Murder as a Fine Art (13 page)

T
he morning was so clear and fresh that Laura impulsively turned to Richard standing next to her outside Lloyd Hall. “You seemed to enjoy the Upper Hot Springs. Would you like to see something even more exotic?”

“If it means spending time with you, I'd be happy to watch paint dry. Let's go!”

“This place is out of control,” said Laura as they crept along a congested Banff Avenue. “It's high time for them to put a lid on any more commercial construction. There are people who come here and never get beyond this street.”

Richard smiled. “You expect a lot from your fellow humans.”

“Too much, I guess.” Laura relaxed and leaned back in her seat.

A line up of cars at a stoplight brought them to a halt in the middle of the stone bridge spanning the Bow
River. “I've got a bit of Banff trivia for you,” Laura said as they waited for the light to change.

“What's that?”

“How the Bow River got its name. A bush called wolf willow grows along its banks. Because of its resiliency, the Indians used it to make their bows.”

“Interesting. I might be able to use that sometime. Where are we headed, by the way?” he asked as they drove off the bridge and turned right.

“To the Cave & Basin. It's the lower of Banff's two hot springs.”

“We didn't bring our bathing suits.”

“The pool is closed for the winter. It's only the Upper Hot Springs that stays open all year round. I promised you something exotic and that's what we're here to see.”

He parked in front of a low building made of dark Rundle stone, and she led him past an empty, deserted outdoor pool and down a long winding flight of wooden stairs. They hung onto the brightly collared ropes strung along the top of the railing as they picked their way down the steps, slippery with melting ice. There was a smell of sulphur in the air, and educational signs informed them that the run-off from the hot springs created a bizarre world where tropical fish thrived year round, and migratory birds happily wintered on the ice-free mud flats.

A boardwalk led out onto the marsh. Telling Richard to walk as quietly as he could, Laura pointed down to the tiny fish darting about in the open water.

“This is incredible!” he exclaimed, bending over for a closer look.

“There's a jewel fish.” Laura pointed to a small cichlid hiding in the weeds. “And there's a black molly. There's another molly that's gone back to being silver, the way it is in nature.”

“Aren't those aquarium fish?”

“Yes. Some amateur fish fanciers dumped them in the waterway back in the ‘60s to see what would happen. They've been breeding like crazy ever since. The park people were worried that they would wipe out a little native fish called the Banff long-nosed dace that lives here. This is the only place in the world where it's found.” Laura pointed to several small streamlined shapes with deeply forked tails. “But they seem to be holding their own.”

The boardwalk on which they were standing led out to a bird blind. As they walked along it, a robin flew up almost from beneath their feet, a killdeer winged low over the mud flats and several ducks upended their rumps and dove for food in the shallow pond.

Richard shook his head in wonder. “You know what this place and the Upper Hot Springs remind me of? Conan Doyle's
Lost World
. Tropical fish and robins in the winter, and swimming outside while your hair freezes!”

He walked back along the boardwalk to gaze down at the fish. “You seem pretty knowledgeable about these tropical fish. I wouldn't know one from another.”

“I have a thirty gallon tank in my studio in Denver.”

“Who looks after it when you're away?”

“My studio assistant,” Laura smiled fondly. “The mortality rate in some species of tropical fish is notoriously high. Yet, whenever I return from a trip, no matter how extended, and look in the tank, I find the population is the same as when I left. We don't talk about it, but I'm pretty sure Diane goes to a pet store and buys fish to replace any that might have gone to the great aquarium in the sky. Like Picasso and his birds.”

Richard was intrigued. “What about Picasso and his birds?”

“He absolutely doted on the birds he kept in an aviary. In order to spare him pain, his wife secretly replaced any that died. She thought she had succeeded in fooling him until one day she overheard him saying to a guest, ‘My birds are immortal, you know'.”

“What a charming story! I love it!” Richard took a long final look at the subtropical landscape and said, “I must come back here with a camera. It's a perfect setting for a story.”

