Free A Baked Ham by Jessica Beck

good doing it,
but do you really think that I’m that petty, that I’d kill someone for a part
in a community theater play?”
    “I’m sure that people have been
murdered for less,” I said.
    “Maybe so, but nobody that I’ve
ever known. My competition is tough, but they aren’t that tough.   Sure, we all talk a mean game, but that’s all
it is, just talk.”
    “Fred, when was the last time you
saw Benny alive?”
    He pursed his lips, and after a
moment or two, the car dealer said, “It had to be when we were all backstage
before the show.   I saw him, along with a
dozen other cast-mates.   From the sheer
logistics of it I couldn’t have done it.   I heard that whoever killed him came in from the outside.”
    “That’s just one theory,” I
said.   “I believe that the murderer could
have just as easily done it by slipping in from the hallway, killing Benny, and
then unlocking the outside door before escaping back into the anonymity of the
backstage crowd.”
    “Victoria, how many people do you
think are backstage before a performance?” he asked me.
    “After reading the playbill, I
know that there had to be at least a dozen.”
    “More than that, actually, when
you count the crew.   The only problem is
that you’re forgetting something,” Fred said.   “We all know each other.   Don’t
you think that if someone had tried to slip in and out of Benny’s dressing room
someone would have seen them?”
    “You folks are good at disguises,
though, aren’t you?”
    “Are you talking about our
wardrobes?” Fred asked.   “We had several
dress rehearsals before Garret thought we were good enough to put the show
on.   I know the cast in their street
clothes as well as their costumes.”
    “You probably do,” I said, “but
what if they were wearing another type of disguise?”   I was playing this
interrogation by the seat of my pants, but the question was valid
nonetheless.   Moose and I needed to
broaden our investigation to not just the actors and crew, but to anyone else
who might have slipped backstage to commit the murder in disguise.   Instead of eliminating suspects, I was doing
a fine job of adding a bunch more
possibilities to our list.  
    “Victoria, all of this
speculation on your part is useless.   Have you and your grandfather made any real progress on the case?”
    I decided to tell the truth.   “Not that we’ve been able to tell so far,” I
said.
    “That’s a pity,” he said.  
    It was time to change the
subject.   “Are you taking Benny’s place
tonight?” I asked.
    “I am.   You know what they say,” Fred answered.   “The show must go on.”
    “That’s sure what it looks like,”
I said.
    “If you need any help, all you
have to do is ask,” he said.
    “Thanks, but I doubt that you can
help us, unless you know who killed Benny.”
    “Sorry.   I can’t help you there.”
    “Then there’s nothing you can
do,” I said.
    Fred shook his head, and without
another word, he slipped two singles onto the counter and left.
    I got the distinct impression
that he wasn’t too happy about the way our conversation had just gone.
    Well, that was just too bad.   If Moose and I were going to have any luck at
all solving Benny’s murder, then we were going to have to stir the pot a
little, and if we happened to offend a few folks along the way, that was just
something we were going to have to live with.
    I doubted that we’d see Fred
Hitchings at The Charming Moose again anytime soon.   Something we’d discussed made me wonder,
though.  
    How hard would it be to slip
backstage before the play started?   Tonight, I was going to find out, and I might just bring a prop of my
own to help.
     
    I thought about going home and
grabbing a quick nap on my next break at four, but I just had an hour, and
after making the commute, I had even less time than that to snooze.   Ultimately I decided to brave it out, stick
around, and join my husband in the back, something