True Believer by Nicholas Sparks Page A

big-city journalist. Word’s getting out, and that’s good. Why, just last week, we had a call from a group from Alabama that was thinking about spending a few days here this weekend for the Historic Homes Tour.”
Jeremy shook his head, trying to slow things down. “How did you know I was even here?”
Mayor Gherkin laid a friendly hand on his shoulder, and almost before Jeremy realized it, they were moving toward the bungalow office. “Word gets around, Mr. Marsh. Passes like wildfire. Always has, always will. Part of the charm of this place. That, and the natural beauty. We’ve got some of the best fishing and duck hunting in the state, you know. Folks come from all over, even famous ones, and most of ’em stay right here at Greenleaf. This here is a little piece of paradise, if you ask me. Your own quiet bungalow, out here in the middle of nature. Why, you’ll be listening to the birds and crickets all night long. I’ll bet it makes you see those hotels in New York in a whole new light.”
“That it does,” Jeremy admitted. The man was definitely a politician.
“And don’t you worry none about the snakes.”
Jeremy’s eyes widened. “Snakes?”
“I’m sure you heard about it, but just keep in mind that the whole situation here last year was just a misunderstanding. Some folks just don’t have a speck of common sense. But like I said, don’t worry about ’em. The snakes don’t normally come out till the summer, anyway. Of course, don’t go poking through the brush or anything, lookin’ for ’em. Those cottonmouths can be nasty.”
“Uh,” Jeremy said, trying to summon a response in the midst of the vision that had been conjured up in his mind. He hated snakes. Even more than mosquitoes and alligators. “Actually, I was thinking . . .”
Mayor Gherkin sighed loudly enough to interrupt Jeremy’s answer, and looked around, as if making sure Jeremy noticed how much he was enjoying the natural setting. “So tell me, Jeremy . . . you don’t mind if I call you Jeremy?”
“No.”
“That’s mighty kind of you. Mighty kind. So, Jeremy, I was wondering if you think one of those television shows might follow up on your story here.”
“I have no idea,” he said.
“Well, because if they do, we’d roll out the red carpet. Show ’em some genuine southern hospitality. Why, we’d put ’em up right here at Greenleaf, free of charge. And, of course, they’d have a whale of a story to tell. Much better than what you did on Prime-time. What we have here is the real thing.”
“You do realize that I’m primarily a columnist? Normally, I have nothing to do with television . . .”
“No, of course not.” Mayor Gherkin winked, obviously in disbelief. “You just do what you do, and we’ll see what happens.”
“I’m serious,” Jeremy said.
He winked again. “Of course, you are.”
Jeremy wasn’t quite sure what to say to dissuade him—mainly because the man might be right—and a moment later, Mayor Gherkin pushed through the door of the office. If you could call it that.
It looked as if it hadn’t been remodeled in a hundred years, and the wood walls reminded him of what he might find in a log cabin. Just beyond the tottering desk was a largemouth bass mounted on the wall; in every corner, along the walls, and atop the file cabinet and desk were stuffed critters: beavers, rabbits, squirrels, opossums, skunks, and a badger. Unlike most of the mounts he’d seen, however, all had been mounted to make them appear as if they’d been cornered and were trying to defend themselves. Mouths were molded into snarls, the bodies arched, teeth and claws exposed. Jeremy was still absorbing the images when he spotted a bear in the corner and jumped in shock. Like the other animals, its paws were outstretched as if attacking. The place was the Museum of Natural History transformed into a horror movie and squeezed into a closet.
Behind the desk, a huge, heavily bearded man sat with his feet propped up, a