A Fairy Tale Read Online Free Page A

around for something that would make a good prop while also being useful as a weapon. Unfortunately, the Doris Day life didn’t come with many potential makeshift weapons. The best she could do was a big, frilly umbrella with a pointed end that she found in an umbrella stand by the door. That gave her an idea of something to perform.
    After a mental rehearsal to make sure she remembered all the words, she sang the opening lines to “Don’t Rain on My Parade.” There was stunned silence as every fairy in the room turned to face her. As the song picked up steam, she danced forward, twirling the umbrella, then moved back and stepped up on to the room’s upper level. The fairies turned out to be much like any other audience, and soon she felt she had them eating out of her hand. If this had been an audition, the part would have been hers for sure.
    She treated the upper level like a stage, dancing along it. When she reached the bridge of the song, she moved to the heavy drapes hanging to the side of the terrace windows. She clung to the drapes while checking behind them to see that there was an open door there, and then she moved forward to the front of her “stage.” She made another trip back to the drapes, then forward again, so they’d get used to the idea of her approaching the drapes and returning.
    At the end of the song, while she was still holding the final note, she stepped behind the drapes, bending backward for a grand finale before making a dramatic exit. She heard the applause as she slipped through the doors and out onto the terrace.
    But she wasn’t really outdoors, she realized. It was like a sound stage, giving only the illusion of the outside world, and the terrace was incomplete. One more apartment doorway opened from it, but then the terrace shifted and became a balcony on an entirely different building. Through the windows she saw what looked like an Art Deco-era hotel ballroom full of people doing the foxtrot. That wasn’t any closer to home for her, but the voices behind her meant she didn’t have the luxury of picking her next stop.
    She might be leaving the frying pan to throw herself into the fire, but she didn’t think things back in Doris Day land would go well for her now that she’d tried to escape. Without a backward glance, she stepped through the French doors and into the ballroom.

 
Four
     
    The Upper West Side, New York City—The Murray Residence
    Wednesday, 3 p.m.
     
    A persistent buzzing sound penetrated Michael Murray’s sleep. He swatted at it to make it stop, but his arm was trapped and didn’t work. Something wet touched his face, and he opened his eyes to find himself staring eye-to-eye with a glaring, slobbering bulldog. The dog barked once, as if to make sure he was awake. The buzzing noise repeated, and Michael gradually realized it was the front-door intercom.
    “Hush,” he told the dog sleepily. “Maybe if we pretend we’re not home, they’ll go away. Anyone who needs to see me has a key.”
    The dog grunted and sprawled on the floor beside the sofa. Michael let himself drift back to sleep when the buzzing stopped. He hadn’t completely lost consciousness when there was a polite rapping on his apartment door and a female voice called, “Detective Murray?”
    That was harder to ignore. If someone had made it past the front door, then he ought to see who it was. With a groan, he struggled to sit up and then get to his feet. That would have been easier if his right arm weren’t in a sling and if he didn’t have to worry about stepping on the dog. The painkillers that made his head fuzzy didn’t help matters, nor did the fact that he was about a quart low on coffee for the day. Come to think of it, he hadn’t had any. He couldn’t be expected to function. Once he was standing, he waited a second to make sure he could remain vertical, then he staggered to the entryway.
    Peering through the peephole, he saw a woman. She didn’t look too threatening, and