A mysterious artifact. A kidnapping. And a cowboy detective.
Barnaby Wilcox is one low-down, rotten scoundrel — the perfect credentials for the Wild West’s only private eye.
His current case: tracking down a kettle. That’s right, a kettle. Times are tough. He’ll take what he can get. Besides, the kettle in question is a ransom item. Kidnapping cases are always fun.
Rumor has it the kettle is cursed. Everyone who touches it ends up in a pine box. But the kettle puts a different kind of curse on ol’ Barnaby. It was once owned by slaves, and Barnaby, well, he’s been doing his darndest for the last twenty years to drink away grim memories of the black soldiers who died needlessly under his command during the Civil War.
But he can’t delay forever. He has to put away the bottles and the memories if he’s going to find the dang thing. The kidnappers are getting impatient. And more people are turning up dead.
| || |