Free How Not To Commit Murder - comedy crime - humorous mystery by Robin Storey Page B

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