Murder as a Fine Art. John Ballem

took it gratefully. “Thank you, John Smith. You were very brave.”

      “Yes, I was, wasn’t I?” Adjusting his hat so that it sat squarely on his head, he said, “It’s too bad I wasn’t properly attired for the occasion. My cowboy outfit would have been perfect. Or better still, I should have been dressed as a matador. That’s what I was. A matador!”

      Safely inside her studio, Erika wondered if she would be able to concentrate on her writing. The elk incident was a perfect excuse to put off once more dealing with the scandal. Did she have the right to invade people’s lives and expose them like this, she asked herself for the hundredth time. She knew that was the real reason she kept postponing the moment when she would commit the story to paper. But the encounter with the elk had sent adrenaline coursing through her, giving her a sense of almost reckless well-being. Yes, she would write it, and now was the time to tackle it. She pressed the power switch on her computer.

      After four hours of furious, non-stop writing, the first draft of the explosive chapter was almost finished. With it went all Erika’s doubts about whether she should publish it. Seeing the words on paper made it seem more like an exciting game, complete with delightfully recherché clues. And it hung together beautifully. They would never dare sue her. Or would they? There were big reputations at stake here and they would undoubtedly deny her story outright. Then the pressure to put up or shut up might compel them to launch legal proceedings. Just like with Jeremy Switzer. But, unlike Jeremy’s allegations, hers would stand up in court. Once the vital clues were pointed out, everything else fell into place. Erika banged the pages on the desk to straighten the edges and placed them in the manuscript box.