Free Murder Can Ruin Your Looks by Selma Eichler Page B

the torso?’’
    ‘‘Sure. I thought I told you that, but I probably didn’t,’’
    Peter admitted ruefully.
    ‘‘As a matter of fact, it was Sergeant Fielding who told me. But anyway, it occurred to me last night that if we could find out what at least one of them was wearing on Monday and if we could get ahold of the clothing, we’d be able to determine from the position of the bullet hole who was wounded where. And then, of course, we’d know the identity of the woman in the hospital.’’
    ‘‘You’re terrific, Desiree! You really are,’’ Peter said ad
    miringly. ‘‘Why didn’t the police think of that?’’
    ‘‘Whoa. Don’t give me so much credit. We’re not sure they didn’t. They just may not have been able to get their hands on the clothes for some reason. Anyway, when we finish eating, I want to see what I can find out over in the emergency room. Then, if it comes down to it, I can always check at the theater to see if anyone remembers how Mere
    dith was dressed that—’’
    ‘‘Say, it just came to me! I know what Mary Ann was wearing!’’ Peter broke in excitedly. ‘‘I talked to her on the phone Monday morning, and she mentioned she had on this yellow cashmere sweater. I’d given it to her for her birthday, see—that was on the first—and she wanted me to
    know she was wearing it.’’
    ‘‘Good,’’ I said. ‘‘That is, it’s good if she didn’t change her clothes once she got home that night. But listen, Peter. Do me a favor, huh? Try not to count on something coming
    of this,’’ I cautioned. ‘‘Sergeant Fielding’s a good friend of mine, and I know him to be a very competent investigator. So in all likelihood the police have already explored this area. I just don’t want to overlook anything, that’s all.’’
    ‘‘Don’t worry, Desiree, I take your point. Now I have a question for you.’’
    ‘‘Okay, go on.’’
    ‘‘Did Fielding by any chance happen to mention what kind of injury she has? The woman in St. Catherine’s, I mean.’’
    I wasn’t about to go back on my promise to Tim. Not
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    just yet, at any rate. ‘‘No he didn’t,’’ I answered. ‘‘But I’m sure he will if I can come up with the evidence to help us identify her. Any special reason you’re asking?’’
    ‘‘It’s only that I’d like to know all there is to know about her condition. And everyone’s being so damned secretive about it.’’
    He’d barely said the words when the waiter returned with our food, and for a while both Peter and I tried to forget the reason we were having dinner together that eve
    ning. Over our entreés (in deference to Peter’s time con
    cerns I’d skipped the appetizer), we talked about our lives and our work and even told each other some funny anec
    dotes. Dessert, however, was cappucino, cheesecake, and questions.
    ‘‘Can you give me the names of some of the twins’
    friends?’’ I asked. ‘‘Anyone you can think of. And I also need to know how I can get in touch with the brother.’’
    ‘‘Well, Eric’s staying at the Grand Hyatt on East Fortysecond Street. Fielding asked me about their friends, too, by the way—just last night, in fact. And I managed to come up with four. Meredith may have had other friends I’m not aware of, but I think those are the people they were closest to.’’
    He ticked off the four names, and I jotted three of them down in my notebook. I didn’t bother with the fourth; it was Chuck Springer.
    ‘‘I don’t have any of the phone numbers,’’ Peter apolo
    gized, ‘‘but they all live in Manhattan, and I’m sure they’re in the book. Anyway, I hope so.’’
    ‘‘Don’t worry. I’ll get the numbers.’’
    When we left the restaurant about five minutes later, the
    wind seemed to be biting even harder than before, and I couldn’t wait to get indoors again. But on the way back to St. Catherine’s, we passed one of those little fruit and