Chapter One

Meg slid the box into a bag and handed it to the woman on the other side of the counter. "I hope you like these, Mrs. Campbell," she said, smiling. "If not, you know our return policy."

Mrs. Campbell beamed back at her. "I've been buying shoes here since your grandmother owned the shop, and I've never had to return a pair," she replied before turning to leave. "I don't expect that will change anytime soon."

Laughing, Meg closed the register and watched as the older woman paused in the front of the store to talk to Meg's mother, who'd been working on a new window display. Alice gave the woman a one-armed hug before she turned around the corner.

Mrs. Campbell was right, Meg thought as she flipped through a catalogue. For some reason, shoes were in her blood – at least, it was in her mother's, and her grandmother's before that. Just because it hadn't shown up in the youngest of the clan didn't mean it wouldn't eventually.

Alice wandered over and stood next to her, glancing at the brochures on the counter. "See anything good in there?" she asked casually.

Meg ran her eyes over the pictures until one caught her attention. "I think Mrs. Campbell's granddaughter would like these," she said slowly, pushing the glossy pages closer to her mother. "In green, to match the dress she'll buy at Charley's grand opening next week."

Her mother stared at it and nodded thoughtfully. "What makes you think she'll buy a green dress?"

Meg tilted her head. "Because Charley's the kind of person that'll want to match the dress to the owner's eyes."

Alice opened her mouth as though to argue, but then laughed instead. "I think you might be right. Why don't you order them and see for yourself? If she doesn't want them, I'm sure someone else will – they're quite lovely. Where is Charley, anyway? I haven't seen him in at least twenty minutes."

Meg would have refuted that statement, but it was largely true. "The last time I saw him he was arguing with the delivery guy about the state his boxes arrived in," she said, shaking her head. "He seemed to think that since he paid the same amount of money as it would take to ship the crown jewels here from England, his dress boxes should arrive intact and without water marks."

Alice looked properly horrified. "I hope he gets his money back."

"He will," Meg told her confidently. "Charley has a way of getting what he wants. How else would he convince his father to let him open a dress shop in one of the city's more fashionable malls?"

"By promising him that the family name won't be anywhere near it." Charley stood in the doorway and sighed theatrically. "I had to sign an contract in blood before he'd agree to back me financially."

Meg grinned at him. Charley had been her best friend since the second grade, and she couldn't get over the fact that he was opening a store next to hers. "Was anything damaged?"

Charley scowled. "No, and those stupid UPS people had better be glad. I think I might have been tempted to say something rude."

Alice shook her head. "You should never have to say something rude to get your point across," she chided gently. "You just have to cultivate an expression that says what you want to say without having to open your mouth."

Charley pondered this for a few seconds. "Like this?" He pulled a face so comical that Meg started to laugh.

"That look tells me that you've eaten a bad salami sandwich for lunch and are now regretting it," she told him. "Try again."

Charley's mouth immediately morphed into a glower. "Is this better, ma'am?" he growled. "It's supposed to say, 'I'm getting fed up with the way you've been treating me. I am, after all, a lawyer's son. Jacob Grimm might very well sue your pants off for being rude to me.'"

Alice gave the shoe catalogue back to her daughter. "Dear Jacob. How's he been since he retired?"

Scowl disappearing, Charley reached over the counter and grabbed the stapler, idly shooting staples into the air. "Fine, as long as I'm not talking to him about selling ball gowns. He seems to think it's not a very manly way to earn a living."

"I don't care what he says," Meg told him for what felt like the twelfth time that day. "If you want to sell dresses, then you should."

"Gowns, Meg, gowns. Not dresses." Charley looked pained. "There's a huge difference."

"Sorry."

Charley leaned over and planted a wet, noisy kiss on Meg's cheek. "I'm counting on you two to make my first purchase," he said. Meg was pretty sure he was only half joking.

"But we don't know what you have," she objected. "What if you don't have my size?"

Charley looked mildly offended. "Are you questioning my ability to size up a customer?" he asked. "I'll have you know that I can tell a woman's dress size at fifty paces."

"So what's mine?" Meg crossed her arms and waited.

