, exhaling as she ran her fingers over the words. “This was written with so much love.”
Blake asked, “Star, you should not be touching that with your fingers. The oils will damage it.” The historian scanned the contents. “I need to bring all this back to Atlanta, for further analysis. Is that a problem?”
Digger rose off the stool and turned red. “It is. The locket was given to me by the spirits. And I found the chest. It’s mine.”
Blake countered. “Technically, it is the property of the Walsh family, clearly intended as a gift to the Carter family.”
Guardrail bellowed, “Look, we need some time to figure this out. So let’s all just have a seat and enjoy a nice cold beer. And maybe we can discuss what happened to the Walsh family. Seems to me their descendants might have something to say about all this too.”
“You’re right. If this story is true, and I can’t believe I’m going to say it, but I do believe it to be real, the Walsh family is entitled to this letter at a minimum, and probably the quilt squares and chest. I don’t know about the gold coins.”
Piper shot a compassionate look over to Star and me. “Ginger has a point. Besides, we aren’t going to do much more today, it’s getting late in the day. We can use a little more time talking this through. Our adrenaline is still flowing with everything that has happened today.”
Dixie was uncharacteristically quiet but broke her silence. “My head feels funny. Did we just learn who our feathered poltergeist is?”
Bones sneaked out of the kitchen and leaned on the end of the bar. “I can’t believe Tom went to Mae’s for the day. He missed all of this.” The skinny cook shook his head. “You know, something is still bothering me, why didn’t the grumpy chicken go nuts when we read the letter or took the contents out of the chest?”
Star spoke. “I thought of that too, Bones. But she did protest when we tried to open the chest. It was her last attempt to keep her secret safe. Outbursts like that take a lot out of a spirit.”
Bones asked, “But why is it such a big secret?”
Star continued, “Erin feels she brought shame to her family. And who wants to let others know they are now an eternal chicken
wearing a shackle? It also makes sense that I feel a need in her to help others. She wants to make things right whenever she can. And to protect her family.”
Blake laughed. “That brings us back to the big question. Who is her family now? We need to find out what the researchers in Atlanta discovered. I would guess there are a number of Walsh descendants still in Potter’s Mill. A bit of work remains to be done.”
Blake took out his phone and made a number of phone calls. Ida went to work connecting to the net and downloading files, photographs, old news articles, and other miscellaneous materials from the researchers. She said, “This is a lot of stuff. I can print it out or send copies to other people’s phones. But we are going to need to all pitch in to the go through all of this.”
Piper made a long face. “This is going to be a long night.”
I laughed. “I guess that means we should get started.”
Guardrail said, “Ida’s right. Let’s divide and conquer.”
Dog downed the last of his beer. “This is not the kind of investigative work I like, but oh well.”
Bones jumped at the chance to help. Lily and Edith took the hard job of swooning over Blake.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ginger
Three days passed after opening the chest and Blake Winston returned to Atlanta, to the dismay of Edith and Lily. The research team that he put together back at the historical society was excellent, but it still took us two full days to piece all the family lines together. And we only did enough to figure out how to handle the ownership issues with the chest and its contents, the locket, and the painting. It seems this little town contained many families over the years.
Piper and I returned to the pub after a quick trip to the general store. Dad was in the dining room repairing the broken tiles. After sneaking up behind him, I said, “You missed a spot with the grout.”