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

by Constance Barker

  Bones interrupted her, “That’s awful, how many?”

  Beth’s face showed fake sadness. “Thousands. There were over six-hundred thousand soldiers who died in the great war. And who knows how many innocents. Record keeping back then was not very good.”

  Ida pointed at town hall. “Are there any records that may help us in the public archives?”

  Beth nodded. “Possibly. The town records that didn’t burn during the war are kept there now. Abbey may know better.”

  Bones shuddered. “I hope she is willing to help. I know she’s still mad at me.”

  Beth laughed, “She is, I’m sure. Being the local playboy is always going to get you into trouble in a small town. I hope you learned your lesson, young man.” She looked over her nose at him, then continued,

  “But she is proud of her work and I expect she will help if she can.”

  I tried to rescue my youthful employee from shame. “Thank you Beth. But we really have to go in and see Abbey.”

  Beth waved her hand like a traffic cop signaling stop. “But, Ginger, I didn’t get to why I stopped you.”

  I gave in and played her game. “I’m sorry, so why did you stop us?”

  “To talk to your about your supposed chicken ghost. I heard that your spirit is upset and you’re looking to know more about it. Is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I have long thought the ghost is that of a dead slave or solider from the Civil War. It makes sense. Like I told you, so many passed through here and many were horribly killed. They would have good reason to want to haunt the area. And just now I find out you are looking for a woman from the war era. It all makes sense.”

  Ida shot back, “Why haunt the pub then? It was built after the war.”

  Beth shrugged. “It’s one of the places where lots of people spend time.”

  I noted, “Ida is right, the pub was built after the war. So lots of people go to the pub, that might make some sense, but why not haunt one of the old farmhouses around here, or the old mill, or even the old church?”

  Beth grinned. “We all know spirits are seen at the old church, so maybe it was occupied by some other poltergeist when your chicken was looking for a place to stay.”

  Bones was looking at his shoes, rubbing his chin. He picked his head up and said, “There’s something I don’t get. The spirit seen at the church is usually a woman. But our spirit is a chicken. Not a slave or soldier.”

  Beth took a quick breath. “That’s what makes me think it’s a former slave. See, many of the slaves practiced voodoo and magic. And chickens are central in many ways to the occult. We all know chicken’s feet are often used in Voodoo, sometimes as talismans.”

  Bones pinched his eyebrows. “What’s a talisman?”

  Ida smacked his arm. “You know. A good luck charm or something used for protection from evil or the supernatural.”

  Bones smacked her arm back. “I didn’t know that, thank you miss smarty pants.”

  I scolded, “Really? Ida, Bones, can we please stay on topic?”

  Beth snorted. “So childish. Thank you, Ginger. See, a chicken makes sense and the pub was built just after the war. So it was new and available for those who died during the war to haunt.”

  It hit me as she spoke, so I asked, “Were the slave’s ankles bound?”

  Beth tilted her head slightly. “Hmmm. That’s a good question. In many cases, I believe so.”

  “I saw the chicken not too long ago. It limped and I saw why. It had a shackle on its left leg.”

  Beth’s eyes grew wide. “What kind of shackle? Like a wide black band?”

  “Yeah. And a few links of a heavy chain dragging from it.”

  “That’s very interesting. I believe that is what was commonly used back then in Georgia. It all fits, the grumpy chicken is a former slave killed while trying to escape. And she haunts us now in return.”

  Ida shook her head no. “Why can’t Star tell that then? She seems to know a lot about the old chicken but never said she was a slave or confederate soldier.”

  I spun to Ida. “That’s a good point. Remind me to visit with Star and ask her.”

  Beth’s face went long. “Ginger, you don’t believe me?”

  Bones blurted out, “I do, it makes sense.”

  I glared at Bones and he understood now was not a good time to speak, then I returned my gaze to Beth. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. I’m just trying to figure this thing out. And I want to check every resource I can. You bring up some good points. Thank you. But what is the connection to Erin Byrnes? It’s a good Irish name that doesn’t seem to connect to your theory.”