He regarded her for a moment, then winked at Alice. "I always thought it was impolite to talk about a lady's measurements in public," he said. "And especially within her hearing. But since she asked, here's what it is." He whispered something in Alice's ear, and she laughed.

"You're right, of course."

Meg frowned at them. "And?"

"Now she doesn't trust her own mother." Charley smirked at her. "I think I'd better be going. Are we still on for dinner tomorrow?" he asked as he turned to walk out of the shop.

Meg smiled in spite of herself. "Of course. Have I ever missed one of our Wednesday dinners?"

"Not that I can remember." Charley tossed the stapler to her and ran out before she could throw it back at him.

Alice remained silent until he'd disappeared from view. "Are you ready for the big move?" she asked lightly. "Your dad called while you were at lunch and said the apartment was just about ready."

Meg, who'd started to straighten up the shelves, smiled in anticipation. Her parents had been very supportive when she'd suggested six months ago that it might be time to move out of the house – after all, she reminded them, she was nearly twenty five and was quite responsible. After several weeks of fruitless searching through Brothers, Michigan, for something that was both affordable and safe, she had come to a sad conclusion – the house that her parents had purchased thirty years ago was now worth an awful lot of money, and there was no way she could afford something in the increasingly affluent area surrounding the mall.

It had been Arthur who'd come up with a solution in the end, and her father had offered to transform the third floor of the house into an apartment for her. It was a good deal, Meg decided. She could be independent, have a little more freedom, and be close enough to the shop – and her parents -- should the need arise.

Meg had just opened her mouth to respond when Alice walked past her. "Oh, here comes Margaret Fisher. I'm sure she's here for those sandals I ordered for her last week."

The grin that had been tugging at Meg's mouth erupted, and she hummed to herself as she went back to work.

*** *** ***

Ten minutes before the mall closed Alice walked out of the shop to stare critically at her handiwork. "Come see the new display," she called to her daughter.

Duster in hand, Meg made her way to her mother and stood silently next to her.

"What do you think?"

Meg glanced up at the sign hanging over the door. The Glass Slipper glittered faintly in the mall's overhead lights, making the letters look like they'd been painted with fairy dust. If she didn't know any better, Meg would have sworn that her grandmother had been a fairy godmother. Who else would come up with a name like that for a shop that sold fancy shoes?

"Well?" Alice's voice was tinged with amusement.

Meg's eyes dropped immediately to the window, and for a second she didn't know what to say. "Did you come up with this on your own?" she finally asked.

Alice smiled with satisfaction. "I did. What do you think of the slippers?"

I should have seen that coming, Meg thought. The woman produces the best window display this mall's seen in years, and all she cares about is the shoes. "They're lovely," she said without really looking at them.

"Meg. Look at them. What do you think?"

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and looked dutifully at the pair directly in the middle of the display. "Are those supposed to be glass slippers?" she asked, moving so close that she could touch the window with the tip of her nose. Now she knew why Alice had referred to them as 'slippers', a name reserved for only the most beautiful footwear the shop sold. "Where in the world did you ever find them? They're amazing."

Alice laughed quietly. "I'd tell you it was a trade secret, but you know almost as much as I do now. Those dance slippers are the reason we own this shop. My mother saw a pair of shoes that looked very similar to these shortly before she got married, but when she went inside the store to buy them for her wedding the saleslady took one look at her and refused to let her try them on because she didn't look rich enough to be able to afford them. Mother was dreadfully humiliated, and when she got home that afternoon she told her fiancée what had happened."

"And then she opened her own shoe store and eventually put that nasty woman out of business," Meg concluded. She'd heard this story a few times as a child.

Meg caught the smug expression as it flitted across her mother's face. "Yes, she did, but there's a part of the story that I haven't told you. Before she opened her own shop, and shortly after I was born, your grandfather went to the other woman's store and stood in front of it for hours. No one could see what he was doing, but a few weeks later he came home with a box. Inside was a pair of shoes so delicate and elegant that his wife thought she'd been transported into a fairy tale. You see, he'd spent all his time in front of that store sketching the shoes, which had never been sold, and then he had them recreated – only better. That's really what convinced her to open the business."

