True believer - Nicholas Sparks [39]
Wasn’t it?
The meteorologist came on again, looking fresh out of college. The guy couldn’t have been more than twenty-three or -four and was no doubt working his first job. He had that deer-in-the-headlights-but-enthusiastic look about him. But at least the guy seemed competent. He didn’t stumble over his words, and Jeremy knew almost immediately that he wouldn’t be leaving the room. The skies were expected to be clear throughout the evening, and the man mentioned nothing about the possibility of fog tomorrow, either.
Figures, he thought.
Six
The following morning after showering under a lukewarm trickle of water, Jeremy slipped on a pair of jeans, sweater, and brown leather jacket and made his way to Herbs, which seemed to be the most popular breakfast place in town. At the counter, he noticed Mayor Gherkin talking to a couple of men dressed in suits, and Rachel was busy working the tables. Jed was seated on the far side of the room, looking like the back side of a mountain. Tully was sitting at one of the center tables with three other men and, as could be expected, was doing most of the talking. People nodded and waved as Jeremy wound through the tables, and the mayor raised his coffee cup in salute.
“Well, good morning, Mr. Marsh,” Mayor Gherkin called out. “Thinking of positive things to write about our town, I hope?”
“I’m sure he is,” Rachel chimed in.
“Hope you found the cemetery,” Tully drawled. He leaned toward the others at his table. “That there’s the doctor I was telling you about.”
Jeremy waved and nodded back, trying to avoid getting corralled into a conversation. He’d never been a morning person, and on top of that, he hadn’t slept well. Ice and death, coupled with nightmares about snakes, could do that to a person. He took a seat in the corner booth, and Rachel moved to the table with efficiency, carrying a pot of coffee with her.
“No funeral today?” she teased.
“No. I decided to go with a more casual look,” he explained.
“Coffee, darlin’?”
“Please.”
After flipping the cup, she filled it to the brim. “Would you like the special this mornin’? People have been ravin’ about it.”
“What is the special?”
“A Carolina omelet.”
“Sure,” he said, having no idea what was in a Carolina omelet, but with his stomach growling, anything sounded good.
“With grits and a biscuit?”
“Why not?” he said.
“Be back in a few minutes, darlin’.”
Jeremy began nursing his coffee while perusing yesterday’s newspaper. All four pages of it, including a big front-page story on a Ms. Judy Roberts, who’d just celebrated her hundredth birthday, a milestone now reached by 1.1 percent of the population. Along with the article was a picture of the staff at the nursing home holding a cupcake with a single lit candle atop it, as Ms. Roberts lay in the bed behind them, looking comatose.
He glanced through the window, wondering why he’d even bothered with the local paper. There was a vending machine out front offering USA Today, and he was reaching into his pocket to look for change when a uniformed deputy took a seat directly across the table from him.
The man looked both angry and extremely fit; his biceps swelled the seams of his shirt, and he wore mirrored sunglasses that had gone out of style . . . oh, twenty years ago, Jeremy guessed, right after CHiPS went off the air. His hand rested on his holster, right atop a gun. In his mouth was a toothpick, which he moved from one side to the other. He said nothing at all, preferring to simply stare, giving Jeremy plenty of time to study his own reflection.
It was, Jeremy had to admit, sort of intimidating.
“Can I help you?” Jeremy asked.
The toothpick moved from side to side again. Jeremy closed the newspaper, wondering what on earth was going on.
“Jeremy Marsh?” the officer intoned.
“Yes?”
“Thought so,” he said.
Above the officer’s breast pocket, Jeremy noticed a shiny bar with the name engraved on it. Yet another name tag.
“And you must be Sheriff Hopper?