The Fairytale Mother by Heather Muzik – Excerpt

The Fairytale Mother

Once upon a time two lives intertwined…

A broken heart.

When Andrew Krenshaw’s wife goes missing, terror becomes desperation as he is forced to cope with a world of uncertainty where he has suddenly become a single father, an unfortunate celebrity… a potential murderer.

A hopeful heart.

Melanie Tull has everything she ever wanted in her life… except perhaps love. Her husband is absent and demanding all at once. Her home, a shell of perfection with a cold center. Her life, busy yet vacant.

… Herein lies the tale that binds them.

EXCERPT:

“Does your wife like to jog, Mr. Krenshaw?”
“What?” He was bewildered by the question that seemed entirely out of left field when what mattered was where Corinne was right now—when she was last heard from—who she’d last spoken to. And he didn’t know those answers. He only knew what wasn’t, not what was. One car—missing. One cell phone—missing. His wife—missing.
“Does she jog?” Officer Dennison asked again—the thinner and more talkative of the two who had been dispatched to his home.
“I—I don’t know,” Andrew said uncertainly.
“Could she have gone for a run or a walk?”
Six hours ago? But he didn’t say that. Instead, he stared at the man blankly, a man whose job it was to see the chinks in the world around him, in the story put before him. It was a simple yes-or-no question, relevant or not, and Andrew was unable to answer it. Not definitively. He didn’t truly know what Corinne did while he was so damn busy at work. He watched the man’s gaze shift about the room casually—a shambles; everything moved, touched, rifled through in a panic—and then settle back on him with satisfaction.
A slam-dunk.
A huge fight.
Car ditched along with the resulting body.
Another domestic abuse case ending in tragedy.
Perhaps he’d watched too many TV shows and movies, but even in his state of suspended disbelief—that he was here, in his living room, speaking to the police—Andrew registered the fact that these people weren’t simply coming to his aid. They were also judging his every move. His thoughts turned oddly to vampires. With those two little words—come in—he had invited the law into his home, and now he was going to pay for it.
He knew from the way they looked at him that they didn’t trust him. He hadn’t missed the officer’s subtle stoop to touch the wet spot on the rug, the light searching sniff of his damp fingers, the aroma of alcohol noted as he sat down on the couch. Or the second cop, off to the side, detached, though not-so-subtly holding his hand at his waistband, hovering over the butt of his gun.
Andrew tried to maintain his focus on Officer Dennison, sitting catty-corner to where he sat in his leather chair—a chair that was offered up to him by this stranger, permitting him to sit down in his own living room. And then there were the questions—questions that shouldn’t unnerve an innocent man. Eye contact was important, a show of honesty and earnestness, but he kept catching a glimpse of himself over the cop’s shoulder, his distorted reflection peering back from the metal vase Corinne had placed prominently on the console table behind the couch. The reflection of an escaped lunatic, hair standing on end from all of the times he had run his hands through it since the moment he got home from work—first in frustration and annoyance, then in anger, and now in terror. And the crazed eyes, red from exhaustion and worry, made him look strung out on drugs.
He wouldn’t trust that guy either.

Buy: Kindle / Paperback /B&N (coming August 8th)

About Heather

After a childhood spent living in various northern states–New Jersey for half of that (South Jersey, exit 4, to be exact)–she struck out on her own. First stop, Atlanta, Georgia. After attending GA Tech to study Industrial Engineering, she settled down in a small town outside the city where she has remained ever since. She keeps house for one husband, two sons, and a thankless dog (who she adores anyway). Her loves: books, bacon, bargains… heavy metal, Christmas movies… a great pair of jeans… and anything cheesy. The four dirtiest words she knows: wash, cook, dust, iron.

Website http://www.heathermuzik.com/

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