Murder as a Fine Art Read Online Free Page A

the first draft.” Erika was about to say something more, but broke off as John Smith suddenly appeared before them. Doffing his bowler, his painted face devoid of expression, he executed a more than passable tap dance, ending it with a low bow.
    Laura clapped her hands, while Erika remained stony-faced.
    â€œThat’s very good, John Smith,” said Laura, using, as he insisted upon, his full name. She very much doubted it was the name he had been christened with; it was the kind of stripped-down name performance artists often choose for themselves. John Smith produced two pink carnations, seemingly out of the air, presented them with a flourish, and skipped away, whistling to himself.
    Laura fingered her carnation. It was plastic. Typical of John Smith. With him, you never knew what was real and what was false.
    â€œI bet I’ll find him hanging around my studio,” Erika muttered. “He’s beginning to seriously annoy me.”
    â€œHe certainly has fixated on you. I’d like to think that he’s harmless, but I’m not at all sure he is.”
    â€œI’ll go along with it for now,” said Erika as she began to walk away. “But if it keeps up, I’ll tell him where to get off.”
    â€œWhich would probably be just fine with John Smith,” said Laura. “It would add a note of tension to his ‘art’. That’s the problem in dealing with performance artists. They stand everything on its head.”
    If only Geoff were here, thought Erika as he headed for the colony. He would know how to handle John Smith. But Geoffrey Hamilton was history, she reminded herself sternly. She would have to deal with John Smith on her own.
    As the Banquet Hall emptied, Kevin Lavoie made his way up to the small office in the administration building that had been assigned to Corporal Lindstrom for the purposes of her investigation. From past experience he had some reason to hope she could be prevailed upon to handle the investigation into Montrose’s death with discretion. She had been gratifyingly discreet about that bizarre business of the poison pen letters and the bearded poet. But the Mountie quickly disabused Lavoie of the notion that an investigation into a death under suspicious circumstances could be handled in the same low-key fashion.
    â€œWe’re dealing with a possible homicide here, not a gay lovers’ tiff,” she said. “You might as well brace yourself to deal with the media.”
    Lavoie found out how right she was as soon as he returned to his own office. His secretary informed him that both a newspaper and a television reporter were downstairs in the reception area, requesting an interview.
    â€œI’m told you wish to see me.” Jeremy Switzer stood in the open doorway.
    Corporal Lindstrom looked up and closed her notebook. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Switzer.”
    â€œI didn’t realize I had a choice,” he murmured as he sat down on a chair facing her across the desk.
    She responded with a wintry smile and took a moment to size him up. Laura Janeway had described him as a professional art colonist and he certainly looked the part. He was wearing a thick woollen sweater over an open-necked denim shirt and faded blue jeans. His thinning brown hair was tied back in a sparse ponytail, and the lower half of his face was covered with a salt-and-pepper beard. He seemed blithely unconcerned as he waited for her to speak.
    â€œYou know, I’m investigating the death of Mr. Montrose?”
    â€œYes. But I don’t know why,” Jeremy said with a shrug. “Montrose topples over a railing and breaks his neck. End of lesson.”
    â€œNo one seems to know what he would be doing on the landing at that time of night. Apparently he never used the stairs.”
    Jeremy snorted. “The old fart was probably so pissed he didn’t know where he was.”
    â€œI understand he was suing you for