Last Fairytale, The by Molly Greene

appeared again, walking toward the camera, face obscured by the rectangular lid.
    “I just can’t tell if it’s the same woman on the boat,” Bree said.
    “It’s no good,” Gen agreed. “Neither can I.”
    Oliver sniffed. “That’s no female.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “The person on the tape. It’s a guy in drag. That means ‘dressed as a woman,’ in case you didn’t know.”
    “Are you sure?” Gen moved closer to the screen. “Bree, would you play it again, please?”
    They watched in silence as the burglar walked purposefully down the hall for the third time.
    “That person is male,” Oliver said. “He’s not a burly guy, of course. But look at the line of the shoulders, and how slim the hips are, even under that shapeless white coat. And there, see? Is that the hint of an Adam’s apple?”
    “I’ll be darned,” Gen said. “I think you’re right. You’re good, Oliver.”
    “I’ve been around long enough to recognize a man dressed to pass as the opposite sex. Gay men are accomplished at hiding the obvious.”
    “Why would a thief dress in drag to rob Elergene of documents about mushroom research?” Bree asked.
    Gen stared thoughtfully at the television. “It could be someone people at Elergene know, or a criminal who figures the police can ID him.”
    “Or,” Oliver added, “it could be someone who always cross-dresses, so why would that day be different? Did you see how well he walked in those pumps?”
    “I’ll tell Hackett,” Gen said. “They can use it.”
    “Should I mention it to Vonnegon tomorrow night?”
    “No,” Gen replied. “If you tell him you saw the tape, he might grill you about why the cops wanted you to watch it. You could accidentally tip him off we were in Tiburon.”
    “I could just say the cops wanted me to check this out in case I saw the woman on the way to meet Ducane.”
    “Just try to get him to talk without revealing anything yourself, will you? You need practice lying. You didn’t do so well with the detective.”
    Bree leaned over the coffee table and poured Gen and Oliver another shot of wine. “You can say that again.”

Chapter Fourteen
     
     
    The knock came five minutes early, startling Bree enough to make her hand jerk and apply the shimmering gloss in an arc outside her upper lip. She used a tissue to wipe away the excess and went to open the door.
    Taylor Vonnegon stood in the corridor, wearing slacks, a dress shirt, and a leather jacket. He was holding a delicate bouquet of overblown white rosebuds. He looked just a tad unsure of himself, like a prom date in a baby blue tux. Unusual, considering he’d been the poster boy for confidence until tonight.
    Surprised, she opened her mouth and reached for a humorous comment but couldn’t think of anything funny to say. They stood like awkward teenagers until Bree regained her voice.
    “Come in,” she said. “You’re early.”
    “I apologize.” He followed her into the living room and offered the flowers. “These are for you.”
    “Thanks.” She took the roses and held them close, breathing deeply. Their scent was rich to the point of overpowering. She nodded at the blooms. “How did you know they’re my favorite, did I write about it on my blog?”
    He laughed. “No. You seem the type who would like white roses. Simple tastes. Old fashioned, in a good way.”
    Bree watched him as he took in the room. Two eggshell slip-covered sofas with low arms and wide seat cushions sported deep ruffled flounces that brushed the floor. Thick off white carpet flowed through the room. Hand-distressed furniture showed off the high ceilings. A few unpainted primitive décor pieces were displayed in clever vignettes, forming a subtle contrast.
    “And I see I was right,” he said. “How wonderful. Peaceful, comfortable. White.”
    “This is my friend Oliver’s handiwork. I love this place almost as much as I love the decorator.”
    He cut his eyes to her with a flash of his former