True Believer by Nicholas Sparks Read Free Book Online Page A

yadda. Okay, what next? He’d seen the cemetery . . . he might as well check out some of the surrounding area. Sort of get a feel for the place.
He walked back to his car and hopped in, pleased that he hadn’t so much as glanced behind him to see if she was watching him. Two could play that game. Of course, that presupposed that she even cared what he was doing, and he was pretty sure she didn’t.
A quick glance now from the driver’s seat proved him correct.
He started the engine and accelerated slowly; as he moved farther away from the cemetery, he found it easier to let the woman’s image drift from his mind to the task at hand. He drove farther up the road to see if other roads—either gravel or paved—intersected it, and he kept his eye out for windmills or tin-roofed buildings, without luck. Nor did he find something as simple as a farmhouse.
Turning the car around, he started back the way he had come, looking for a road that would lead him to the top of Riker’s Hill but finally giving up in frustration. As he neared the cemetery again, he found himself wondering who owned the fields surrounding it and if Riker’s Hill was public or private land. The county tax assessor’s office would have that information. The sharp-eyed journalist in him also happened to notice that the woman’s car was gone, which left him with a slight, though surprising, pang of disappointment, which passed as quickly as it had come.
He checked his watch; it was a little after two, and he figured that the lunch rush at Herbs was probably ending. Might as well talk to Doris. Maybe she could shed some “light” on the subject.
He smiled lamely to himself, wondering if the woman he’d seen at the cemetery would have laughed at that one.

True Believer
Three
Only a few tables on the porch were still occupied when Jeremy reached Herbs. As he climbed the steps to the front door, conversations quieted and eyes drifted his way. Only the chewing continued, and Jeremy was reminded of the curious way cows looked at you when you approached the pasture fence. Jeremy nodded and waved, as he’d seen the old folks on the porches doing.
He removed his sunglasses and pushed through the door. The small, square tables were spread through two main rooms on either side of the building, separated by a set of stairs. The peach walls were offset by white trim, giving the place a homey, country feel; toward the rear of the building, he caught a glimpse of the kitchen.
Again, the same cowlike expressions from patrons as he passed. Conversations quieted. Eyes drifted. When he nodded and waved, eyes dropped and the murmur of conversation rose again. This waving thing, he thought, was kind of like having a magic wand.
Jeremy stood fiddling with his sunglasses, hoping Doris was here, when one of the waitresses ambled out from the kitchen. In her late twenties or so, she was tall and reed-thin, with a sunny, open face.
“Just take a seat anywhere, hon,” she chirped. “Be with you in a minute.”
After making himself comfortable near a window, he watched the waitress approach. Her name tag said rachel. Jeremy thought about the name tag phenomenon in town. Did every worker have one? He wondered if it was some sort of rule. Like nodding and waving.
“Can I get you something to drink, darlin’?”
“Do you have cappuccino?” he ventured.
“No, sorry. We have coffee, though.”
Jeremy smiled. “Coffee will be fine.”
“You got it. Menu’s on the table if you want something to eat.”
“Actually, I was wondering if Doris McClellan was around.”
“Oh, she’s in the back,” Rachel said, brightening. “Want me to get her?”
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
She smiled. “No problem at all, darlin’.”
He watched her head toward the kitchen and push through the swinging doors. A moment later, a woman whom he assumed was Doris emerged. She was the opposite of Rachel: short and stout, with thinning white hair that was once blond, she was wearing an apron,