How Not To Commit Murder - comedy crime - humorous mystery (8 page)

Hang on, why did Carlene care whether or not he saved Lucy? If she knew about Reuben’s feelings for her, she’d be on Frank’s side, cheering him on.

‘Come on, Rubie!’ Rueben swam up through layers of consciousness and opened his eyes. Carlene was standing over him, eyes sparking with impatience. ‘We’re going to the cent auction, remember?’

Reuben sat up. He was on the living room couch. His mouth was dry and his head full of cotton wool. He groaned. ‘I’d forgotten about that.’

He’d agreed to go with Carlene to a cent auction at the New Light Mission Church, a fundraiser for one of Pastor Bryan’s missions. There was nothing he felt less like doing. He got up, stumbled into the kitchen and poured a glass of cold water. The three World Vision children Carlene sponsored gazed out at him from their photos stuck on the fridge - Kiet from Thailand with his gap-toothed grin, Sahra from Somalia peeping shyly from under her fringe and Ali from Eritrea with his solemn eyes. Their childish innocence was accusing.

‘You’re drunk!’ Carlene said. ‘And you were whimpering in your sleep again!’

‘I’m not drunk. I’ve had a couple of drinks, that’s all.’

‘By yourself?’ Carlene looked around as if she suspected Reuben of hiding his drinking companion behind the curtains.

‘I went to the pub. Just felt like having a drink. I didn’t mean to stay as long as I did.’

She sighed. ‘I was hoping you’d have dinner cooked; we’ve got to be there by seven. I’ll do some toasted sandwiches.’

She busied herself in the kitchen. ‘You go and have a cold shower to sober up.’

‘That’s an old wives’ tale, it doesn’t make the slightest difference.’

‘Have one anyway,’ said Carlene. ‘And I’ll make you a strong black coffee.’

***

Reuben felt no better after a cold shower and a black coffee. He remembered now, that was the worst part about drinking in the afternoon, having a hangover at night. It was unnatural, like having bacon and eggs for dinner. His conversation with Frank was forefront in his mind. Were his words just an empty threat, an angry venting from someone nursing a grudge? What if he was serious about maiming or killing Lucy – what was Reuben supposed to do? He couldn’t stand by and let it happen to anyone – but especially not to Lucy. He’d never forgive himself. It was too hard to think about it now, his head was throbbing too much.

The New Light Mission was in Coorparoo, on the other side of the Brisbane River through the Clem Jones tunnel. Known as the Clem 7, it was touted as Brisbane’s biggest white elephant, due to the low traffic flow and its operator’s massive financial loss. But it certainly made the trip quicker and easier, and they arrived at the church in a suburban street, in twenty minutes.

A small figurine of Jesus on the cross, beside the words ‘New Light Mission’ at the front were the only things that distinguished it from neighbouring houses. Behind it was the church hall where the auction was being held – a long wooden building strung with fairy lights. The scent of newly mown grass filled the air.

‘It doesn’t look like a church,’ Reuben said. He carried a Glad-wrapped plate of buttered pikelets - everyone had been asked to bring a plate to contribute to supper.

‘Pastor Bryan purposely had it built like that,’ Carlene said. ‘He wanted it to blend in with the surroundings because that’s how he thinks religion should be – a part of your everyday life, not something expensive and showy.’

In that case, why build a church at all? Why not divert the cost of building it to charity and use someone’s garden shed? Reuben kept his thoughts to himself – to Carlene and her family, Pastor Bryan was an angel in disguise.

The hall was a riot of chatter and activity. The cent auction had been billed as a ‘fun family night for all ages’, a signal for everyone to bring as many children as they could find. Kids ran and shouted on the lawn, and ducked and wove amongst the throng inside. Pastor Bryan stood at the front door greeting the guests as they entered. He was a stout, ruddy-faced man with a thatch of white hair.

‘I’m so pleased to meet you, Reuben,’ he said with a toothy smile. His trousers and jacket were ill-fitting and he seemed uncomfortable in them. Reuben wondered if he was more at home in his dog-collar. Then he remembered Carlene had said Pastor Bryan didn’t believe in elevating himself above his flock by wearing priestly garments. They shook hands – his hand was warm and damp. Despite the chill in the air, his mottled complexion glowed with a sheen of perspiration.

‘Carlene has told me so much about you. Perhaps I’ll see you one day at church.’

Reuben mustered his warmest smile. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be happening, Pastor,’ he said with deep sincerity. He caught a flash of the Pastor’s disconcerted expression as he entered the hall.

