True believer - Nicholas Sparks [113]
Jeremy, vaguely recalling that one of the diaries belonged to an amateur historian, began flipping through the pages more quickly . . . scanning the headings, looking through the articles for anything obvious . . . turning the pages fast . . . skimming . . . stopping suddenly when he realized he had seen something and flipping the pages back, only to freeze when he realized that what he’d seen . . .
He leaned back in his chair, blinking as he moved his fingers down the page.
Solving the Mystery of the Lights in Cedar Creek Cemetery
Over the years, some residents of our town have made the claim that ghosts are present in Cedar Creek Cemetery, and three years ago, an article was published regarding the phenomenon in Journal of the South. Though no solution was offered, after conducting my own investigation, I believe I have solved the riddle of why the lights seem to appear at certain times while not at others.
I will say definitively that ghosts are not present. Instead, the lights are actually those of the Henrickson Paper Mill and are influenced by the train as it crosses the trestle, the location of Riker’s Hill, and the phases of the moon.
As Jeremy continued reading, he found himself holding his breath. Though the writer hadn’t attempted an explanation as to why the cemetery was sinking—without which the lights would probably not be visible at all—his conclusion was otherwise essentially the same as Jeremy’s.
The writer, whoever it was, had nailed it almost forty years ago.
Forty years . . .
He marked the page with a piece of scratch paper and flipped the book to the front cover, looking for the name of the author, his mind flashing to the first conversation he’d had with the mayor. And with that, he felt his suspicions come together like pieces in a puzzle.
Owen Gherkin.
The journal had been written by the mayor’s father. Who, according to Mayor Gherkin, “knew everything there was to know about this place.” Who understood what was causing the lights. Who had undoubtedly told his son. Who then knew there had never been anything supernatural at all about the lights, but had nonetheless pretended otherwise. Which meant that Mayor Gherkin had been lying all along, in the hope of using Jeremy to help make a buck from unsuspecting visitors.
And Lexie . . .
The librarian. The woman who’d hinted that he might find the answers he was looking for in the diaries. Which meant that she’d read Owen Gherkin’s account. Which meant that she, too, had been lying, preferring to play along with the mayor.
He wondered how many others in town had known the answer. Doris? Maybe, he thought. No, change that, he quickly decided. She had to have known. In their first conversation, she’d come right and out and said what the lights weren’t. But like the mayor and Lexie, she hadn’t said what they really were, even though she probably knew, too.
And that meant . . . this whole thing had been a joke all along. The letter. The investigation. The party. The joke, however, was on him.
And now Lexie was pulling away, but not until after she’d told him that story about Doris bringing her to the cemetery to see the spirit of her parents. And that sweet story about how her parents had wanted her to meet him.
Coincidence? Or planned all along? And now the way she was acting . . .
As if she wanted him to leave. As if she didn’t feel anything for him. As if she had known what would happen . . .
Had everything been planned? And if so, why?
Jeremy grabbed the diary and headed to Lexie’s office, determined to get some answers.