Vernon Beal had made it clear that his was not a religious confession. He just wanted help with returning the necklace. On the porch outside the clinic, Josiah felt no priestly constraints in discussing the story with Nathan and Ezra. "Are you feeling ill, Ezra?" he questioned. "Beal seemed to think the necklace can have that effect on people."

"I'm fine." Ezra blinked, blank-faced, and pretended to be interested in a dog crossing the street.

Nathan stared at his friends, first one, then the other. "You can't believe any of that."

"My friends," Josiah answered, "what you can believe is that people turn to mystic explanations when no other is to be found. Apparently, Mr. Beal can only accept the decline of his health if he has some sinister cause to blame it on."

Nathan spoke to Ezra. "Then take that thing out of my clinic."

"What?" Ezra scoffed. "Are you saying now, Mr. Jackson, that you believe in what only moments ago you disparaged?"

Nathan's arms crossed stubbornly over his chest. "Folks are already gossiping about this cursed jewelry. I got enough trouble when people come here with their superstitions and crazy remedies for them to think I'm believing in magic charms and such. It's got to go."

Ezra's jaw dropped. "I – " he stammered. "I'm not taking that. It's filthy, carries a contagion – "

"You brought it here," Nathan argued.

"Enough." Josiah sounded almost amused. He reached into his pocket and drew out the offending object. "I took the liberty of removing this from Beal's sight, and now I'm taking it with me." He winked at Ezra. "You can be sure it won't cause any problems at the church." He was expecting a show of relief at his attempted levity, but instead Ezra seemed pensive. "Ezra?" he questioned.

Ezra looked around, almost furtively, then moved in closer to his companions. "Gentlemen, the, uh – the homestead Beal spoke of –"

The three men traded looks all round, each of them letting their eyes meet the others'. Almost in unison, they nodded in agreement.

"There's no knowing for sure yet," said Josiah. "So for now, keep it under your hat."

-o-

Josiah possessed an odd sort of spirituality, a nearly scientific interest in faiths and rituals. He was a man who wanted to believe, who sometimes did believe, and yet in his pursuit of knowledge had studied so many contradictory cults and religions, that he did not know what to believe. He definitely wasn't afraid of a curse, though. He was living with one of his own.

The day was overcast, the light that fell through the church windows inadequate. Josiah lit a lamp and placed the necklace on a table. The length of chain lay in clumps. Josiah used the tip of a penknife to push it about, attempting to straighten it, but the chain remained twisted, kinked in places, and refused to lie flat. The links appeared to be clogged with dirt.

He turned his attention to the pendant. This was a locket. He pressed a thumbnail to the seam where the locket should separate to reveal its contents. When it didn't open easily, he pried at it with the knife, and still it would not open. Josiah lifted it closer to the light. The front displayed a delicate engraved pattern of birds and leaves that would be lovely once the piece was cleaned. He turned it over. The back should have been smooth but showed damage – a sort of distortion or misshaping of the metal.

Josiah bobbed his head slightly as his thoughts came together. Silver could survive a house fire. That didn't mean it never got hot enough to become soft. He looked again at the chain. The dirty looking links may actually be fused in places, and the locket itself fused shut as well.

Unfortunate. Lockets could contain tintypes, a lock of hair, scrap of ribbon or other keepsake. Josiah wanted to determine if this was a relic of Chris Larabee's former life. If it was, it must be returned to him. But Josiah hated the thought of taking it to Chris. He knew the man was going through hell. If this necklace turned out to be from some other homestead, then Chris, who had retreated to his new cabin outside Four Corners, could be kept out of the matter, and that would be best for everyone.

Dipping a soft cloth into a solution made of vinegar and saleratus, Josiah rubbed at the tarnish, and pondered as he worked. Two weeks ago, Cletus Fowler, the man who had set fire to Chris's old homestead and destroyed his life, walked into a burning stable and perished. Chris had witnessed this – not only another horrific death, no matter how justified, but an end to his hope for answers.

Why would any man walk willingly into flames as Fowler had, with no escape? What punishment could be worse than that? And yet, no charred body was found. It was as if Fowler had disappeared with the smoke. People were now saying that the man was Satan himself.

Curses. Fire. Sickness. The devil. Wearily, Josiah ran a hand over his face, then rubbed the ache at the back of his neck. By now it was late afternoon, and he should be out in public, making his presence as a town peacekeeper known. Tomorrow he would finish cleaning the necklace, work more at opening the stubborn locket. Right now, Inez's cooking and a glass of beer would go a long way toward soothing his headache. He dropped the cloth over the necklace. He was going to the saloon.

