Free The Salem Witch Society by K. N. Shields

Keene’s murder.”
    “I need to know what you’re hiding from me. Why come all the way here? You could have visited any tobacconist in Portland to learn about the cigarettes you pocketed. It’s Indian tobacco. Grows wild.”
    “The scientific name is lobelia. I brought a sample. Unfortunately, the chief could tell me nothing specific about the blend our killer used.”
    “What, then? Do you suspect that someone from the show is the killer?”
    Grey shook hishead. “It was a slim possibility. But all the performers and workers arrived here from New Hampshire only two days ago. Our killer spent a week studying the Portland Company and the watchman. Everyone here was in Portsmouth each night last week, Concord the week before that.”
    Lean regarded him for a long moment. “You’ve never thought the killer’s an Indian at all, have you? Convince me of the same. Otherwise … well, the mayor wants you off this investigation.”
    “I see. I have Indian blood, and you’re convinced the killer is an Indian. I can’t be trusted.”
    Lean shrugged. “Who else would leave an Indian message? Why can’t you admit the obvious?”
    “The evidence hasn’t yet proved the race of the killer,” Grey said.
    “It’s good enough for me.”
    “It appears you’re not alone.”
    There was an angry shout behind Lean, followed by a murmur of panicked excitement that boiled up into a frenzy in mere seconds. When he turned, Lean recognized the group of two dozen men he’d seen near the train depot approaching in a mob, several carrying clubs. One of the men swung his stick as he passed a booth, toppling the wooden support and sending the overhead sign crashing down. A middle-aged man stepped forward from the crowd of peaceful patrons. “Enough of that now! This is a family event. There are women and children about!”
    His objection earned the man a violent shove, and he went sprawling down into the dirt. Other visitors began scurrying out of the way, and parents herded their children off in the direction of the train.
    Lean glanced about, getting his bearings and assessing his options. “They’ve swallowed their fill of liquid courage. There’ll be no reasoning with that lot.”
    “So how do you intend to handle them?”
    “Same as a wild dog. Smack ’em hard in the snout—set ’em running before they know what to make of you.” Lean drew his pistol.

10

    “W hat’s all this, then?” The show boss, a portly white man in a top hat, chomping away at a cigar, appeared next to Chief White Eagle. A look of alarm passed over his face as he took stock of the mob.
    Lean identifiedhimself, pistol in hand.
    “That won’t be necessary, Deputy. I know how to handle these people.”
    Grey approached. “Which of your products has the highest portion of alcohol?”
    “What, now? As the sign says, my good man, all of our products are strictly wholesome vegetable products. Not a drop of alcohol in the lot.”
    “Your show and your people are about to be in serious trouble. I need something flammable.”
    The boss smiled and shook his head. “Pardon me, gentlemen. Your concern is appreciated, but I have customers to attend to.” The boss grabbed an empty crate and overturned it to use as a speaking platform.
    Grey turned away to inspect the various bottles. Chief White Eagle reached into a box and drew out two bottles of the Sagamo Elixir. “This’ll burn plenty.”
    Grey thanked the old man, then held out a hand toward Lean. “Lend me your matches. Hold them off for a couple of minutes—I’ll send up an alarm.”
    Lean handed over his matches, and Grey hurried from the scene. The mob had paused its forward motion to watch the show boss. From an inside pocket, the man drew a short white baton, which he waved about as he prepared to address the crowd.
    Voices called out from the mob: “Go back where you came from!” “Take your bloody savages with you!” “They ain’t welcome here!”
    “Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” the