A middle-aged woman in a floral pinafore bustled over, enveloped Carlene in her arms and pressed her to her bosom. ‘Hullo, darling, how are you? And this must be Reuben. No wonder you’ve been hiding him, he’s too handsome to let on the loose.’

She released Carlene and lunged towards Reuben. He thrust the pikelets in front of him and held out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

The woman looked disappointed, then smiled and shook his hand.

‘I’m Irene. I’ll take those, honey.’ She whipped the plate from him, crying ‘God bless!’ as she disappeared through the crowd.

A succession of women emerged from the crowd to greet them. Reuben, defenceless without his pikelet-protection, succumbed to the lavish hugs and ‘God Blesses’. A plump young woman with a freshly scrubbed complexion introduced herself as Ruth, clasped him to her pillowy breasts, then held up a sheet of tickets.

‘Would you like to buy some?’

‘They’re all the same number,’ Reuben said.

Carlene giggled. Ruth smiled. ‘They’re meant to be. You buy a sheet of tickets, decide which prizes you want to bid for, and put as many tickets as you want in the corresponding boxes. Then the auctioneer draws out the winning ticket.’

‘Sounds fun,’ Reuben said heartily. ‘Give us ten sheets.’

He gave her a twenty-dollar note and she handed him ten sheets of tickets, from the numbers fifty-five to sixty-four.

‘Good luck,’ she said, simpering, and scuttled off.

‘That’s very generous of you, honey,’ Carlene said.

‘May as well make it worth our while,’ Reuben said. ‘I don’t want to walk out of here without at least one prize. Are there any worth winning?’

Carlene pointed to a stand near the rear wall. On it perched a hot pink motor scooter, shone to brilliance under the lights, draped with pink ribbon and adorned with a large bow on the handlebars. A gaggle of admiring women and girls stood around it.

‘That’s the main prize – you’d look adorable on that, Rubie.’ She squeezed his arm.

‘I think I’d look even more adorable,’ a voice said behind them. Jolene appeared with Brayden wedged on her hip and Indya beside her clutching a sheet of tickets. With her hair in a bun and wearing a pinafore, tights and boots, Indya looked like a celebrity child from the pages of
WHO
magazine.

‘Don’t you think Mummy would look better than Uncle Reuben on that motor scooter?’ Jolene appealed to her daughter.

Indya gave Reuben a scornful look. ‘Uncle Reuben would look silly, pink’s a girl’s colour.’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Reuben. ‘I happen to like pink.’

‘Only homosexuals like pink,’ Indya pronounced.

‘Indya, that’s not very nice!’ Jolene gave an embarrassed giggle and rolled her eyes. ‘The things they learn in kindy! Say sorry to Uncle Reuben.’

‘No.’

‘What’s my angel done this time?’

Wayne ambled into view and patted Indya’s head.

‘Uncle Reuben’s a homosexual,’ Indya said, ‘because he likes pink and he wants to win that scooter.’

‘Is that so?’ Wayne raised his eyebrows and grinned at Reuben. He’d held no grudges against Reuben for his roof escapade and waved away his offer to pay for the broken tiles. Reuben suspected that the amusement factor of the incident, undoubtedly recounted numerous times at the pub after work, far outweighed an angry Mrs Landers and the loss of two tiles; and a worker who’d proved to be not much of a loss at all.

‘He’s not going to win it, sweetheart, because we are.’ Wayne held up two ticket sheets with just the stubs left. ‘I put all those tickets in the box.’

‘Come on honey, we’ll go and put ours in,’ Reuben said. ‘That scooter would look great with my pink shirt and pink sneakers.’

He took Carlene’s hand and led her through the crowd to the large box decorated in floral pink paper, in front of the scooter.

‘If that kid makes it to adulthood without someone throttling her, it’ll be a miracle,’ he said through gritted teeth.

‘She can’t help it,’ Carlene said. ‘She’s precocious because she’s so intelligent.’

‘If that’s intelligence, give me a dumb blonde any day.’ He tore off a sheet of tickets and posted them through the slit of the box. ‘Let’s see what else we can win.’

The prizes were set up on trestle tables along the rear wall. Each was numbered with a box in which contenders placed their tickets. Reuben put in tickets for a massage, a facial for Carlene and a carry case of handyman’s tools. What he’d do with it he had no idea, but it seemed the sort of thing men acquired once they were tamed into domesticity.

