A quick count netted me twenty-four people. And one of them was the killer. I was sure of it.
How I knew this, I no longer questioned or doubted, and as I stood there scanning the theater, I felt that something was off. And I was pretty sure I knew why.
There was more than one killer.
It takes a certain kind of personality to be an actor, or even hang around the theater. You had to love masks, the ability to pretend to be something other than what you were. Which was a pretty useful trait for a killer, too.
As I stepped forward, a small man appeared out of the shadows to my left. Holding a clipboard and mumbling to himself, he nearly ran into me before looking up. He was exactly an inch taller than me.
I held out one of my business cards. "Hi. My name's Samantha Moon, and I'm looking into the murder of Brian Meeks."
He looked at the card and blinked twice. "Are you with the police?"
"I'm a private investigator." One of the stipulations with Sherbet was that I was never, ever, to state that I was working with the police. It was a gray area he wanted to avoid. My official employer was the City of Fullerton. In fact, my checks had been issued by the city clerk's office.
"Working for whom?"
"An interested party."
He finally took my card. "What are they interested in?"
"Finding the killer." I tried not to be sarcastic, because that never helps. What did he think, the cops wanted to know his favorite picks to win the Oscars? "Can I ask you a few questions about Brian Meeks?"
He looked at my card, looked at me, looked over at the stage. I sensed his hesitation, his pain, and finally his resolve. "Okay, but only for a few minutes. We're putting on a show in a few days. Opening night. Crazy as Lady Macbeth here."
"Gotcha. We'll hurry this along. Did Brian Meeks work here as an actor?"
"For a few years now."
"Did you know him personally?"
"Not necessarily personally, but professionally. Then again, in the world of theater, personal and professional lines tend to get blurred. We're all so close."
"I bet. Are you an actor?"
"Director only."
"Gotcha. Did you direct anything Brian was in?"
He nodded. "Our last show, Twelfth Night. Brian was supposed to be in this new show, but..."
"He's been missing."
The little director rubbed his face. "Right. Missing. Until we heard the news this morning that he was found dead. Murdered."
"Did Brian have many friends?"
"Funny you should ask...I was just trying to think who his close friends were. I was thinking of doing some sort of memorial for him. Something either before or after our opening show this weekend..."
"And?"
"And I couldn't think of anyone who had been close to him."
"Is that common for an actor?" I asked.
"Actually, no. We don't get many loners in this business. Extroverts, yes."
I skipped the questions of whether or not Brian had any enemies. Whoever had done this to him was doing the same thing to many people. I doubted a personal vendetta had anything to do with his death. I asked, "Had there been any other strange occurrences in this theater?"