How Not To Commit Murder - comedy crime - humorous mystery (37 page)

After ten minutes, the boys dawdled out of the park, kicking the ball between them.

‘Cool car, mister!’ one of them yelled. The other pushed him and they raced down the road, chasing the ball and laughing boisterously.

Reuben rifled through the glove box – a packet of butter menthols, a mauve lipstick and a tattered paperback emblazoned with the title
His Regal Heiress
above a bosomy blonde in an evening gown.

He took out the book and skimmed through the first chapter, but at the end of it couldn’t remember a thing he’d read. He put the book back in the glove box and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He glanced frequently in the rear-vision mirror, although he was sure that in the still air, he would hear any car approaching. If anyone asked, he was waiting for a friend, but apart from an old woman watering her garden a couple of houses down, there was no one around. What was the point of watering your garden when it was obviously going to rain?

Dusk gave way to darkness and the smell of rain filled the air. An engine purred behind him. In the rear-view mirror he saw a car stopped at the corner. In the darkness, he could see it was a Mazda 2, but not the numberplate. But he was sure it was Lucy’s car.

He started the engine, swung around and headed off in the same direction. He kept well back, allowing another car in from a side street in front of him. Once on Gympie Road, he was three cars back but it was easy to keep sight of her, as the traffic was slow with revellers on their way into the city.

A clap of thunder boomed. Reuben jumped. A drop of water plopped onto his cheek, and the next moment the rain was attacking him in blistering sheets. He flicked on the wipers and pressed the hood button. Nothing. He tried again and again, pressing it frantically. No response. He was drenched, his clothes plastered against his skin, water dripping off his hair into his eyes, his coat saturated on the seat beside him. Wait till he saw that girl tomorrow, he’d give her an earful about charging him an exorbitant fee for a convertible that didn’t convert. He’d demand his money back and insist she pay the dry -cleaning bill for his suit.

The rain eased and he peered ahead of him – as far as he could tell Lucy was still three cars in front. In his peripheral vision, he was dimly aware of faces staring at him from car windows on either side, but he looked straight ahead at the frenzied rhythm of the wipers on his windscreen.

The journey into the city seemed interminable. Reuben was on edge all the way – ready to change lanes the minute he saw Lucy’s car pull out. Fortunately she took the most direct route to the city and soon the rain stopped completely, making it easier to keep her in sight. The two cars ahead turned off and as they crawled down Adelaide Street, he was only one car behind.

The wet road gleamed in the city lights and gutters sloshed with water, which sprayed up from the wheels of passing cars. Christmas decorations and coloured lights still festooned the buildings, banners waving from hotels and restaurants announcing their New Year’s Eve specials. A group of youths wearing low-hanging jeans and baseball caps, and holding drink cans, swaggered along the pavement – periodically yelling ‘Happy New Year!’ By midnight they’d be either passed out or in a police car.

The car in front of him darted into another lane and suddenly he was right behind Lucy. The hulking person in the driver’s seat was obviously her husband. What was his name? Damien? Donald? Duncan, that’s right. Thank God – he wouldn’t recognise Reuben and even if he had noticed an MG following him all the way from Aspley, so what? Everyone was going to the city tonight.

As they drew near to the King George Square car park, the Mazda’s right indicator flickered on. He’d guessed they’d park there – it was the nearest public car park to the Grand Plaza Hotel. He followed them in, taking a ticket at the barrier gate. ‘New Year’s Eve special’, the sign read. ‘First three hours $20, $10 per hour every hour after.’

What kind of a special was that? If you wanted to take advantage of the special rate, you’d be home before the New Year had even begun. Which, under the circumstances, was an attractive proposition.

Reuben kept a respectable distance behind the Mazda as it wound its way through the concrete maze. His tyres squealed on the smooth floor and the motor’s rough grumble echoed in the cavernous space. He prayed that Lucy wouldn’t look behind her and spot him. They climbed up to level six before the Mazda was able to slide into a corner parking bay. It looked small and defenceless wedged in between a post and a Range Rover. Making a mental note of its exact position, Reuben drove up to the next level and slid into a parking spot.

He waited in the car for ten minutes to give Lucy and Duncan time to leave the parking station, then got out of the car, shrugged on his jacket and ran his hands through his hair. The wet jacket was heavy over his damp shirt and made him shiver. If he’d thought the suit was uncomfortable before, it was unbearable now and was starting to itch in the crotch as it dried.
For God’s sake, don’t scratch.

