Chapter 1

1

Tim Gregory sweeps his gaze across the audience. Not much use, to be honest, for it is all dark from the stage. All the lights are focused up here, even to the smallest colorful twinkling bulbs on the plastic leaves on cardboard trees. His eyes stray again and this time they catch the wrinkled frown on Danny’s bald forehead. Danny, their director for this production, never seems to have a good word to say to Tim,which is weird since Tim’s nights are always sold out. One of the most respected newspapers in the cityonce said he could play solo and the seats would still be sold out.

This is the point where his co-actor will slump down to the floor. Tim will run to catch him and take offhis shirt to make a pillow to be laid under his injured partner’s head. Tim will be startled to find hispartner no longer breathing, try to resuscitate him, fail miserably, and shower him with kisses as he mourns his partner’s death.

This will be the first gay character he has played. Two productions ago his producer thought he would bebrilliant in such a role. Tim likes guys. He’s never had a long-term partner but wouldn’t say no if someone offered.

Another night ends with a standing ovation. Tim helps Sean, his dead partner, up, hugs him tight, and can’t stop himself from sniffing at Sean’s neck. Tim feels heady at the mixed scents of shaving cream, eau de cologne, and sweat. Since he began his on and off relationships with some actors, producers, and random guys he met at bars or gyms, Tim thinks he can get addicted to men and all the attributes that come with them.

Sean’s eyes are twinkling as they meet his, promising something dirty later that night. Tim laughs, throwing his head back. To the audience it might look as though they are celebrating their performance.Tim laughs harder before he lets Sean go with great reluctance and receives a bouquet of flowers from a representative of the theater before the curtains close off and he heads for his private dressing room.Someone is running to catch up with him, an assistant to the stage director.

“Mr. Gregory,” she calls, out of breath. “These two gentlemen want to talk to you.”

Tim looks over her shoulder. The two men trailing behind her are police detectives. Finally, Tim thinks.

“Thank you, Katie. I’ll take them to my dressing room.” To the men, Tim says, “This way, gentlemen. I’m so glad you came.”

One of the men, the taller one, raises an eyebrow. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Detective Dan Jacob.”

“And I’m Sullivan. Brent Sullivan.”

Tim shakes both men’s hands reluctantly and leads them to his room.

Tim pushes open the last door down the backstage hall, the one with Tim Gregory written across it and flinches, somewhat embarrassed, even though he is not the one who caused the mess in the room—costumespulled out of the drawers, bottles of makeup scattered on the floor, powder spilled over the table, and brushes and combs scattered to the corners of the room. Tim doesn’t allow anyone to clean the place. Hewants to show the police exactly what damage the people who broke into his dressing room have caused. Hewas pissed when the police didn’t respond when he called, but at least now they sent their men, although they are two days late.

“See? What do you think? Who would have done this? Outsiders or someone from the production?”

The shorter, older detective purses his lips and glances at the other one. He clears his throat. “Mr. Gregory.”

Tim looks at him expectantly.

“We are here to ask you some questions.”

Tim feels something is wrong, and frowns. “You’re going to ask me some questions? I filed a report a couple of days ago and now you come to question me?”

The younger man raises his hand. “Did you report a theft?”

Tim narrows his eyes. “No, I didn’t. I didn’t think I lost anything. But how can I be sure, right?” He waves his arms around. “Look at this mess. I found my place like this two days ago and I thought—I thought you came to investigate that. I never thought it was to arrest me.”

“No one’s going to arrest you,” the older man interrupts him. “Look, what we are here for might relate to this breaking and entering. Why don’t we all sit down and talk?”

“Will I need a lawyer? Am I in trouble?”

“Do you have reasons to be?”

Tim glares at the taller man. “If this is about my father—”

“Pretty much, yes.” The older of them nods to the chairs in the room. “Can we?” Tim just nods.