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awnings?”
Jeremy nodded.
“Take a left and go through the next stop sign. At the first street after the stop sign, turn right. The library’s on the corner just up the way. It’s a big white building. Used to be the Middleton House, which belonged to Horace Middleton, before the county bought it.”
“They didn’t build a new library?”
“It’s a small town, Mr. Marsh, and besides, it’s plenty big. You’ll see.”
Jeremy held out his hand. “Thank you. You’ve been great. And lunch was delicious.”
“I do my best.”
“Would you mind if I come back with more questions? You seem to have a pretty good handle on things.”
“Anytime you want to talk, you just come by. I’m always available. But I will ask that you don’t write anything that makes us look like a bunch of bumpkins. A lot of people—me included— love this place.”
“All I write is the truth.”
“I know,” she said. “That’s why I contacted you. You have a trustworthy face, and I’m sure you’ll put the legend to bed once and for all in the way it should be done.”
Jeremy raised his eyebrows. “You don’t think there are ghosts out at Cedar Creek?”
“Oh, heavens no. I know there’s no spirits there. I’ve been saying that for years, but no one listens to me.”
Jeremy looked at her curiously. “Then why did you ask me to come down?”
“Because people don’t know what’s going on, and they’ll keep believing until they find an explanation. You see, ever since that article in the paper about the people from Duke, the mayor has been promoting the idea like crazy, and strangers have been coming from all over hoping to see the lights. To be honest, it’s causing a lot of problems—the place is already crumbling and the damage is getting worse.”
She trailed off for a moment before continuing. “Of course, the sheriff won’t do anything about the teenagers who hang out there or the strangers who traipse through without a thought in their heads. He and the mayor are hunting buddies, and besides, nearly everyone around here except me thinks that promoting the ghosts is a good idea. Ever since the textile mill and the mine closed, the town’s been drying up, and I think they think of this idea as some sort of salvation.”
Jeremy glanced toward his car, then back to Doris again, thinking about what she’d just said. It made perfect sense, but . . .
“You do realize that you’re changing your story from what you wrote in the letter.”
“No,” she said, “I’m not. All I said was that there were mysterious lights in the cemetery that were credited to an old legend, that most people think ghosts are involved, and that the kids from Duke couldn’t figure out what the lights really were. All that’s true. Read the letter again if you don’t believe me. I don’t lie, Mr. Marsh. I may not be perfect, but I don’t lie.”
“So why do you want me to discredit the story?”
“Because it’s not right,” she said easily, as if the answer was common sense. “People always traipsing through, tourists coming down to camp out—it’s just not very respectful for the departed, even if the cemetery is abandoned. The folks buried out there deserve to rest in peace. And combining it with something worthy like the Historic Homes Tour is just plain old wrong. But I’m a voice in the wilderness these days.”
Jeremy thought about what she’d said as he pushed his hands into his pockets. “Can I be frank?” he asked.
She nodded, and Jeremy shifted from one foot to the other. “If you believe your mom was a psychic, and that you can divine water and the sex of babies, it just seems . . .”
When he trailed off, she stared at him.
“Like I’d be the first to believe in ghosts?”
Jeremy nodded.
“Well, actually, I do. I just don’t believe they’re out there in the cemetery.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve been out there and I don’t feel the presence of spirits.”
“So you can do that, too?”
She shrugged