True Believer by Nicholas Sparks

the desk. “Actually, I’m very shy. Almost a hermit, really. I hardly ever get out.”
She shrugged. “Shows me what I know. Being that you’re a journalist from the big city, I had you figured as a ladies’ man.”
“And that bothers you?”
“No.”
“Good. Because, as you know, first impressions can be deceiving.”
“Oh, I realized that right away.”
“You did?”
“Sure,” she said. “When I first bumped into you at the cemetery, I thought you were there for a funeral.”

True Believer
Five
Fifteen minutes later, after heading down an asphalt road that gave way to yet another gravel road—they sure were fond of gravel around here—Jeremy found himself parking his car in the middle of a swamp, directly in front of a hand-painted sign advertising Greenleaf Cottages. Which reminded him never to trust the promises of the local Chamber of Commerce.
Modern, it definitely wasn’t. It wouldn’t have been modern thirty years ago. In all, there were six small bungalows set along the river. With peeling paint, plank walls, and tin roofs, they were reached by following small dirt pathways that led from a central bungalow that he assumed to be the main office. It was scenic, he had to admit, but the rustic part probably referred to mosquitoes and alligators, neither of which summoned up a lot of enthusiasm in him for staying there.
As he was debating whether he should even bother checking in—he’d passed some chain hotels in Washington, about forty minutes from Boone Creek—he heard the sound of an engine coming up the road and watched as a maroon Cadillac came rolling toward him, bouncing wildly in the potholes. Surprising him, it pulled into the spot directly beside his own car, spewing up rocks as it slid to a stop.
An overweight, balding man burst from the door, looking frantic. Dressed in green polyester pants and a blue turtleneck sweater, the man looked as if he’d dressed in the dark.
“Mr. Marsh?”
Jeremy was taken aback. “Yes?”
The man scurried around the car. Everything about him seemed to move quickly.
“Well, I’m glad I caught you before you checked in! I wanted to have a chance to speak with you! I can’t tell you how excited we all are about your visit here!”
He seemed breathless as he stretched out his hand and shook Jeremy’s vigorously.
“Do I know you?” Jeremy asked.
“No, no, of course not.” The man laughed. “I’m Mayor Tom Gherkin. Like the pickle, but you can call me Tom.” He laughed again. “I just wanted to swing by to welcome you to our fine town. Sorry for my appearance. I would have had you down to the office, but I came straight from the golf course once I learned you were here.”
Jeremy looked him over, still a bit in shock. At least it explained the clothes.
“You’re the mayor?”
“Have been since ’94. It’s kind of a family tradition. My daddy, Owen Gherkin, was the mayor here for twenty-four years. Had a big interest in the town, my daddy did. Knew everything there was to know about this place. Of course, being the mayor is only a part-time job here. It’s more of an honorary position. I’m more of a businessman, if you want to know the truth. I own the department store and radio station downtown. Oldies. You like oldies?”
“Sure,” Jeremy said.
“Good, good. I figured as much from the moment I laid eyes on you. I said to myself, ‘That’s a man who appreciates good music.’ I can’t stand most of that new stuff everyone else calls music these days. Gives me a headache. Music should soothe the soul. You
know what I mean?”
“Sure,” Jeremy repeated, trying to keep up.
He laughed. “I knew you would. Well, like I said, I can’t tell you how thrilled we all are that you’re here to write a story about our fine town. It’s just the thing this town needs. I mean, who doesn’t like a good ghost story, right? It’s got folks real excited around here, that’s for sure. First the folks from Duke, then the local paper. And now a