“A couple of weeks ago at dinner,” he said. “It was so weird. I had gone to Los Olivos to try a new little hole-in-the-wall place I’d heard about. I’m a food fanatic,” he explained. “I live to find places nobody else has discovered yet. I was shocked to see anyone I knew. But there was Marissa, smiling and waving. She was always so vibrant, so full of life.”

“We were told you dated her,” Hicks said.

“We went out from time to time,” he admitted. “Plus One was Marissa’s specialty.”

“What do you mean?”

“She liked charity fund-raisers—the social scene, dressing up, having a good time, rubbing elbows with all the right people,” he explained. “But she never had to buy a ticket. She was always somebody’s Plus One.”

“A party girl,” Mendez said.

“I guess you could say so, but she wasn’t wild. She just liked to have a good time. She was a free spirit. She liked men, and men liked her.”

“Was she ever more than Plus One to you?”

“We were just friends,” Foster said, his expression carefully blank.

“Did she know you’re gay?” Mendez asked.

If Foster was shocked at the question, he did a good job of hiding it.

“I’m not gay.”

Mendez looked at Hicks, pretending confusion. “Really? Someone told us you are.”

Foster shrugged it off. “That’s nothing new. Single artsy teacher, hasn’t gotten any co-eds pregnant—must be gay. I’m not.”

“Huh,” Mendez said. “He seemed pretty sure of it.”

Foster shrugged. “Well, whoever he was, he was mistaken.”

“When did you last speak to Ms. Fordham?” Hicks asked.

Foster thought about it. “Hmm ... Sunday. She called me Sunday afternoon.”

“For any particular reason?”

He shook his head. “Just to chat.”

“How did she seem?

“Fine. Normal.”

“She didn’t say anything about being worried, or that someone was bothering her?”

“No. We talked about the holiday fair coming up. She’s been doing some work with silk. She was excited about having pieces for sale in her booth.”

“Can you tell us where you were Sunday evening?” Hicks asked.

“Dinner and a movie at a friend’s house. Home in bed by eleven thirty. School night.”

A door opened at the top of the room and two of Foster’s quintet came in carrying trumpets.

“Is there anything else?” Foster asked. “I can postpone the rehearsal if you need me.”

“No, thanks, Mr. Foster,” Hicks said. “We’re done for now.”

Mendez handed Foster a card. “Thank you for your time. If you think of anything, please call.”

Foster put the card in his pocket. “I’ll do that. Good luck. I hope you find the person that did it.”

Halfway to the door, Mendez turned around. “Mr. Foster, was Ms. Fordham with anyone when you saw her at that restaurant?”

“Yeah,” he said. “She was having dinner with her attorney.”

Steve Morgan.