Murder as a Fine Art by John Ballem

basically a kind person. Her reviews are perceptive and quite often humorous, but she was never deliberately cruel or condescending. She had a reputation for being honest and fair.”
    â€œSo you can’t think of any motive?” asked Karen writing in her notebook.
    â€œNone whatsoever. The whole thing is crazy!”
    â€œWe’re looking into it,” the Mountie said. “Meanwhile, could I have a brief statement of your movements for the record?”
    Geoff had flown to Calgary via Toronto, arriving at five o’clock yesterday afternoon. He had picked up a rental car at the airport and checked into the Westin Hotel where he stayed overnight. He had driven up to Banff that morning, leaving Calgary at nine and arriving at the Centre around ten-thirty. “When did the fire start?” he asked as he finished his recital.
    â€œAround two o’clock this morning.”
    When his expression didn’t change, Corporal Lindstrom said, “It doesn’t seem to surprise you that she was in the studio at that hour.”
    â€œShe often pulls ‘all-nighters’. It’s a hangover from her college days.” He turned to Laura. “I’d like to talk to you when you have a moment. About Erika.”
    â€œOf course. Why don’t you wait downstairs in the reception area, and I’ll see you in a few minutes or so.”
    â€œHe has no alibi,” remarked Karen when she and Laura were alone.
    â€œTechnically, no. But there’s no way he could have arranged that fire after arriving in Calgary at five yesterday afternoon. For one thing, he’d have no idea of the layout of the colony.”
    â€œThat’s true, but it’s not impossible. He could have made an earlier trip up here and made all the necessary arrangements.” Frowning, the Mountie leaned back in her chair, and said, “I’m not saying he did it, Laura. I’m just saying he could have.”
    â€œAre you sure you want to do this?” Laura peered dubiously into Geoff’s drawn face.
    â€œI’m sure,” he muttered, and they continued along the path toward the colony. Overhead a helicopter dragon-flied in low sweeping circles over the burnt-out area. “That’s the police,” Laura told him. “Corporal Lindstrom said they had hired a helicopter to take aerial photos of the fire.”
    â€œI just can’t get my mind around the fact that it was arson. There’s absolutely no reason why anyone would want to kill Erika.”
    Privately Laura thought how presumptuous and foolish it was for someone to think they knew all there was to know about another person. But all she said was, “There seems to be no doubt that the fire was deliberately set, but whoever did it may not have known someone was inside.”
    Geoff’s only comment was a skeptically raised eyebrow.
    As they went past the large music hut, Laura glanced in through the open window. Isabelle was seated at the concert grand playing what sounded like a requiem. Her back was to them but the long dark hair cascading down her back was unmistakable. The image was so striking that Laura knew some day she would try to capture it on canvas.
    The scene of the fire was still sealed off, but the Mountie on duty, after a quick, verifying glance at a photo the Centre had provided the police with, told Laura she and her guest could proceed to her studio. However, they would have to take the long way round by the road. This suited Laura perfectly because it would keep Geoff from getting too close a look at the place where Erika had died. As it was, all they could see were skeletal black tree trunks. The acrid smell of smoke and wet ash still hung heavily in the air. She let herself and Geoff in through the side door of her studio, the door that had been made extra high to allow large canvases to be moved in and out.
    Geoff stood and stared in silence at the paintings, lingering longest on the large