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

think of you).
    All too soon she was writing out his next appointment. He racked his brain to think of something to prolong the interview.
    ‘So what’s next?’ he said as he signed the appointment slip.
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘I’m on parole for three years. What’s the plan for the long term?’
    ‘That depends on a lot of factors.’
    She tore off the appointment slip and handed him his copy. He longed to brush his hand against hers, but that was overstepping the mark. The last thing he wanted was for Lucy to think him creepy.
    ‘Once you get a job, if you’re financially secure and everything else is okay, I can extend your visits to once monthly, perhaps less often further on.’
    That was a major incentive not to find work.
    ‘But there’s no set time frame, so let’s just see what happens.’
    She stood up. ‘Good luck. I hope you don’t have any more disasters to tell me about next time.’
    Reuben returned her smile, drinking in the sight and smell of her to file away in his memory, before opening the door.
    ***
    Not feeling in the mood to go home, he went into Joe’s Cafe and ordered a coffee. Nina, who was taking orders, was unmoved by his cheery greeting. Reuben picked up a copy of The Courier Mail from the counter and took it to his table. He flipped through to the ‘Situations Vacant’. Disability care workers, sales assistants, labourers, you had to have qualifications and/or experience for every job. Perhaps he should do a traffic controllers course, it was only two days according to the ad. Standing in the sun for endless hours, swatting flies and being abused by motorists – there had to be an easier way...
    Nina appeared with his coffee.
    ‘Thanks, Nina. You make the best coffee.’
    ‘Thank you.’
    Her manner was as crisp as her white blouse and apron. As she turned to leave, Reuben said on impulse, ‘You don’t have any jobs going here, do you?’
    She looked hard at him, as if trying to gauge his seriousness. ‘No.’ She hesitated. ‘What sort of job?’
    ‘Making coffee, cleaning, kitchen hand, anything. Oh, except taking orders and money. I, er ... prefer not to have customer contact.’
    ‘Not that I have anything against customers,’ he rushed on, ‘but I’m more a behind the scenes man.’
    ‘I see.’ She looked sceptical. ‘There’s nothing going at the moment. You can leave your resume if you want.’
    ‘I haven’t got one with me. I’ll drop it in.’
    He watched her walk away. She wore a short black skirt, stockings and flat shoes. Her build was wiry - her legs, though thin, were well shaped and she moved with an easy grace. Even though he wasn’t in the least bit attracted to her, the image of her in bed with him popped up in his mind - all bones and angles, not enough rounded flesh to grasp, although the swelling under her blouse suggested that what flesh she had was concentrated in one area.
    One of the effects of being deprived of female company while in jail was that since his release, he’d fantasised about every woman he saw who was remotely passable and even some who weren’t. Once he even had a vision of himself fucking Merle – why, he had no idea, but it was an image so horrifying he expunged it immediately from his mind. What would Carlene’s psychology book make of it? He decided it was a perverse part of his mind testing his limits of revulsion.
    He turned his attention back to the ‘Situations Vacant’. ‘Pizzazz Promotions wants you right now – jobs available for people of all ages, shapes and sizes. Film and TV work our specialty.’
    Then the magic words. ‘No experience necessary.’
    It wouldn’t be as simple as it sounded, there’d be provisos. But it was worth a go. He’d enjoyed drama classes at school and didn’t mind making a fool of himself in front of the others, particularly if he could raise a laugh. At university he joined the amateur theatrical society, mainly as a way of meeting girls. Who was that gorgeous