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door was open
    about six or eight inches. He started to walk in and saw Meredith at the end of the foyer. He rushed back to his own place and dialed nine-one-one.’’
    ‘‘So Mary Ann could have been shot any time between seven-forty and nine,’’ I said, more or less replaying what Fielding had just laid out for me. ‘‘And Meredith had to have been hit sometime after eight.’’
    ‘‘You got it.’’
    ‘‘Which means that when Springer rang the bell at ten of eight,’’ I murmured, thinking aloud, ‘‘either Mary Ann was being restrained at gunpoint or she’d already been shot.’’
    ‘‘Right,’’ Fielding concurred. Then, abruptly: ‘‘Okay, now you know what I know, and, according to that clock in back of you, it’s twenty after one already. So let’s get the check and get the hell out of here.’’
    I decided, in view of Tim’s being so forthcoming with me, that I had to share what I’d learned from Peter. ‘‘Hold on just a few more minutes. I am about to give you some leads,’’ I informed him, trying to sound like Lady Bountiful.
    ‘‘Did you know,’’ I asked, ‘‘that one of the other women
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    Selma Eichler
    in Meredith’s show was jealous of her? Seems the other woman was promised the part that went to Meredith.’’
    ‘‘That would be Lucille Collins,’’ Fielding said, a little smugly, I thought.
    I tried again. ‘‘Did you also know Meredith and her brother didn’t get along?’’
    ‘‘Yup. Foster contacted us the day after the murder. He had a lunch date with Mary Ann set up for Tuesday, and she was supposed to call him in the morning to confirm. When he didn’t hear from her, he telephoned her store, but no one answered. He finally went to lunch by himself, and after he left the restaurant he stopped at a newsstand. And there were these pictures of his sisters plastered on the front page of the Post . I can’t even figure out how they got ahold of them.’’
    ‘‘So he called the police?’’
    ‘‘As soon as he saw the paper. Anyhow, that’s what he claims.’’
    ‘‘What did he say about the feud with Meredith?’’
    ‘‘The man volunteered that he and his sister hadn’t spo
    ken in years because he tried to interfere when she was going to marry this drug addict—the guy she eventually married anyway. He—Foster—is taking this thing pretty badly; seems to be really busted up over it.’’
    ‘‘You haven’t let him see his sister in the hospital?’’
    ‘‘Just the one time. When we were through questioning him, he pleaded with us to let him go up there. So Walt and I went over with him.’’
    ‘‘Apparently, he couldn’t help with the identification.’’
    ‘‘C’mon, Dez. The woman’s face—what’s left of it, any
    way—is all bandaged up.’’
    ‘‘I wasn’t thinking about his recognizing her,’’ I coun
    tered. ‘‘I was thinking maybe he could give you some familytype information. Like one sister’s having a birthmark or a mole or something.’’ As soon as I said it, I was reminded of the question I’d had so much trouble putting to Peter. It must have showed.
    ‘‘We asked him about that. But he didn’t know a thing. And what’s with you, anyhow? You’re red as a beet.’’
    I didn’t care to explain. ‘‘Any problem with Foster about wanting to leave the country?’’
    ‘‘None. In fact, he voluntarily turned over his passport.
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    Says he has no intention of going home until he finds out what’s what with his sisters.’’
    I could see from the direction of his gaze that Fielding was checking the wall clock behind me again. ‘‘Jeez, it’s one-thirty,’’ he announced, confirming my thoughts. ‘‘ Some of us gotta get back to work—even if you high-priced P.I.s can keep your own hours.’’
    He was unsuccessfully attempting to signal the waiter when I gave it one last shot. ‘‘I suppose you’re aware that Mary Ann was engaged