-o-

With Chris at his cabin and the other three away on various errands, only Josiah, Nathan, and Ezra were in town to keep the peace. Ezra was completely in his element, once more holding court at his designated table, while Nathan and Josiah sat closer to the bar, waiting for the food they had ordered. "How's Beal?" Josiah questioned.

"Gone."

"Oh."

"No, I mean gone." Nathan shook his head. "The man managed to get out the door and onto the nag he rode into town on. He's gone."

Flummoxed, Josiah just stared at his friend.

"He really does believe he can get better now," Nathan added. "It gave him the energy to get out of here – away from that necklace." He gave a shrug. "I figure he thinks he got it close enough to where he found it to break the curse."

"Does Ezra know this?"

Nathan chuckled. "Ezra ain't gonna care, as long as it's not in his hands." He glanced across the room at the gambler. "Looks like you're stuck with it."

"Indeed." Leaning forward, Josiah clasped his hands together on the table before him. "My concern, Nathan, is not with any supposed curse." He paused to gather his thoughts, and saw that Ezra had left his game and was making his way over toward them. He waited for Ezra to take a seat before he spoke again. "You realize, if that piece of jewelry belonged to Chris's wife, then he needs to have it back. The problem is, short of going after Beal and trying to shake more information out of him – a task I believe would be fruitless, we have no way of knowing exactly where the necklace was found. And showing it to Chris, whether he identifies it as Sarah's or not, can only cause him a great deal of pain."

Nathan nodded soberly. "So what do we do?"

"Well, whatever we do, it won't be tonight." Josiah grinned up at Inez, who had arrived at his side with two delicious smelling, food laden plates. "Ah, Inez, you are an angel."

"Inez, my dear, that looks wonderful. Is there a plate like that with my name on it?" Ezra smiled up at her. The two of them had made up, now that "the curse" was gone from the saloon.

She tipped her head in a flirty way. "I suppose so." She wagged a finger at him. "As long as that collar del diablo is gone for good and I will never see it in here again."

Ezra held up his hands in surrender. "Never," he promised. "In fact, it is in the hands of the good Father here." He nodded toward Josiah and grinned impishly. "I believe he is going to soak it in holy water to cleanse it of its malevolence."

Inez looked questioningly at Josiah, who rolled his eyes and said, "More like elbow grease."

The men were just finishing their meal when Yosemite burst through the door and headed straight for their table. "Josiah, someone's broke into the church."

Immediately, Josiah scraped his chair back and rose, swiping a napkin over his lips and tossing it down. "Still in there?"

"Can't tell," Yosemite answered. "I was outside and heard the glass bust, but I didn't see anything or anyone, just the broken window."

They left the saloon at a jog. This wasn't a bank robbery level crime; there was little likelihood of a firefight. Still, Josiah noted the approaching dusk and the wave of crows moving through the sky, sending up their raucous cries. Soon they would gather in their roosting place behind the church, and he wondered vaguely if his pet was among them.

It was odd, indeed, as the men reached the church, to see that one of the window panes in the front door had been smashed in. The doors themselves showed no damage. In fact, they weren't even locked; anyone who wanted to could have just walked in.

There was no one there. Puzzled, Nathan and Ezra stood by the door, where glass littered the floor. Ezra wondered aloud, "A simple case of vandalism?"

In the center of the the nave, Josiah turned a slow circle, assessing the room. The vandal had spared the single stained glass window, in fact, all other windows. Nothing else appeared disturbed. Candles still burned on the table, where even the pennies still lay. His eyes sought out the other table at the back. The polishing cloth was on the floor.

He turned to stare at the broken window. Nathan was examining the shape of the hole in the glass. Ezra shook his head and murmured, "Why?" And Josiah knew.

The crow would not be back. There would be no more shared breakfasts on the steps, the bird hopping about, the saucy question in its eyes. "What do you have for me?" Because it had taken what it was looking for.

-o-

A mile away, in a little stand of trees, half obscured by lanky grass, a necklace lay on the ground. A large blue-black bird pulled it out, exposing the silver pendant, then went to work with its strong beak until the locket was prized open. There was a photograph inside – a blond-haired man, young and handsome. The bird cocked its head to study it. Yes, yes.

All about, other crows fluttered and cawed, filtering into the branches to stay the night, but he wasn't like them. He didn't need to roost; he didn't need sleep. He could see in the dark. Fowler took the chain in his beak and rose in flight. The object he carried had weight, and the way would be long, but someone was waiting for this. His mistress had told him to bring it to her after the fire. She just never said which fire.

END