  Beth shrugged. “I don’t know, but a few Irish families did settle here. So to run across an Irish name is not uncommon. Maybe it was Erin that killed the slave.”

  Ida asked, “How do we find something like that out?”

  Beth snuffled. “What? Am I supposed to know everything. I have no idea. Your the alleged town detectives. You’ll have to find that out on your own.”

  I hated to admit it, but I agreed with Beth for once. The shackle on the grumpy chicken made some sense, but how could I find who she was, how she died? Was it even really a she? We just assumed because it was a chicken and not a rooster. “Well, we should go see Abbey in town hall. I am very interested to see if the archives have anything that can help us.”

  Beth snickered. “There are plenty of records from the war stowed away in the archives. But if you want ancestry data, why not use some of that fancy DNA testing?”

  I chuckled, “That’s a bit much for now. We would have to test everyone in town. But an interesting idea.” I could tell Beth wanted to talk more, but we needed to somehow break away from her and get on with our day.

  Blanche Diaz, one of the co-owners of Potter's Mill recently established art gallery, saved the day. She spotted us and came over. “Ginger, so nice to see you. I was going to swing by the pub later, but this saves me a trip. I found a painting you might be interested in seeing. It’s so bizarre but interesting. A patron brought it in for us to clean-up and re-frame. I can’t do it justice trying to describe it, you just need to see it. I think you’ll be intrigued.”

  Beth bubbled. “Oh, I would love to see it too.”

  Blanche prattled back, “Come on by, have a look. We have some nice blackberry wine for our customers. But we can sneak a little.”

  I took the opportunity to escape Beth Givens’ tedium. “Thanks, ladies. We need to keep moving. And Blanche, we’ll swing by the art gallery after we stop in town hall for some research. Bye for now.” I turned to see Ida and Bones way ahead of me. They were ten yards in front making a beeline to the town hall entrance.

  I caught up to them. Ida said, “Those two are made for each other. All that talk about who did this, or did you know that. All gossip, all the time. And who drinks blackberry wine anymore?”

  I laughed, “You said it better than I could’ve. Thank goodness we are getting on with our day.”

  We entered the town hall and made our way to Abbey, the clerk. She saw us coming and drooped her head. She took a deep breath and raised her eyes to stare at Bones. “Didn’t expect to see you here. I see you brought friends and I assume they’re not here for your protection, so you must be here on business.”

  Bones nodded. “Yeah. I’m still very sorry for what I did to you. I like you a lot and never wanted to hurt you.”

  Abbey broke a tiny smile. “You’re a very sweet man, Bones. But you two timed me, or to be more precise, you two timed the girl you were living with.”

  Bones studied his toes. “I know. I was stupid and I don’t want to bring you anymore trouble, honest. But we had some weird things happen yesterday in the pub and we came across a name, Erin Byrnes. We’re trying to find out who she is. I thought there might be something in the town’s archives and that can help us. Can we have a look?”

  She forced a smile. “Of course.”

  I jumped in. “Abbey, have y
ou ever heard that name, Erin Byrnes, before?”

  “No.”

  “Is there a book or a log that tracks the families or people who have lived here around the time of the war?”

  “Not that I know of.” Abbey looked at the rows of shelves filled with books. “But that bookcase right there has the oldest records. The ones that survived the fires during the war.” She pointed at a particular old wooden set of shelves.

  Bones looked up from his toes. “Thanks. You’re kind to help us and it was good to see you again.”

  “Thanks. Now stop jawing with me and get on with it.” Abbey suppress a smile trying to form.