Meg traced the outline of the shoe on the glass. "This really isn't the same pair, is it?" When there was no response she turned her head to stare at Alice. "Is it?"

Alice just smiled, hugged her only child, and leaned her chin against Meg's forehead. "It is. And now they're yours. Your grandmother wore them on her tenth wedding anniversary. I only wore them once, on the day I married your father. I expect you'll do something equally wonderful with them."

Meg wasn't quite sure what to say, so she just hugged her mother back. "Thank you," she whispered.

Alice tilted her head down so she could look Meg in the eye. "You'll do fine," she said, her eyes shining with happiness. "I'm so – "

And then Meg's life shattered. Without warning, Alice's body jerked, stiffened, and the next thing Meg knew, her mother had slipped from her arms, her head lolling to the side as she lay crumpled to the floor.

Charley dashed into the hallway when he heard Meg's frantic cry for help. He took in her blood-soaked hands clutching Alice's arms, called the paramedics, and held her as she cried.

*** *** ***

The next few weeks passed in a blur of hospitals, police officers, funeral homes, and then gravesites. Meg didn't even try to make sense of what had happened; all she knew was that her mother was dead and no one knew why. "Did she have any enemies?" the kind police woman asked, and when Meg couldn't think of a single person, the officer just sighed and shook her head.

"And you're sure you didn't see anyone suspicious before the shooting?"

The only thing Meg could remember was the way the feathers from her duster had slowly turned bright red from all the blood on the floor. "I didn't see anyone at all," she said dully. "The mall was about to close, and almost everyone had already gone home."

The police woman wrote something in her book that Meg was sure said something like, "deceased's daughter needs psychiatric treatment". "We'll keep you informed," she said gently, and Meg was left to deal with Arthur. Fifteen years Alice's senior, her father went from shock to denial to depression so fast his hair turned stark white almost overnight, and Meg didn't know what to do with him. It didn't help that he locked himself in the house for days, and she slept in her old room to keep an anxious eye on him.

She closed The Glass Slipper for two weeks, and when she reopened the doors the steady stream of people coming in to murmur their condolences nearly did her in.

Charley found her sobbing into a sodden handkerchief when he came by to bring her lunch that first dreadful day back. "I know they're mourning, too," she wept, "but I just can't take it. Maybe I should close the shop down for another week."

He gave her an only slightly-used tissue and sank down on the ground next to her, his long legs stretching out halfway across the floor. "You know you don't want to do that," he stated in a matter-of-fact sort of voice, and handed her a bottle of water. "This place is your mom's legacy, and you know it. Drink up," he ordered calmly. "You need to replace some of those fluids dripping down your face. Otherwise your skin will get all dried out, and all that'll accomplish is to make you red and flaky."

Meg hiccoughed one more time and drank half the bottle at once. "Thanks," she said tiredly. "I needed a dose of reality. It's not going to do me any good to cry. And I'm glad mom's customers feel comfortable talking to me about her."

"They all loved her, and they love you for being strong enough to keep this place going," Charley told her kindly. "Come on, I made this especially for you."

She opened the bag to find a foot-long sandwich in a Subway wrapper. "You didn't make this at all," she sniffed, and blew her nose on the napkin inside the bag.

"I was speaking metaphorically," he informed her, trying to look haughty and failing completely. "Isn't it enough that I know what you like on a sandwich and can communicate that to the person holding the bread knife? Figuratively, I'm a sandwich master."

Meg gave a shaky laugh and started eating. She hadn't realized how hungry she was. "Thanks."

"Does the owner know you're sitting on the floor, eating a –what is that, anyway? Mother, what is that?"

Meg's head snapped up at the petulant voice, and she found herself staring at a tall, overly blonde girl wearing entirely too much eye makeup. "I'm sorry," she said politely, and scrambled to her feet. "May I help you with something?"

"You can find us the manager of this quaint little shop." Meg wasn't sure where the voice was coming from, but it sounded like there was a six-year-old in the room. When she glanced back at Charley he tilted his head toward the doorway.

Meg did a double take when she saw the woman standing there. Her first thought was that she couldn't imagine how she hadn't noticed her before. After all, she was so tall that she would easily tower over Charley, and he was almost six feet.

