The man next to you at the bar looks over and says, "Buy me a drink and I'll tell you a story." When he gets his shot of rotgut he begins, "Last night that Canuck lumberjack, Jacques Moreau, was sitting where you are now. With one hand he was throwing back whiskey like it was water. With the other hand, he was looking at this necklace with a little silver pendant shaped like a heart. So I ask him what the deal is with that necklace and you know what he says? He says it belonged to his sister-in-law. Told me all about the day his brother bought it for her. Boring stuff. Trust me when I say you don't want to know about it. Seems that an old friend of his family stopped by on his way from Quebec to San Francisco and dropped by to give him it. And get this. According to this guy, not only are Moreau's brother and sister-in-law dead, but his niece as well. Apparently that Matilda girl that's been running around town ain't his niece after all. She's some sort of imposter. Don't that beat all?"
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