True Believer by Nicholas Sparks Read Free Book Online Page B

but no name tag, over a flower-print blouse. She looked to be about sixty. Pausing at the table, she put her hands on her hips before breaking into a smile.
“Well,” she said, drawing out the word into two syllables, “you must be Jeremy Marsh.”
Jeremy blinked. “You know me?” he asked.
“Of course. I just saw you on Primetime Live last Friday. I take it you got my letter.”
“I did, thank you.”
“And you’re here to write a story about the ghosts?”
He raised his hands. “So it seems.”
“Well, I’ll be.” Her accent made it sound like she was pronouncing the letters L-I-B. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“I like to surprise people. Sometimes it makes it a little easier to obtain accurate information.”
“L-I-B,” she said again. After the surprise had faded, she pulled out a chair. “Mind if I take a seat? I suppose you’re here to talk to me.”
“I don’t want you to get in trouble with your boss if you’re supposed to be working.”
She glanced over her shoulder and shouted, “Hey, Rachel, do you think the boss would mind if I took a seat? The man here wants to talk to me.”
Rachel poked her head out from behind the swinging doors. Jeremy could see her holding a pot of coffee.
“Nah, I don’t think the boss would mind at all,” Rachel responded. “She loves to talk. Especially when she’s with such a handsome fella.”
Doris turned around. “See,” she said, and nodded. “No problem.”
Jeremy smiled. “Seems like a nice place to work.”
“It is.”
“I take it that you’re the boss.”
“Guilty as charged,” Doris answered. Her eyes flickered with satisfaction.
“How long have you been in business?”
“Almost thirty years now, open for breakfast and lunch. We were doing the healthy food thing long before it was popular, and we have the best omelets this side of Raleigh.” She leaned forward. “You hungry? You should try one of our sandwiches for lunch. It’s all fresh—we even make the bread daily. You look like you could use a bite, and from the looks of you . . .” She hesitated, looking him over. “I’ll bet you’d love the chicken pesto sandwich. It’s got sprouts, tomatoes, cucumbers, and I came up with the pesto recipe myself.”
“I’m not really that hungry.”
Rachel approached with two cups of coffee.
“Well, just to let you know . . . if I’m going to tell a story, I like to do it over a good meal. And I tend to take my time.”
Jeremy surrendered. “The chicken pesto sandwich sounds fine.”
Doris smiled. “Could you bring us a couple of the Albemarles, Rachel?”
“Sure,” Rachel answered. She looked him over with an appreciative eye. “By the way, who’s your friend? Haven’t seen him around here before.”
“This is Jeremy Marsh,” Doris answered. “He’s a famous journalist here to write a story about our fair town.”
“Really?” Rachel said, looking interested.
“Yes,” Jeremy answered.
“Oh, thank goodness,” Rachel said with a wink. “For a second, I thought you’d just come from a funeral.”
Jeremy blinked as Rachel moved away.
Doris laughed at his expression. “Tully stopped in after you swung by for directions,” she explained. “I guess he figured I might have had something to do with you coming down, and he wanted to make sure. So anyway, he rehashed the entire conversation, and Rachel probably couldn’t resist. We all thought his comment was a hoot.”
“Ah,” Jeremy said.
Doris leaned forward. “I’ll bet he talked your ear off.”
“A little.”
“He was always a talker. He’d talk to a shoe box if no one else was around, and I swear I don’t know how his wife, Bonnie, put up with it for so long. But twelve years ago, she went deaf, and so now he talks to customers. It’s all a person can do to get out of there in less time it takes ice cubes to melt in winter. I even had to shoo him out of here today after he came by. Can’t get a speck of work done if he’s around.”
Jeremy