  We dove into the books and ledgers. It was time consuming and boring. But after ninety minutes, Ida popped, “Look at this, it is an old letter. It’s sent from a soldier named Daniel Walsh to his mother Erin Walsh. He was marching to the battle forming at Gettysburg and feared he would not survive. He told his mother that he did not fear death but if he did die, he wanted to honor the Walsh name and the Byrnes military history on his mother’s side of the family. That would mean Erin Walsh was Erin Byrnes before she married.”

  Bones sat up straight. “If the Byrnes family had a history in the military, we might be able to find that information.”

  I sighed. “Yeah. I think you’re right Bones. But not here. Piper and Digger are in Atlanta at the historical society. Maybe we should call them and have them followup on it. I’m guessing the historical society in Atlanta will have better records and maybe they can find something.”

  Ida chuckled. “I wonder how they are making out? Those two are a weird recon team.”

  I took out my phone. “Only one way to find out. Let’s call them.” I dialed.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Piper

  Blake had a brilliant mind, but he babbled at times and wandered from one topic to another. I concentrated to collect useful data and understood we investigated a mystery deeper than a single locket. The ringtone broke my focus.

  I flicked the icon to the right and answered. “Hello?”

  “Piper, it’s Ginger. We may have found something and maybe you can do some followup research while you are at the historical society.”

  “That sounds promising. What is it?”

  “Erin Byrnes may have been Erin Walsh by marriage. But her family had some sort of decorated military history. I’m hoping you can find out what that might be.”

  “Well, we found Erin was Erin Walsh too. But how did you find out about her family history?”

  “We didn’t, it’s why I’m asking you to do some looking for us. But we did find a letter from her son, Daniel, that mentioned he wanted to honor her family’s military history.”

  “Well, let me see what Digger and I can find. And on this end, you’re not going to believe it. But we might have found out who the grumpy chicken is and why it’s bad-tempered.”

  “Is the grumper a slave or confederate soldier?”

  “Nope, good guess. It’s the ghost of General Lee’s pet chicken and it may be guarding a stash of gold.”

  “Wow. That’s far more complicated.”

  “Yeah, but you had to be here to hear the whole thing, the pieces seem to fit. The old locket seems to tell Blake, the historian here, that the giver must have had some money and could travel. Blake thinks the giver was Conner Walsh, Erin’s future husband, and the make of the locket implies Conner was connected to the outside world and knew key people. But this is the weird part. Blake knows of odd stories about Erin Walsh, says she was a psychic. And that means she could communicate with the chicken ghost who was protecting the south’s secret gold stashed in a small, out-of-the-way town. It was a perfect place to hide a treasure.”

  “So why did the chicken got upset when we found locket?”

  “Because it feared we might find the gold.”

  “Twenty-four carat chicken feathers! This is not what I expected.”

  “Yeah. Me neither. And I don’t want to speak for Digger, but I think he believes it less than you and me.”

  “Well, can you take advantage of being there and look into the military history of the Byrnes family? Just to be thorough.”

  “Sure. Everyone is waiting for me here, and unless there is something else, I should go now.”

  “Nope, already asked for what I need.”

  “OK, talk to ya later. See ya.” I clicked off.

  Digger scowled at me. “You speaking for me? What do I not believe?”

  “Blake’s story of who Erin and the chicken are.”

  “Oh! That’s alright then. His story sounds like hog wash. It’s too far fetched.”

  I turned to Blake. “My friend back home, Ginger, found that the Byrnes may have a decorated military past. Can you check on that for us?”

  Blake’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, that’s very interesting. So there may be a tie back to the confederate army we can prove. That may be how Lee knew of Erin.”

  Digger eyed the energetic historian. “How can you check something like that for us?”

  Blake shot back, “We ask Betty.”

  I sat up straight. “Who’s that?”

  Blake smiled. “The lady who knows everything about military life in the nineteenth century. She works at the Smithsonian.”

  Digger huffed. “Well that sounds like someone we need to talk to.”

  Blake pushed off the microscope table and rolled across the floor in his chair over to a desk. He picked up a phone and dialed. After saying hello, he put the call on speaker and we heard a woman’s voice. “Can you hear me?”

