Free The Burning Time by J. G. Faherty

weapons.”
    “We’ll see. Pat him down, Wade.”
    The deputy slapped his hands along John’s sides, stomach, back, and legs, all the way down to the ankles. When he stepped back, he looked even angrier, as if he’d been hoping to find something.
    “He’s clean. Not even a wallet.”
    Showalter’s eyebrows rose. “No identification? How do I know you’re who you say you are? Could be you’re a drifter, scamming these poor folk.”
    Slowly lowering his arms, John shook his head. “My wallet’s on the porch. You can go check my identification. And I’m not a drifter.”
    Deputy Cullen picked up the wallet from the small glass table. “Got it, Chief.”
    “I don’t know what you are, or what you’re doing in my town, and I don’t like that.” Showalter took the wallet from Cullen, started looking through it as he talked. “How long you been in Hastings Mills, Mister Root?”
    “A little more than three weeks.”
    “And what’s the purpose of your visit? I’m assuming you didn’t come here from”—he paused to read from John’s driver’s license—“Sunset, South Carolina, just to fix the Anderson’s porch.” Showalter looked up from the license and stared at John.
    He thinks I’m involved in the murders. That’s what this is about. John took his time answering the question, knowing that whatever he said would sound suspicious and be checked out the minute the Sheriff got back to his office, if not sooner.
    “I’m traveling across the country as part of my work. I collect old tales and write books about them.”
    “You expect me to believe that horseshit? ‘Cause what I’m hearing is you ain’t nothing but a drifter, just like I thought.”
    “I’m not a drifter. I own a home. I have a bank account.”
    “If you got money in the bank, why you doing odd jobs for cash?”
    John shrugged. “It’s part of the process. See the country from a different perspective, rely on my own hands to earn my keep. Get to know people. Plus, I’d rather not touch my bank account. That’s my retirement.”
    Showalter started to say something, but just then the sound of a car engine drew everyone’s attention to the driveway. Danni Anderson’s beat-up Mustang came to a sharp stop, sending more dust flying as Danni sprang out.
    “What the hell’s going on here? Mitch just called me, saying you think John’s some kind of pedophile?”
    Showalter smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “No one said anything of the sort, Ms. Anderson. But we had a call that Mister Root here was seen bringing the boy up to his room, and since he’s a stranger in town, I felt it my duty to check things out.”
    “Nothing happened,” Mitch said, coming out onto the porch. “One of the kids at camp roughed me up, and John had some stuff at his place that he put on the cuts to help them heal.”
    “What?” Danni turned and stared at John. “Why didn’t you call me?”
    Knowing he was in trouble no matter what he said, John opted for a version of the truth. “Mitch asked me not to. He didn’t want to upset you. And he wasn’t hurt bad, just a few scrapes.”
    She pointed at Mitch. “I’ll deal with you later. In the meantime…” She looked back at Showalter. “Are you through? John hasn’t done anything wrong.”
    “I guess that’s so, Ms. Anderson. But I still need to check out Mister Root’s story about why he’s in here in the first place. In case you forgot, we’ve had some girls die recently, and it started right around the same time your friend here arrived in town. I wouldn’t be much of a sheriff if I didn’t look into that, would I?” Before Danni could respond, he put his sunglasses back on and flipped John’s wallet to the ground. Motioning for Cullen to follow, he got in the car and started the engine.
    “I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Root.”
    He steered the cruiser around Danni’s Mustang and headed back toward the main road.
    John picked up his wallet and turned to Danni. “I’m