A Festival of Murder Read Online Free PDF Page A

with
eyewitnesses.
    After murmuring
ominously to himself, Canberry asked, “What was your relationship with the
deceased, Mr. Johnson?”
    “I didn’t have a
relationship with him. I was one of many in Hightop that he wanted to
interview.”
    “When was the last
time you spoke with him?”
    “This morning at
breakfast. Around eight, I think.”
    Canberry scribbled
something in his notebook.
    “What did you talk
about?”
    “He told me he had
all the information he needed to write an article about Hightop.” Nicholas didn’t
feel the need to elaborate that the article was going to focus on him in
particular. If Canberry wanted more detail he could ask for it.
    “Why did he think
you would care?”
    “He was a very
polite man.”
    “An article about
Hightop sounds like it would have been good publicity.”
    “Perhaps.”
    Canberry eyed him.
“What could have been the downside?”
    Nicholas wondered
what had given him away. He must be a poor liar, or else Canberry already knew
of Johnson by reputation. Maybe the reporter had left a trail of aggrieved
interview subjects in his wake.
    “A few people were
worried Johnson would give a slant to his story,” Nicholas said, figuring he’d
best spread the blame around. “He didn’t seem to have come here with an eye
toward writing an objective story.”
    “You think he had
an agenda?”
    “I don’t know. But
his antagonism toward the town was obvious to everyone.”
    “Reporters are
supposed to be impartial. Objective. Any guesses as to why he would lose his
professionalism when it came to Hightop?”
    “Jealousy? He had
a vested interest in maintaining Roswell’s claim to fame. Hightop might have
drawn interest away from his city. That’s just a guess, though.”
    Canberry took a
long, loud inhalation of air as if sniffing it for lies. “How did you feel about his presence here, Mr. Trilby?”
    A tingling in his
fingertips alerted Nicholas to the fact he was doing his best to strangle one
hand with the other. He clasped them behind his back. “I didn’t care what he
wrote, but I wanted him to leave me out of it. I’m not a fan of media coverage.”
    Canberry arched a
brow. “From what I’ve heard, you’ve given dozens of interviews in the past.”
    So he did know of
the abduction. Nicholas eyed him with fresh distrust.
    “Why did you treat
Rocky Johnson differently and deny him an interview?”
    Nicholas didn’t
like the spin the detective had placed on his answer. “I wasn’t singling him
out. I just want to be left alone, by him and by anyone else who comes up here
looking for an interview.”
    “Even though you’ve
already given—”
    “That was then,
this is now.” Nicholas’s jaw was beginning to ache from how stiffly he was
clenching it. “I haven’t spoken to the media in a long time. I’m done with the
attention.”
    Canberry gave him
a long look. Nicholas wasn’t sure if he was supposed to squirm beneath it but
he was considering it. “When did you say you last saw Mr. Johnson?”
    “During breakfast.”
    “What did you do
after you spoke to him?”
    “I opened my shop.
My employees, Emma Flowers and Bea Bingham, can vouch for this. And I’m sure I
could wrangle up several customers who bought items from me.”
    “You were there
until what time?”
    “The last customer
left at five o’clock, which was when I shut the doors. Emma left at a quarter
after and I left about five minutes after that. I drove back to my cabin and
remained there until I came here for the party, a few minutes after seven.”
    Canberry flipped
his notepad shut and had better luck securing the complicated clasp this time.
His rain-colored gaze seemed distant, as if he was still running Nicholas’s
answers through the filter of his mind.
    “Did anyone touch
the body?”
    “Kevin Lee.”
    “What about you?
Did you confirm that Mr. Johnson was dead?”
    Nicholas shuddered
theatrically. “No. It was already pretty obvious that he was.”
    “Seen a