Alec stood behind the tables overseeing the process, smiling and nodding, with a look on his face that said he’d rather be anywhere else. Nancy strode in and out of the kitchen at the rear of the hall, a tea towel draped over her shoulder, eyes searching for someone to boss around. A roving MC, a round, jolly-faced man with a treble chin, kept up a running commentary.

‘Come on, folks – get your tickets in! We have some tremendous prizes here tonight and the profits will be helping to send some of our disadvantaged youth group members on an aid mission to Cambodia. These are the leaders of tomorrow, ladies and gentlemen, so this is a fantastically worthy cause, and I urge you to spend up big!’

The lone beat in Reuben’s head became a pulsating symphony.

Lots one to twenty were drawn. Reuben was relieved when a middle-aged woman won the handyman’s tools – she’d get more use from them than he. Jolene won the massage and an elderly mauve-haired woman, the facial.

Then it was suppertime. Aproned women bustled out from the kitchen and placed paper plates of food on a trestle table. Children thronged to the table, arms reaching and grasping, parents following with admonishments. Reuben, realizing he was ravenous, took a handful of sandwiches. He felt something press against his leg. Brayden was on tiptoe, reaching up to the table, his hand dipped in a bowl of cream. His face was smeared with butter and in his other hand he clutched a mashed pikelet. Behind Reuben, a familiar voice whined.

‘Mummy, it’s not fair, we haven’t won anything.’

‘We’ve won the massage,’ Jolene said.

‘That’s a stupid prize,’ Indya grumbled.

‘There are still plenty more draws to go, sweetheart,’ Jolene cooed.

Indya and Brayden were a great advertisement for contraception. Reuben pictured a roadside billboard, a gigantic, sulky Indya scowling down at commuters and a grubby, butter-smeared Brayden, mouth open in a wail – or better still, nappy round his ankles, peeing on a pair of expensive shoes. The caption read, ‘One careless night could lead to a lifetime of anguish’.

He moved away from the crowd around the table. From the corner of his eye, he spied Pastor Bryan striding towards him.

Could he pretend not to have seen him? He calculated the distance to the toilets. Could he make it in the next five seconds without breaking into a run? Could he trust the pastor not to follow him into the Gents?

Too late. ‘Reuben, my boy! Are you enjoying the night?’

‘Fantastic, Pastor.’

‘Call me Bryan. Bryan with a “y”.’ He almost swallowed Reuben in his smile. ‘I thought you might be interested in joining my little project.’

‘What little project?’

‘Youth Aid – that’s the purpose of tonight’s fundraiser. The idea behind it is to give at-risk youths the opportunity to help someone else in need, to see that there are others worse off than they are. Unfortunately, a lot of them have already come into contact with the law, and I think they could benefit from being involved with someone of your experience – you know, who’s been there and done that.’

His face glowed with expectancy, as if thinking there was no way anyone could refuse such an invitation.

‘I’m pretty busy at the moment, Pastor.’

‘Bryan.’ He flashed another smile. ‘Your lovely wife tells me you’re not working at the moment and you’d be willing to come along, even if it’s just to chat to the boys.’

‘Did she indeed?’

‘They need someone they can relate to, Reuben, and who better than you – you can warn them first hand about the dangers of being on the wrong side of the law.’ He paused. ‘And it would be a good opportunity to give something back to the community.’

Reuben looked the pastor in the eye. ‘At the moment, my main concern is finding a job, so the community will have to do without my input. If you’ll excuse me, Pastor.’

After visiting the Gents he wandered through the crowd and found Carlene talking to Jo.

‘I don’t know when I’m going to have time to have this massage,’ Jo was saying. ‘Brayden has playgym and swimming on the days Indya has kindy, and on Thursdays and Fridays, Indya has ballet and piano; and on Saturdays she has Little Athletics.’

‘Excuse me Jo,’ Reuben said. ‘Honey, can I have a word with you?’

He drew Carlene aside. ‘Why did you tell Pastor Bryan I’d help him with his project?’

‘I didn’t say you would, I said you might. And I was going to tell you about it, but he beat me to it.’

‘There’s no “might” about it, you could have saved your breath and his.’

‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ The MC’s voice boomed around them. Reuben winced. ‘It’s time to draw the rest of these fabulous prizes!’

The trestle tables became barer as the winners collected their prizes. Wayne and Jo won a gift basket of champagne and exotic foods, which Indya decreed as stupid because there were no lollies in it. Brayden, not so picky, broke into it and began to gnaw on a tin of smoked oysters. Then it was time to draw the main prize. The children who’d been running around outside under the cover of darkness were called in and an expectant hush fell over the crowd. Even the clinking of washing up in the kitchen stopped.