How Not To Commit Murder - comedy crime - humorous mystery (38 page)

‘Evening, everyone.’

He handed Carlene her champagne.

‘Thanks,’ she said, in a tone which said, ‘I’m only being gracious for the family’s benefit.’

‘I trust you finished your business satisfactorily?’ Nancy asked. She wore a long black skirt and cream chiffon blouse and was accessorised right down to her formal glasses, edged in a black and white geometrical design. In the nouveau poor style manual, the rule was the simpler the outfit, the more expensive it was. The idea was to look as if you’d bought it from Target, a look Nancy had managed to achieve with ease.

‘Yes thanks,’ Reuben said.

‘Unfortunate having to do business on New Year’s Eve,’ Alex said. ‘Is it something you can tell us about? Or is it all hush-hush?’

‘It’s still in the early stages, but all will be revealed soon.’

Carlene looked at him and rolled her eyes.

‘Hey mate,’ Wayne said, ‘is that the new wet look, or are you too dumb to come in from the rain?’

Reuben didn’t answer. Wayne’s speech was slurred, his face blotchy. His suit strained against his bulk. It was obvious he’d begun his New Year celebrations well before he arrived.

‘Rubie,’ he said in falsetto, ‘I asked you a question.’

Jo nudged Wayne. ‘Honey, don’t be so rude.’

Reuben looked levelly at Wayne. ‘If you don’t call me Rubie, I’ll answer your question.’

Wayne shrugged. ‘No matter. I think it’s option “b” myself.’

Jo looked horrified. ‘Wayne!’

‘Oh Jesus. I’m going to find someone to have an intelligent conversation with.’

He wandered off, just stopping himself in time from upending his beer into a passing woman’s cleavage.

‘Oh shit,’ Jo said.

‘You’d better keep an eye on him,’ Nancy commanded. ‘The last thing we want is for him to disgrace us by getting thrown out.’

‘Look’ Alec said, relieved. ‘Here’s John and Edna.’

A grey-haired couple bustled up and greeted Alec and Nancy. Jo trotted off after Wayne. Carlene pulled Reuben aside.

‘Now tell me the truth,’ she hissed.

Reuben took a gulp of his champagne and grimaced. It tasted like vinegar. You’d think that for the price of the tickets they’d supply a decent drop. ‘You said you didn’t want to know.’

‘Don’t be so fucking stupid. Where were you? Or perhaps I should ask, who were you with?’

Reuben took another sip, playing for time. ‘I wasn’t with anybody and I’m sorry, I can’t tell you what I was doing. As soon as I can, I promise you’ll be the first to know.’

‘I suppose you’re going to tell me you’re a Russian spy. Or a member of the CIA.’

‘Nothing like that. Someone’s life is at stake, that’s why I can’t say anything.’

‘And that someone wouldn’t happen to be a woman?’

He hesitated. ‘It is. But I can assure you I’m not having an affair with her.’

Only in my mind. That doesn’t count.

‘So tonight you were out saving her life, but you weren’t actually with her.’

‘Yes.’

She stared hard at him. ‘You’re so full of shit. Being in that TV ad has gone to your head; you think you’re James Bond.’

Reuben took her empty champagne glass. ‘Let me get you another drink.’

‘And don’t think you can ply me with alcohol and get all romantic, because it won’t work!’ she called after him.

Where was a waiter when you wanted one? They were like cops, hung around like a bad smell then disappeared when you really needed them. He saw one in the distance, made a beeline for him and came face-to-face with Lucy.

‘Reuben!’

His mind raced for a witty reply, something James Bondish.

‘Hi,’ he said.

‘What a surprise!’

‘Yes, isn’t it?’ Reuben said. He guessed the last place she’d expect to run into one of her clientele was at a a-hundred-and-twenty-a-head gala ball.

Her husband appeared at her shoulder. His evening suit barely contained his powerful build and he exuded the radiant good health of someone who spent a lot of time outdoors. James Bondish repartee was out of the question.

‘Duncan, this is Reuben.’

They shook hands. Duncan regarded him with curiosity but was too polite to ask how they knew each other.

‘Are you enjoying the night?’ Lucy asked.

‘Yes, I am. How was Scotland?’

He felt Duncan’s eyes boring into him, probably wondering how Reuben knew about their trip. Reuben felt a brief moment of panic before remembering that Lucy had mentioned it in their last interview.

‘It was great. We only arrived back two days ago and I’m still jetlagged.’