And she had a mustache. A faint one, but a mustache nonetheless.

"Could you get me the manager, please?"

This time Meg did a triple take. There was no way a woman that large could emit a sound that squeaky. Charley nudged her in the back and Meg wiped her hand on her skirt before holding it out. "I'm Meg Bailey," she said as politely as she could. "This shop belonged to my mother." She was rather proud of how steady her voice was when she said that.

The woman looked her up and down dismissively. "I see," was all she said. "Come, Brittany. We'll have to look elsewhere." She turned abruptly and stalked out, the girl hard on her heels. It was only when she moved away that Meg noticed another, shorter girl standing behind the one that she could only assume was Brittany. The girl touched a sandal with one finger, gave Meg an apologetic look, and scurried out when the squeaky voice called, "Whitney! Come!"

Meg and Charley stared out of the window for a long time. "Who was that?" Meg asked finally.

Charley just shrugged and took a bite of her sandwich. "Beats me," he said. "Maybe she likes to talk to the manager before she buys a pair of shoes, in case they're hiding the good stuff in the back."

"Maybe," she said slowly. For some reason, the two taller women gave her the creeps.

*** *** ***

When she got home that evening Arthur was waiting for her. "Hi, Dad," Meg called into the kitchen as she hung her jacket on its hook. She wasn't sure what had drawn him out of his room, but whatever it was, she was grateful for it. "What did you do today?"

Arthur lifted his head slowly as his daughter entered the room. "I spoke with the lawyer today about the shop," he said, his eyes not meeting hers. "I'm thinking of selling it."

Meg could feel the blood draining from her face, and she dropped into the chair next to him. "You can't do that," she whispered. "That store was Mom's pride and joy."

He rested his head in his hands. "That's why I'm considering a sale. I can't face the idea of owning that place when that's where she . . . where she . . . "

Meg rubbed his back while she tried to get her brain to work again. These days, she wasn't taking drastic news all that well. "It's okay, Dad," she whispered. "It'll be okay. I'll take over at the shop; you won't even have to go near it until you're ready. Just don't do anything for a while, okay?"

Arthur shook his head. "I actually have an interested buyer," he told her. "They've wanted to own a shoe store for a few years, and recently came into some money."

"Since when is it on the market?" Meg knew she was tired and overwhelmed, but how could she have missed something like this?

Her father turned his head toward the wall. "Without your mother, that place is just a bunch of impressive footwear. Neither of us can take her place, and I don't want to try. It's not like we need the money; my retirement is enough to keep us comfortable."

"No, no, don't do it! That place is who I am, regardless of who's sitting behind the counter." Meg's panic level was increasing with every word that came out of her father's mouth.

Arthur raised his tired eyes to hers. "Does it mean that much to you?" he asked.

"How could it not?" Fear made the words come out sharper than she'd intended, and Arthur winced.

"I'll make sure you have a job there, if you want." His voice was stiff. "I can put it into the contract that you have a job there as long as you wish for it. No matter what. And I'll only sell if they agree to leave the window display alone."

Meg's heart sank. "So it's a done deal, then," she said, unconsciously mimicking his dull tone.

When he didn't reply, she gathered her things and went up the stairs to sleep in her new apartment for the first time.

*** *** ***

Two weeks later Meg met her new boss. She was only mildly surprised to see Squeaky, the tall woman with the six-year-old voice, followed by the two girls that had come with her the last time she'd entered the store.

The woman gazed at the shoes on the shelves with barely disguised satisfaction. "My name is Mamie Steppe," she announced when she finally turned to address Meg. "And these are my daughters, Brittany – "she indicated the taller, faker girl – "and this is Whitney." The other daughter gave Meg a half-hearted wave. "The first order of business is to take an inventory and see what needs to be changed. Come, girls."

Meg could only take a deep breath to keep from bursting into tears.

If this were a fairy tale she'd be sure of a happy ending, but since she'd just met the Steppe sisters and their evil mother, that hardly seemed likely.

What were the words to that Disney song? Oh, right. A dream is a wish your heart makes.

Of course, it would help if she could think of a wish that didn't involve turning the clock back.