In the capricious way of mountain weather, a light flurry of snow had begun to fall by the time they reached Richard's car. He held the door open for her and as she turned to thank him, kissed her lightly on the lips. Neither spoke as they slowly drew apart.

They lunched at the Banff Springs Hotel, a massive pile of Rundle stone built to resemble a Scottish laird's castle. Laura swallowed a bite of her caesar salad, touched her lips with a paper napkin, and looked around the cavernous dining room. “I half-expected to run into Geoff Hamilton,” she said. “He's staying here.”

“Erika's ex-boyfriend? I haven't met him yet.”

“He's nice. I like him.”

“Quite a coincidence, his arriving on the scene right after she was killed. It must have been a hell of a shock for him.”

“Traumatic.”

“Is he a suspect?”

“No more than anyone else. The police seem to be flying blind. So far, at least.”

“You and the dashing corporal seem very buddy-buddy.”

“She's using me as a guide to the colony and its artistic ways. I agreed to help her, but sometimes I
wonder if I'm betraying my friends. That bothers me. What do you think?”

“I think you should keep on helping her. Whoever set fire to Erika's studio, whether it's someone from the colony or not, can scarcely be considered a friend.”

“That's pretty much how she put it. That makes me feel better. Thanks.”

At the end of the meal Laura motioned for the check. It pleased her that Richard didn't protest, thanking her matter-of-factly instead. “We'll have our coffee on top of Sulphur Mountain,” she said as they got up from the table.

As they passed through the lobby, Laura spotted Geoff Hamilton at the cashier's desk. A kilted bellboy stood a few paces away with his suitcase.

Laura intercepted Geoff as he finished checking out, picked up the briefcase at his feet, and turned to go. He had the drawn look of someone who has spent a sleepless night, but his eyes lit up when he saw Laura. She introduced the two men and they shook hands.

“Leaving so soon?” Laura asked.

“Afraid so. The office called. The SEC has launched an enquiry into the stock trading of one of my biggest clients and he's panicking. I've got to go back and hold his hand.”

Seeing the question in Laura's eyes, he told her that he had checked with Corporal Lindstrom and she had no objection to his leaving. “She knows where to reach me,” he added.

They followed the bellboy out through the revolving door of the main entrance. The sky had cleared again and they hastily put on their sunglasses.

“I was going to write and thank you for being so helpful and understanding,” Geoff said to Laura.
“But now I can thank you personally. Which I do, most sincerely.”

“If I helped at all, I'm very glad.”

“You're right. He does seem like a nice guy,” Richard said as he and Laura walked across the courtyard to the parkade to collect his car.

“I've heard of the Sulphur Mountain gondola lift, and I take it that's where we're going?” Richard asked as he steered carefully around a life-size statute of Cornelius Van Horne, one of the founders of the Canadian Pacific Railway, placed rather awkwardly in the middle of the courtyard.

“Right. It's next door to the Upper Hot Springs where we went last Sunday.”

“God. Was that only last Sunday? So much has happened since then that it seems much longer.”

“And Erika was still alive.”

On the way up the twisting mountain road they were stopped by the same blond flagwoman. She seemed to recognize Richard and favoured him with a shy smile.

“She likes you,” Laura murmured.

“Can I hope that you're jealous?”

“I'm not the type.”

“No. You wouldn't be.” Richard slipped the Taurus into gear as a huge earthmover thundered across the road, and the flagwoman waved them on. He gave her a wave and a friendly smile as they passed.

“They drive those behemoths at quite a clip, don't they?” Laura said, looking back to watch the giant machine banging and crashing its way across a field that looked as if a major tank battle had been fought on it.

“That's how they make money.”

The gondola ride was swift and smooth. A sign inside the car said the summit was at an elevation of 7,500 feet and that the ride took eight minutes.