The only sign of it was the washed-out pallor of her skin, which even her make-up couldn’t disguise. But to Reuben it made her look more vulnerable and desirable. How much more vulnerable would she look if she knew that at that very moment someone was preparing to plant a bomb in her car?

Reuben swallowed hard and looked down at the two empty champagne glasses in his hands. ‘I’d better go. I’m supposed to be getting my wife another drink. She’ll send out a search party soon.’

He nodded at Duncan. ‘Nice to meet you.’

‘See you … er, later,’ Reuben said to Lucy – he’d nearly said ‘at my next appointment.’

He fetched a glass of champagne and a mineral water for himself from the bar. He’d had his quota of alcohol for the night – he had to keep a clear mind as well as drive the MG home. How was he going to explain that to Carlene?
Forget it, that’s the least of your worries.
He felt in his coat pocket for the reassuring touch of his mobile phone and checked his watch. Eight-thirty. Ninety minutes to go before Bomber even arrived at the car park. It was going to be a long night.

When he returned to Carlene, she was tucking into a mini quiche from the selection of tidbits on her napkin. She offered it to him but he shook his head. The thought of food made him feel ill.

‘Who was that woman you were talking to?’ she said.

‘That was Lucy, my parole officer.’

‘Really?’ Carlene looked disbelieving. It probably hadn’t occurred to her that his parole officer would be young and attractive. It hadn’t occurred to him, either, till he’d met Lucy. ‘She looks a bit like that woman in your photos, the ones you were playing around with in the middle of the night.’

Reuben shrugged. ‘Maybe. But it’s not her.’

Carlene looked at him accusingly. ‘Why didn’t you call me over and introduce me?’

‘I wanted to get back to you, honey.’ He put his arm around her waist and gave her a squeeze. ‘Maybe I’ll get a chance to introduce you later.’

He’d have to make sure that Carlene and Lucy were on opposite sides of the room for the rest of the night. Once Carlene had Lucy’s ear, she was sure to raise the topic of his supposed PTSD, thereby giving Lucy a reason to send him to a psychologist. But being on the opposite side of the room to Lucy would make it difficult for him to keep an eye on her. From a quick reconnaissance of the ballroom he’d ascertained that apart from the emergency exit stairwell, there was only one way to leave – the same way they’d come in. He had to make sure he had a clear view of it at all times.

‘Let’s get out of the crowd a bit,’ he said, steering Carlene to the edge of the crowd. The band broke into the Blues Brothers’ ‘Shake Your Tailfeather’. The dance floor started to fill up.

‘Come on, let’s dance,’ Carlene said. It was a command rather than a suggestion. Reluctantly, Reuben placed his drink on a nearby bar table and followed her onto the dance floor. He mooched his way around, scrutinising the crowd standing around it, for disguised thugs. He spotted Lucy leading Duncan onto the floor and immediately picked up his pace, jiggling and bouncing and swirling Carlene around, to show Lucy he wasn’t one of those guys who just shuffled around on the dance floor looking embarrassed and trying to peek down his partner’s cleavage.

Carlene jiggled and bounced back at him with grim, martyred enjoyment and Reuben had the absurd impression that they were duelling for the title of fastest bopper. Lucy and Duncan set a more sedate pace, and during ‘Brown-eyed Girl’, Duncan put his arm around Lucy’s waist and held her close as they danced. Reuben looked away.

After a couple more dances, he’d had enough and nodded to Carlene in the direction of the bar. She followed him off the dance floor and immediately three women she knew from Orphans International appeared, engulfing them both in hugs and excited squeals. Standing in a pool of frenzied female chatter, Reuben had an idea.

‘Just going to the Gents,’ he told Carlene. He made his way through the crowd to the toilets at the back of the hall. Frank’s spies were sure to follow him into the Gents, as that was the only sure way he could make a private phone call.

He opened the door of the Gents. The toilets were unoccupied and there was one man standing at the far end of the urinal. Reuben positioned himself at the middle, unzipped his fly and began to pee. The door opened and a man entered, stood a respectable distance away from Reuben and unzipped. From the corner of his eye Reuben could see he was dark-haired and of solid build. He glanced at him quickly. The guy looked Italian or Greek, with a large misshapen nose that had obviously seen a few fights. He looked ill at ease in his suit – the top button of his shirt was undone and his bow tie was askew. Odds on, this was him. Or one of them.

The man caught his eye. Reuben smiled and nodded. ‘Great evening.’

The man hesitated. ‘Yeah.’

