Free A Widow's Curse by Phillip Depoy

shrugged.
    â€œThe point is that the coin probably belonged to my great-grandfather. But it wasn’t among his things, as far as I know, when he died.” I glanced at the kitchen window. The rain was starting up again.
    â€œDo you have any other family around here?” Shultz asked. “Someone we could—”
    â€œNo. All dead.”
    Andrews looked as if he might object to that statement, but Shultz went on.
    â€œWould it be worth a call or something to Wales? Are there still Briarwoods there?”
    â€œThere are.” I nodded. “I don’t know any of them, not remotely. But Hek and June told me they called my father when Conner died.”
    â€œHeck and who?” Shultz’s grin got bigger.
    â€œHezekiah and June Cotage,” I told him. “A couple of my primary folk informants.”
    â€œAnd his spiritual parents,” Andrews added, teasing.
    â€œNot quite that,” I objected. “But I am close to them. I’ve just come from their home.”
    â€œShould have known that’s where you’d go first.” Andrews nodded sagely.
    â€œAnd they told you…,” Shultz said slowly.
    â€œThat as of the mid-1970s, the family in Wales still wanted to know about Conner’s death. Or about his will, actually.”
    â€œHis will?” Andrews growled. “After they hadn’t seen him for—what, fifty years?”
    â€œMore.”
    â€œWhat would he have had that they would want?” Andrews went on. “He wasn’t going to leave them any of the land he had here in the mountains. And he didn’t really have a fabulous bank account, did he?”
    â€œWell,” I said, “he did have a sizable savings, and, you’ll remember I told you, enough money to set aside for my university education. All of it. And a bit of money to live on while I was studying.”
    â€œYou’re kidding,” Shultz chimed in. “This old guy left you money to get your degrees?”
    â€œLeft it to my father, actually,” I corrected, “who was his favorite grandson. My father held on to the money, even when we needed it for food and the basics.”
    â€œSo Conner didn’t really know you,” Shultz said softly.
    â€œI barely remember him at all,” I confessed. “I’ve learned more about him from a few personal things of his that were kept here in the house than I have from any experience of him. Mainly some of his writings.”
    â€œThey’re over there in that trunk.” Andrews nodded in the direction of a back corner of the room. “I remember.”
    â€œSomething he wrote is in that trunk?” Shultz stared, wide-eyed.
    â€œHe was in love with this woman, Molly.” I stared at the trunk. “Even though she caused him to kill a man, even though she testified against him at his trial, even though he moved to America, got married, had children and grandchildren, and grew old without her. In that trunk, yellow and moldering, are literally scores of stories, all nearly identical, retelling that part of his life over and over again, as if he were trying—and failing—to exorcise a demon. That told me more about him than any ten or one hundred conversations ever could.”
    â€œJeez.” Shultz shot a look at Andrews. “You were right: This is the Addams Family on Walton’s Mountain.”
    â€œSo you think,” Andrews said to me, ignoring Shultz altogether, “that the coin is some sort of family item or heirloom that Conner took with him to Ireland and then brought to America. Maybe a good-luck charm.”
    â€œThe actual place in Wales that’s called Saint Elian’s Well is on Briarwood property, or was. And, of course, the ornate B on the back of the coin could certainly stand for Briarwood.”
    â€œBut you still sound skeptical.” Andrews sat back, trying to read my face. “It all seems so obvious.”
    â€œI just