Murder as a Fine Art Read Online Free

sixth floor.”
    â€œI’ll be damned!” Jeremy’s fingers were combing his beard. He cleared his throat and looked around the table. “Well, as you all know, there wasn’t any love lost between Alan and me, but I’m sorry he’s dead.”
    â€œIt was an unfortunate
accident
,” Lavoie said soothingly.
    â€œMurder will out,” John Smith chanted in his flat monotone as he put down his napkin and stalked out.
    â€œJohn Smith always hopes for the worst,” remarked Laura.
    â€œHe had been drinking, I assume?” asked Richard Madrin as, freshly showered and shaved after his run, he sat down next to Laura. He had heard about Montrose from a student he met on his way to breakfast.
    Lavoie nodded glumly. “He reeked of the stuff. At first I was relieved because it could absolve the Centre from any liability, but then I realized it could backfire on us. As we all know only too well the provincial government is hell bent to make even deeper budget cuts, and we’re a prime target. Montrose falling down thestairs dead drunk in the middle of the night is going to give them some great ammunition. A lot of politicians think of artists as parasites living high on public funds and this will only confirm it.”
    As he replied to Madrin’s question, Lavoie’s tone was deferential. The wealthy speculator in commercial real estate was a potential donor to the Centre, which depended on private donations to supplement the steadily shrinking public funding.
    Erika Dekter got to her feet. “It may sound callous, but I’ve got work to do.” Erika was only five-foot-two and there wasn’t an ounce of fat on her diminutive frame, but she had an appetite out of proportion to her size. The breakfast she had just finished included fruit juice, three fried eggs, bacon, sausage, and several slices of toast. Erika was slightly hyper and had the metabolism to go with it. Her creative energy must burn up a lot of calories too, Laura thought. The two women had become fast friends during their stay in the colony.
    â€œI’ll go with you,” Laura said and drained the last of her coffee. As they climbed the Banquet Hall staircase to the ground floor, she said, “Isabelle looked absolutely devastated, I didn’t realize she and Montrose were close.”
    â€œIt wasn’t because of Montrose,” replied Erika dryly. “Isabelle’s family is coming to visit her.”
    â€œOh no!” breathed Laura. Visits from “outside” were regarded as disruptive influences and were not encouraged. But this went far beyond that. Isabelle Ross and Marek Dabrowski had been carrying on an intense love affair for weeks. A
coup de foudre
was the way Henry Norrington, in his own pedantic fashion, had described the first meeting between the pianist and the dark-haired composer. Everyone on the sixth floor of Lloyd Hall was aware of Marek’s nightly excursions down the hall to Isabelle’s room. The attitude of theother artists toward the star-struck lovers was nonjudgemental and even protective. It was the sort of thing that was almost inevitable in the hothouse atmosphere of the colony.
    â€œShe’ll have to put her rings back on,” Laura murmured. “You said her ‘family’. What family does she have?”
    â€œHer husband. He’s a doctor. And a young daughter.”
    On the way out Erika picked up the box lunch she had ordered. They walked the short distance to Lloyd Hall and remained chatting together for a few moments on the front steps. Erika was going directly to her studio, while Laura was going to take a break in her room to sort out her thoughts and mentally prepare herself to resume painting. “How’s the book coming?” asked Laura. “You’re certainly putting in some incredibly long hours.”
    â€œI can’t seem to stay away from it. A couple more chapters and I’ll have finished