To the accompaniment of the steady gush of urine, Reuben said, ‘How’s our friend Frank?’ He kept his gaze ahead at the tiled wall, but felt the man looking at him.

‘Who’s Frank?’

‘Look, I know who you are. I don’t know your name but I know you’re working for Frank Cornell and I know why you’re here. Where’s your partner in crime?’

‘Listen, mate, I don’t know who the fuck Frank Cornell is and I don’t care.’

Reuben looked at him. He shook his dick, put it away and yanked his zipper up. ‘And quit gawping at me or I’ll deck you.’

He washed his hands vigorously at the basin, punched the button on the hand drier and rubbed his hands under it for a few seconds. ‘Bloody pervert,’ he said over his shoulder as he pushed open the door. The other man hurriedly zipped up, washed his hands, and without bothering to dry them followed the first man out, darting suspicious glances at Reuben.

Fuck, I could have sworn it was him.
Maybe it was and he’d just carried out a monumental bluff. As Reuben opened the door to leave, he heard a toilet flush. He stopped. There’d been no one in the toilets when he’d entered the Gents. Someone must have come in while he was at the urinal. Whoever it was had entered very quietly. Reuben closed the door and made a beeline for the closest bar. From there he had a clear view of the entrance to the Gents.

Seconds later, a man came out. Medium height, slim build, balding, with ears that stuck out like handles and a narrow, pinched face. Neat and spruce in his evening suit, right down to the shiny bow tie and knife-edge pleat in the trousers. He scanned the crowd as if looking for his wife. His eyes met Reuben’s with not the slightest sign of recognition before he moved away into the crowd. He looked nothing like Reuben had imagined, but some instinct deep within him knew he was Frank’s spy. Or one of them.

He looked at his watch. Nine-twenty. He reached into his trouser pocket for his mobile phone. He’d put it there, hoping he would feel it vibrate when Bomber messaged him. It was too early but he couldn’t help looking anyway. No message. He slipped it back into his pocket. Better go and check out where Lucy was.

A man hurried towards him; so fast he didn’t have time to escape. ‘Reuben!’ Pastor Bryan held out his hand and pumped Reuben’s enthusiastically. ‘Nice to see you again!’

His suit was obviously hired – the trouser cuffs bunched over his shoes and his hands disappeared back into his coat sleeves. His trousers, at least a size too large, looked as if they were held up by prayer. His cheeks shone with perspiration and cheerfulness.

‘Pastor! I didn’t expect to see you here.’

‘Just because I’m a man of God doesn’t mean I don’t like to enjoy myself!’ He pointed to his glass of champagne and gave a knowing wink. ‘And please call me Bryan.’

‘Right.’ He had to escape before the Pastor tried to recruit him again. ‘I’m looking for my wife, have you seen her anywhere?’

‘I just said hullo to her. She’s over there, talking to that young lady in the silver dress.’

He looked in the direction of the Pastor’s nod. Carlene was in earnest conversation with Lucy, Duncan standing a little back, as if to give them room to have a confidential discussion. Carlene must have headed straight for her – he’d only been in the Gents for a couple of minutes.

It would look too obvious if he just walked over and dragged Carlene away. The Pastor’s genial expression gave him an idea.

‘You know, Pastor, I’ve been having second thoughts about getting involved in your project for disadvantaged youth. I think I can help you out.’

Pastor Bryan looked at Reuben as if he had just announced the second coming of Christ. ‘That’s wonderful, Reuben! You know, I had faith you’d come around eventually.’

You know more about me than I know myself, then.

‘Let’s go over and talk to Carlene about it right now,’ Reuben said. ‘I know she’ll be as delighted as you are about it.’

He headed in the direction of Carlene and Lucy, and motioned for the Pastor to follow him. Carlene spied him and stopped talking, watching him as he approached.

‘There you are honey,’ Reuben said. ‘Hullo again, Lucy. And Duncan.’

Lucy smiled and Duncan nodded. It was weird seeing your wife and your parole officer together. Almost as weird as seeing your wife and your mistress together.

‘Sorry to interrupt, but I was just telling the Pastor that I’d changed my mind about getting involved in his youth projects and we decided that now is as good a time as any to discuss it. Didn’t we, Pastor?’

‘Yes, indeed. And please call me Bryan.’

‘This is the first I’ve heard of it,’ Carlene said.

‘That sounds like something worthwhile,’ Lucy said. ‘We’ll leave you all to discuss it. Have a Happy New Year!’