Murder as a Fine Art by John Ballem

me.”
    â€œFair enough.” The interviewer seemed to like that answer. “Do your books regularly make the bestseller list?”
    â€œThe last two have. In fact,
The Blue Agenda
got as high as fifth.”
    The camera followed him as he leaned forward, his handsome face animated. “My editor and I are really excited about the novel I’m working on now. I have the feeling it could be headed for a respectable run at the top of the list.”
    Norrington sniffed audibly, and Kate Lewis turned to him. “I gather you don’t think too much of the thriller genre.”
    â€œLet’s just say my sympathies are with the trees.”
    â€œSay, that’s good!” Richard threw back his head and laughed. “I’ll remember that one! But Henry is being too hard on the thriller genre. I think it’s a versatile literary vehicle. You can explore almost any theme you want with it. For example, the book I am working on now is more psychological than anything else, and I like to think the main protagonist is a character with considerable depth.”
    â€œThat’s an intriguing thought. Let’s explore it a little further.” Richard’s unaffected good humour was winning the host over and she knew it was having the same effect on the audience. The director of the show saw it too, and, to Norrington’s obvious chagrin, the relaxed, likeable author received the lion’s share of attention for the rest of the program.
    When the credits rolled, saying that tonight’s guests had been flown to Edmonton courtesy of Air Canada and would be staying at the MacDonald Hotel, there was general agreement in Lloyd Hall that Richard had clearly won the day.
    â€œHenry’s his own worst enemy,” said Jeremy as he pressed the off button on the remote control. “He’s so used to lecturing to a captive audience of students that he can’t see how stiff and formal he comes across to the average viewer.”
    â€œI find that hard to believe,” replied Laura musingly. “After all, he’s not a stranger to television andshould know what works and what doesn’t. Maybe he just had an off night. I think Richard’s casual attitude about things, including Henry’s opinion, throws him off stride.”
    â€œWell, it’s back to the studio for me,” said Erika, as she stood up. Her air of fatigue seemed to have been replaced by one of excitement. There must have been something in Henry’s monologue that I missed, thought Laura. Maybe to his peers old Henry was pretty hot stuff.
    She looked at Erika with concern. “It’s late. Why not get some rest? You’ve been going awfully hard.”
    â€œMy book is almost finished and I can’t stay away from it.”
    â€œThat’s wonderful,” Laura congratulated her.
    â€œI’ll walk you there.” John Smith swung a cloak around his narrow shoulders and fastened the clasp. “In case of an elk attack.”
    Tired and edgy, Erika snapped, “I’ll take my chances with the elk, thank you.” As soon as the hurtful words were out of her mouth, she wanted to call them back, but John Smith was no longer there.
    Laura slept with the drapes pulled back so she could see the dark mass of Mount Rundle as she fell asleep. She could not remember if it was the faint orange glow or the need to go to the bathroom that woke her. But something did. Still half asleep, she turned her head on the pillow and watched as the ominous glow grew steadily brighter. Throwing aside the covers, she leapt out of bed and ran to the window. There was a fire in the colony! She tried to phone security but the line was busy. In the distance she heard the rising wail of the sirens as the fire engines raced through the sleeping town.
    It must be one of the eight studios in the woods! Dear God, it might be hers! The flames lit her way as Laura, wearing a terrycloth robe over her pyjamas,