Free Last Fairytale, The by Molly Greene

really is.”
    “How can we find out?”
    “Make friends with someone at the company, for starters.”
    “Vonnegon left a message and asked me to dinner Friday night.”
    “Perfect.” Ryan reached for the butter.
    “You think he’ll talk about it?”
    Gen shook her head. “But he might give something away by accident. So he asked you out, huh?”
    “It’s not a date. More like pity duty. Trying to apologize for throwing me to the wolves that night.”
    “You think?” Gen put down her fork and stared at Bree. “Too bad he’s not a drinker. You could have gotten him liquored up and pressured him for info.”
    “Wait a minute, that’s right. He told us he didn’t drink alcohol. Then who belonged to the champagne bottle?”
    “What he actually said was that he didn’t drink much alcohol,” Gen replied. “Doesn’t rule him out for the occasional glass of bubbly. Hey, Bree, do you have time to come down to my office after breakfast? Let’s start a case map and make notes about what we know.”
    “Sure. Is it close? I have your business card but I didn’t notice the address.”
    “I took one of the shops facing the street on the ground floor of this building. Makes for an easy commute. For me, anyway. Ryan still has a ways to drive. But that’s how we got interested in the condo.”
    “Even better,” Bree said.
    “It’ll take less than an hour.” Gen saluted Bree with a glass of juice. “Let’s toast. So far, your Nosy Nell skills are outstanding.”
    “Thanks. I just wish we’d been able to get a little more out of our trip.”
    “There’s always the funeral,” Gen said.
    “Are we going?”
    “But of course.” Gen’s grin was downright wicked. “Everyone who knew the deceased in one place at the same time? We couldn’t pass up that opportunity.”
     
    * * *
     
    Gen’s workplace was small but sophisticated, with tasteful art and furnishings set against the backdrop of the red brick walls. A row of curtained windows ran across the street side, lending light to the space. The waiting room held the requisite magazine-laden table, a French-inspired receptionist’s desk, plants, pictures, and a quartet of upholstered wing chairs. The feel was old money. The ambience delivered a sense of trust and satisfaction, as if clients seeking her help would be in good hands.
    Gen liked to think they were.
    Bree followed her in, through a hallway with a bathroom tucked discreetly into an alcove and on into the back office. This room held a small sofa and chairs, as well as tall wooden bookshelves, file cabinets, and a desk that was a larger version of the one in the entry.
    “Great office, Genny.”
    “Thanks. Madison came down and helped me. She has the decorating gene. I didn’t sign the lease until she’d had a look at it.”
    “I remember Maddy’s room at Berkeley. Who knew a few cheap Indian bedspreads could turn a dorm room into an exotic oasis?” Bree laughed. “Hey, where’s your receptionist?”
    “Don’t have one. Smoke and mirrors. What I do have is the best answering service ever.”
    Gen walked to a side wall and removed a sepia photograph of the Eiffel Tower, then placed it on the floor. She grabbed the two inset handles behind it and slid the panels open to reveal a large whiteboard.
    With a marker, Gen wrote Friday’s date, the name Andrew Ducane, and the word deceased. “Okay, what do we know? Who’s hiding something, and who has something to hide?”
    “Taylor Vonnegon is hiding Ducane’s private research.”
    Gen wrote that on the board. “He’s also hiding the true nature of Elergene’s government project.” She noted that with a question mark.
    “They might be hiding the identity of the intruder. They may know who it was and just don’t want to share.”
    “Good.” She wrote the word burglar with a question mark beside it. “Looks like Ducane was hiding his true personality from his co-workers.”
    “Yes,” Bree agreed. “And maybe Vonnegon and Ducane