“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 treat you like a real person, and not a ticking time bomb.

As if to drive home my point, behind the mysterious stranger I saw Mark, in his postal uniform with his satchel over his shoulder, head into the Trough to deliver their mail and grab a cup of coffee. For obvious reasons, Mark no longer lingered over a latte here at Read It and Weep. On cue, I felt that familiar little burn of humiliation I now associated with the man I’d so nearly dated.

So, be nice to the hot stranger, I thought, forcing my eyes back to the guy from the Porsche. To my disappointment, he’d finished stretching. You missed the whole show, my libido grumbled at me. I apologized profusely and dutifully paid close attention as he checked that he had his wallet before running a hand through his short-cropped, thick brown hair.

“Bonjour, Brick Shithouse,” Grizzie drooled as, to her evident delight, he walked toward our bookstore.

He pushed open the door and, just as our annoying little chimey thing heralded his presence, his eyes met mine. I felt a jolt, and not only because his almond eyes were gorgeous, but also because those pretty eyes crinkled in a combination of recognition and interest. I knew I didn’t know this man, and there shouldn’t be anything of interest to one such as he in the utterly prosaic Jane True.

He approached the counter and, up close, his face didn’t break with his body’s precedent. He had high cheekbones that tapered down to a narrow and shapely chin. His mouth was small but full-lipped, which gave him an extremely sensual expression, as if he were just about to pucker up to kiss his way down your belly—

Woah, Jane, I thought, trying to get a handle on my suddenly raging hormones. My dirty drawer might be well stocked, but it seemed I missed the real thing even more than I realized. That fact, however, did not give me the right to rape random tourists. And before you get your hopes up, people who are climbing whatever ladder he is evidently climbing don’t date crazy women, I reminded myself. He wouldn’t want his girlfriend to start gibbering at his CEO over cocktails.

The sharp sting of my own mental self-flagellation explained why I was more than a little surprised when the beautiful man grabbed my hand from over the counter and pulled me toward him. I was so surprised, in fact, that I let myself get swept up into what must have looked like the most natural of hugs.

“Jane True,” he said, pressing me close. The awkward angle—with both of us leaning over the counter—meant that our hug mostly consisted of me wedging my bazongas into his chest. I meeped, in surprise, as he continued.

“I told you I’d surprise you here in Rockabill, and here I am!”

He released me and I took a dazed step back. Not missing a beat, he turned to Grizzie and was pumping her hand as if he were absolutely thrilled to meet her.

“You must be Grizelda. I’m absolutely thrilled to meet you,” he said, putting his actions into words.

“Jane here has told me so much about you.” He let go of Grizzie’s hand but kept his eyes locked on hers. “I’m Ryu, Jane’s friend from college. I hope she told you about me. She certainly talked enough about you and Tracy.” Only then did his eyes break from Grizzie’s and meet mine. He gave me a roguish wink.

I was waiting for Grizzie to inform him that, no, actually, I had never mentioned an incredibly handsome male school friend named Ryu. And that from my reaction when he got out of the car and walked into the store I’d obviously never seen him before.

Instead, she smiled down at him and said, “Oh, of course! Yes! That’s great you could make it to Rockabill. We’ve heard so much about Jane’s friend Ryu!”

I swung around toward her, unable to believe what I was hearing. But she just beamed at me. A look of genuine pleasure washed over her features. What the hell? I had no idea who this guy was, and I’d certainly not attended college with him. I’d have remembered—and I’d have the fantasies to prove it.

“Why don’t you go into the back, Grizzie, while Jane and I talk?” Ryu was once again staring into Grizzie’s eyes, and I nearly fell over when instead of saying, “Why don’t you go fuck yourself,” she just maintained her huge smile. Then, with a swish of her shiny hips, she headed back into our stockroom. Gritting my teeth, I rounded on the stranger.

“Who the hell are you and what did you do to Grizelda?” I demanded.

The smile he gave me was no less handsome than the one he’d presented to Grizzie. But it was more natural, less eerily animated. “My name really is Ryu,” he replied, his eyes flicking down surreptitiously to rove the top half of my body that was not hidden by the counter. I forced myself to desist from squirming as his gaze lingered on my breasts for a split second. “But rather than a college reunion, I’m actually here to ask you about your involvement in the murder of Peter Jakes.”

It took me a second to cotton on to what he was saying, as I couldn’t imagine a policeman zipping around in a Porsche and I couldn’t figure out how the authorities had figured out my role in finding Peter’s body.

“Ohhh,” I said, as the other shoe dropped. “You’re the one Nell said I should expect. You’re that investigator.”

“Quite,” he said. “I’m that investigator.”

This time I went ahead and returned his slow once-over, so we could each weigh the other up.

“You don’t look right,” I blurted out, before I realized I’d depressed my edit button. Then I about turned purple.

“I don’t look right?” he inquired, raising an elegant eyebrow at me.

“You’re too… too…” My brain scrambled to finish my sentence. All I could think of was teeny-tiny Nell, in her rustic clothes, and the kelpie with her gray skin and oily voice.

“Normal,” I finished, only to regret, instantly, my word choice.

“Normal,” the beautiful man repeated, his voice flat.

“Well, not normal,” I stammered. “Obviously. I mean, you’re really good-looking. But you know that, already.” I watched, horrified, as his other eyebrow swept up to join the first. Mentally, my brain scrambled to get my edit function back online, but it had very evidently gone haywire. “I mean, you’re totally hot, and obviously super-successful, and I just saw you work some… magic? Do you call it magic?” He shrugged, neither agreeing or disagreeing. “Well, so you’re magical, which is not normal. And you’re hot—”

Stop telling the hot man he’s hot! my brain commanded, even as my mouth went right ahead ejaculating embarrassment.

“I mean, really hot, but, like, you’re not weird.”

“Not weird?”

“Not… different.”

His lips parted in a feral grin, and for a split second I swear he’d grown fangs. When he opened his mouth to speak, however, they were gone. Which meant I was now babbling like a maniac and seeing things. Rock on.

“I can assure you, Jane True, that I am very different.” He said those words as if they were a promise, and I felt a shiver at the base of my spine. I realized, after a stunned minute, that it was a shiver of unmitigated lust. Haven’t felt that in a while, I thought, marveling. But Ryu wasn’t through playing his little verbal tap dance on my libido.