He checked the time. Ten past eight. The ball only started at eight. Surely Carlene couldn’t be too upset. He caught the lift down to the ground floor of the car park with a bunch of young, clean-cut couples in evening dress. Perhaps going to the same function. The women gave him curious looks and giggled as they stepped out of the lift.

Reuben adjusted his bow tie and waistcoat, and stepped out into the night. The rain had cooled the air to a refreshing crispness. The pavement, the buildings and even the other partygoers hurrying to their celebrations, all glistened with freshness and vibrancy, in sync with the coming new year. Reuben found a seat, still wet from the rain, in King George Square. He pulled his mobile phone out of his jacket pocket and punched in a message.

‘King George square car park. Level 6, row e.’

His finger hovered over the send button. Once Bomber knew the location of Lucy’s car, the plan was in action. Every cell in his body was resisting it, but he couldn’t not do it. Hand shaking, he pressed the button. ‘Sending.’ He imagined the message whizzing through cyberspace, landing in Bomber’s phone. ‘Sent successfully’. He slipped the phone in his pocket and got up. His trousers clung to his backside from the seat as he crossed the square to the Grand Plaza Hotel.

CHAPTER 30

Although it looked like every other hotel in the city, it was obvious from the moment you approached the front doors of the Grand Plaza Hotel that it considered itself a notch above all the others. A swarthy, uniformed doorman watched Reuben approach. His expression didn’t change one iota, but Reuben sensed his disapproval. Surely he wasn’t going to refuse him entry? He was conforming to the required dress code even if he did look as if he’d had a bath in his suit.

The doorman stepped in front of him. ‘May I help you, sir?’

‘I’m going to the charity ball.’

‘Do you have a ticket?’

Shit, the tickets. In his haste to pick up the rental car, he’d forgotten to bring his ticket. In any case, Carlene would have it.

‘My wife has it. She’s already here.’

The doorman’s heavy-lidded eyes flickered over him. ‘The ballroom’s on the third floor. But you won’t be allowed in without a ticket.’

He stepped aside and waved him through. ‘Have a good evening, sir.’

It was clear from his tone of voice that a good evening was highly improbable in a wet dinner suit without a ticket, supposedly in the possession of a wife who may or may not exist.

He shared the lift with two couples of sixty-odd, the men portly and ruddy-faced and the women, wide-arsed and aggressively bosomed. An aroma of aftershave mingled with heady floral perfume. Reuben kept his gaze fixed on the lift doors.

‘The last time I wore this suit was to Muriel’s Wedding,’ one of the men boomed.

‘The gallery opening wasn’t what I expected,’ his wife said to the other woman, ignoring him. ‘Very under-catered, if you know what I mean.’

The other woman nodded, pursing her lips.

‘That wasn’t a bad movie,’ the second man said. ‘But that’s going a bit over the top, isn’t it, mate? Wearing a suit to the cinema?’

‘I think Helen’s losing her touch,’ the first woman said. ‘Ever since her husband was … you know ... downsized.’

The first man inclined his head towards his wife. ‘Muriel’s her mother. Got married at eighty-five. In white, too.’

His wife frowned at him, as if he’d just revealed a dirty family secret. Reuben, visualising an elderly woman hobbling down the aisle on a zimmer frame, her long white dress flowing around her ungainly ankles, couldn’t avoid catching the man’s eye. He nodded to Reuben.

‘Get caught in the rain, mate?’

Reuben gave a resigned grin. ‘Hood wouldn’t go up on the Porsche. Brand new, too.’

The two men looked anew at him and Reuben fancied he saw the glow of envy in their eyes. Not because he supposedly owned a Porsche – he was sure money was no object to either of them – but because he was young enough to drive one. There was an age after which a man in a Porsche looked like a poser, trying to compensate for his declining attractiveness and sexual prowess.

The first man shook his head. ‘They don’t make ‘em like they used to.’

As the lift door opened, the strains of a saxophone floated in. The ballroom was an acreage of polished floor, bordered by giant carved pillars and lit by several ornate chandeliers. Balloons and decorations were strung across the walls along with the usual ‘Happy New Year’ banners. On the stage was a seven-piece band called The Groove Merchants, playing a torch song Reuben vaguely recognised. No one was on the dance floor – people weren’t drunk enough yet. Waiters with trays of food and drink glided amongst the crowd like evening-suited storks.

