Read Online Nicole Peeler - [Jane True 01] by Tempest Rising (html) - Free Book Online

me
stories, all through the night. They’d seemed so real, and yet they could not
have happened. Maybe I am mad , I thought. Maybe madness is
what drove Mom away, and she left it for me, in my blood, as her parting gift .
    Whatever, Jane , my brain admonished. Either some
“investigator” shows up today, like Nell said would happen, and you know you’re
okay. Or, nobody appears and you check yourself back into the funny farm. In
the meantime, get over yourself and go with the idea it’s all real.
    I imagined the whole day spent analyzing Read It and Weep’s customers,
searching for some clue as to their true identity. In other words, I’d play the
supernatural version of Sesame Street’ s “one of these things is not like
the others.”
    Grizzie presented me with my first challenge. She looked resplendent, as
always. Over shiny black leggings she sported purple thigh-high patent-leather
boots with enormous stacks that made her about six-foot-four. On top, she wore
a fuzzy purple angora sweater that fitted snugly down over her hips. The
sweater was cinched tight over her waspish waist by a wide patent-leather belt
that had an enormous silver lightning bolt for a buckle. For a bra, she’d
chosen a very fifties “lift and separate” number that made it look like she was
wearing traffic cones under her sweater. She’d done her long ebony hair up into
a giant coiffure from which a fake ponytail streamed down to the small of her
back. Her makeup was minimal. After all, it was bad taste to wear purple
thigh-high stacks and overdone eye shadow. She had only two wings of
black liquid eyeliner accentuating her vivid violet eyes, and the barest hint
of pink blush and lip gloss.
    “You look hot, Griz,” I greeted her, eyeballing her appraisingly.
    “Thanks, darling.” She grinned, giving me a little twirl so I could
appreciate the outfit in full. “You look edible, as always,” she said as she stooped
to give me a peck on the cheek.
    If anybody is supernatural here in Rockabill, it has to be Grizzie , I
thought. But then again, magical, nearly immortal beings probably didn’t star
in such films as The Ass-prentice: You’re Nailed! Not that I didn’t appreciate
Grizzie’s oeuvre.
    Tracy had the day off, so the first few hours of work went extra
quickly. It’s not that Tracy was dull by any means, but neither did she use her
spare time to expound upon the difference between a clitoral, versus an anal,
orgasm. I spent half the morning on the floor laughing and the other half with
my hands over my ears trying to drone Grizzie out by humming ABBA’s greatest
hits. But just when I thought Grizzie would succeed in her attempt to prove
embarrassment could be fatal, a silver Porsche Boxster came snarling into the
bookstore’s line of vision. To our mutual surprise, it whipped into a parking
spot right in front of our door.
    Well, that didn’t happen often, even during tourist season.
    The car’s top was down, another surprise for this time of year. Grizzie
and I exchanged looks. It was cold, at least for everybody but me.
    As the driver opened his door and stepped out, Grizzie made a lascivious
meowing sound. I seconded that meow, silently. We had a very clear view of the
man as he stretched luxuriantly. He wasn’t extremely tall, probably about five
foot nine. But he was very well put together. His shoulders were broad
in his crisp white shirt and his waist tapered invitingly to his brown leather
belt holding up his brown tweed trousers. For shoes, he had on a pair of what I
can only assume were brogues, as I’d never actually seen brogues before. But
whatever they were, they looked expensive. As did his gold-rimmed aviator
sunglasses. He oozed money and confidence, and I felt a pang of disappointment. Too bad you’re probably a twat , I thought, snarkily. ’ Cause you are
one fine piece of man-meat.
    Jane, don’t be a bitch to the tourists, I admonished
myself. Not least because they’re the only people who