“I can never ride in one of these things without thinking of Alistair MacLean's
Where Eagles Dare,
” said Richard, watching the mountain dropping away beneath them.

“I've never read the book, but I watched the film on video,” Laura said. “That scene where they were fighting on top of the gondola is unforgettable. Your books have a lot of the same kind of action.”

“You couldn't have said anything that would have pleased me more.” The door slid open and Richard followed her out onto the platform.

“This is a great way to get yourself oriented.” Laura held on to the railing of the observation deck and pointed down to where the valley was spread out below them. “There's the Banff Springs Hotel where we had lunch and those dark brown buildings across from it on Tunnel Mountain are the Banff Centre.” She frowned. “They called it that because they were going to drill a tunnel through it for the railroad, but they never did. I like the Indian name much better.”

“Which is?”

“Sleeping Buffalo Mountain. That's exactly what it looks like from certain angles. Especially from the golf course. They should change it back.”

“I agree.” Richard smiled. “You know something? I've found the setting for my next novel.” Richard breathed deeply and fell silent as he drank in the panoramic view.

From behind her sunglasses, Laura studied him as he gazed intently into the distance. He was, she decided, devastatingly good looking. The nice thing
about it was that he never seemed to be aware of it. He took it for granted, like a lot of other things in his charmed life. He also was wonderful company. Secure in the knowledge that she could have just about any man she wanted, and completely dedicated to her art, Laura was ultra-cautious about taking on any romantic entanglements. When she was in high school her mother had said to her, “Let the boys practice on the other girls,” and that advice still lingered. Still, there was no denying that pleasant buzz of excitement that being with him seemed to bring. He turned suddenly and caught her looking at him. He didn't say anything, but both of them knew something was happening.

“Have you seen enough?” Laura broke the silence. When he nodded, she said, “Then let's get that coffee.”

“Rumour has it,” Richard placed his cup back in the saucer with exaggerated care, “that there's a boyfriend in Denver.”

“I planted that rumour myself,” Laura told him after a lengthy pause. “A preventive measure on my part.”

“Clever. But now you've blown your cover.”

“So I have.” She took off her glasses and looked directly at him. “But I'm not ready for anything just yet. I'm thinking about a painting that's so challenging it almost scares me. It will require every bit of energy I have.”

“And when it's finished?”

“It will be worth the wait.” Laura looked at her watch. “Let's go back. All of a sudden I have an urge to paint.”

Karen was surrounded by reporters in the parking lot outside Lloyd Hall. One of them recognized Richard
and called out, “Hey, Mr. Madrin, are you going to use this in a book?”

Richard shook his head. “Not me. I write thrillers, not murder mysteries.”

R
eturning to her studio after an early dinner, Laura decided to do something fast and energetic. Something she could finish quickly. She had brought a number of small canvases, already stretched and gessoed, with her from Denver. She would use one of them to paint a colourful abstract that was already taking shape in her mind.

Freed from the constraints of the still life, Laura laid on the paint with quick, sure strokes. Exhilarated by the way the painting was taking shape, she worked on into the night. The blob of pink paint landed with a soft splat precisely where she wanted it, but she could feel the energy draining out of her. She had better stop before she made a mistake that would ruin the painting. She stepped back from the canvas and looked at her watch. Ten o'clock. Time for a restorative visit to the whirlpool.

Richard and Jeremy were already in the whirlpool when she arrived. As she joined them, Richard's thigh
brushed lightly against her as he moved sideways along the bench to let a jet massage his lower back.

Laura pulled the straps of her bathing suit down over her shoulders and lowered herself onto the bottom bench so the jets could reach her shoulder muscles. When it reached the point that the hot water became enervating rather than relaxing, she stood up and announced that she was going for a swim.

“It's time for me to get in some laps, too.” Richard climbed out after her.

From the whirlpool, Jeremy gazed at Laura's shapely back as she stood by the edge of the pool. She was what he really wanted, but he knew it would never happen.