At the reception desk, a Kojak look-alike in a three-piece suit was taking tickets. Reuben peered through the crowd, straining to find Carlene, or even one of the other family members.

‘Yes? You have a ticket to pick up?’

Reuben stepped up to the desk. ‘No, I mean yes. My wife has my ticket. She’s here already.’

A thought dawned on him. ‘Maybe she left it here for me. Littlejohn.’

The man flicked through his box of tickets. ‘Nothing in that name.’

Of course not. That’d be too easy. She had to make him suffer.

‘Can I go in and find her? I promise I’ll come straight back and give you the ticket.’

The man shook his head. ‘Sorry, mate.’

Reuben reached into his pocket for his phone to ring Carlene then remembered he’d left it at home. The only one he had was the one Frank gave him. The number would show up as unknown on Carlene’s phone and she’d want to know whose phone he was using.

He moved away from the reception desk and peered through the glittering sea of suits and evening dresses. He felt Kojak’s eyes upon him, as if suspicious that he might make a run for it into the crowd. What colour dress was Carlene wearing? He couldn’t remember if she’d even told him – once upon a time, before a social occasion, she’d involve him in a detailed discussion about her choice of outfits and the pros and cons of each one. She was probably deliberately avoiding him. Maybe she was so mad she hadn’t even brought his ticket.
Don’t even think it.

The room was packed and it wasn’t surprising that he couldn’t see the rest of the family either. A group of people in the middle of the room dispersed and suddenly there were Lucy and Duncan talking to another couple. His heart jumped. Lucy wore a long, strapless silver and black evening dress and her hair was up, with soft tendrils falling onto her cheeks. A pendant hovered above her cleavage and her bare shoulders reminded him of a movie star from the forties – seductive, yet vulnerable. She shone from the crowd as if someone had highlighted her with a fluorescent marker.

For God’s sake get a grip.
She was facing him and she only had to avert her gaze for a moment to catch him staring. He looked away and caught the flinty eye of Kojak. He smiled and shrugged.

‘Can’t seem to find her.’

Then he did see Carlene, in the far left-hand corner, talking to another woman. She wore a long, cherry-red dress, if wore was the right word for something that looked as it had been poured onto her in liquid form and set on her body. It accentuated her curvaceous body but also made her look tarty. He couldn’t help comparing her to Lucy, whose outfit didn’t need to scream ‘Look at me, I’m sexy!’ because it was there, in the way she stood and moved, and smiled.

Reuben waved and gesticulated to catch Carlene’s attention, but she was standing side on and engrossed in her conversation. He jumped up and down and waved some more, and finally a woman standing near Carlene noticed him and raised her eyebrows. Reuben pointed behind her and drew a curvy figure in the air. The woman looked behind her, spotted Carlene and tapped her on the shoulder. Carlene swung around and the woman pointed to Reuben. Her expression changed in an instant. She made her way through the crowd. The band was playing ‘Strangers in the Night’.

She stood in front of him. ‘I’m not even going to ask you where you’ve been because you’ll probably give me some pathetic, totally unbelievable answer.’

She leaned forward and pinched his jacket. ‘And you’re all wet!’

Reuben opened his mouth to answer.

‘Don’t bother, I’m not in the mood.’

She reached into her evening bag, pulled out a ticket and thrust it at him. ‘You’re lucky I brought it. I was so tempted to leave it at home.’

‘Thanks, honey. I appreciate it.’

She drew her shoulders back and gave him her Nancy look. ‘Don’t honey me. And I’ll have a champagne, thanks.’

She swept back into the crowd. Her buttocks, jiggling against their tight confines, radiated so much anger they looked in danger of self-combusting. Reuben handed in his ticket. Kojak, who’d been watching Carlene’s butt, swivelled his eyes back to Reuben.

‘Looks like you’ve got a bit of making up to do.’

Reuben ignored him. Entering the ballroom, he grabbed two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. As he wove his way through the crowd, he looked around to see if he could spot Frank’s spies. Perhaps a couple of guys without female partners who didn’t quite fit in with the crowd. If they were proper spies, they’d bring along partners for cover, but Reuben suspected they were probably just a couple of thugs Frank had hired for the night. People milled around in couples or groups, balancing drinks and paper napkins of hot savouries. No one stood out. Then he spotted Carlene. She was standing with the rest of the family, and they all watched him as he approached.