  Blake answered, “Yes, I am here with two visitors, Piper and Digger, looking into a mystery. And the military history of a one Byrnes family may be part of it. What do you know about the Byrnes family in the nineteenth century?”

  “Oh, yes. I seem to remember a Daniel Byrnes that served in the early nineteenth century.” We heard keyboard keys clacking. “Yes, Daniel Byrnes was a respected colonel and did serve in the Army under Andrew Jackson. He fought in a number of wars including the War of Eighteen-Twelve and the Florida Wars. He received numerous awards and died under mysterious conditions during a battle in the First Seminole War. It appears he may have been on a secret assignment at the time, but that was never confirmed.”

  Blake sighed. “So, under Andrew Jackson, that is interesting. And didn’t Jackson have Irish roots?”

  Betty replied, “Yes, he was from a Scottish-Irish family.”

  Blake nodded. “Thanks Betty. As always, you were extremely helpful.” He hung up the phone. “So there you go. Army and Irish ties under Andrew Jackson. Daniel Byrnes fought with one of the greats.”

  I noted, “Ginger said that Erin’s son’s name was Daniel. It sounds like he was named after his grandfather.”

  Blake added, “Well, it was common to name sons after the father or a grandfather back then.”

  I nodded. “It feels right too. So we know who Erin Byrnes was and who her husband was, but the rest is still all theory.” I was thinking out loud. “What do we do next?”

  Blake chuckled. “We’re not done with the locket. I haven’t seen the inside yet.”

  Digger scowled. “You want me to open it?”

  “Of course, yes, if you would be so kind.” Blake raised his eyebrows to indicate please.

  Digger worked the latch and parted the halves. He carefully set the opened locket back down under the microscope.

  Blake reset the lighting and lenses and the enlarged pictures on the inside of the locket displayed on a monitor. “Look at this. It is quite beautiful and very interesting. Look at his coat. He is wearing a pin. Let’s see if we can tell what it is.” He again worked the optics to zoom in on the object. “I can’t really tell, but it might be an Underground Railroad symbol.”

  Digger squinted at the image. “It looks like a block with squiggly lines to me.”

  “Well that’s true. Let me see if we can get a better look.” Blake fiddled with the equipment and an image popped out.
“There it is! Beautiful. Members of the railroad used quilts hung on laundry lines to communicate. They used symbol sewn into the quilt to secretly pass messages. This symbol was called Bear’s Paw and meant follow the bear tracks to stay out of sight, hidden.”

  I sighed. “And our town was known as Bear’s Paw Swamp. So does this mean Conner Walsh was part of the Underground Railroad? Or does the symbol signify the town’s name?”

  Blake rubbed his chin. “It could mean both. I assumed the legend of the giant bear paws was how Potter’s Mill got it’s initial name. But maybe there is more to that story.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Bones

  We departed town hall victorious. The information in the letter from Erin’s son provided a new avenue to explore and we confirmed the identity of Erin Byrnes. The sleuthing business was exciting and I began to understand why Ginger was so passionate about solving mysteries.

  But we were not done for the day and now headed to the art gallery. I thought about leaving for the pub’s kitchen to start catching up on the mountain of dirty pans waiting for me, but this was too much fun and I wanted to continue my first day of detective work. Plus, I could handle the work load and I wanted to help Ginger. The O’Mallory’s gave me a job when I was sixteen and have always helped me. My mom raised me alone after dad left while she was pregnant. And mom was not what you would call the motherly type. In many ways the Ginger and Tom were my family and the pub was my home.

  Blanche and her sister Cathy met us as we entered the art gallery. “Ginger, Ida, Bones, so nice to see you. You must be here to take a look at the picture I told you about.” Blanche pointed to a big picture on a tripod, covered with a purple satiny cloth.

  Ginger said, “We are very curious to see what you found. It sounded interesting.”