crime fiction

Second Friday Crime–Under the Bridge (15)

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

The Indiscretions of Overtime

Tuesday April 12, 2022, 6pm

Adelaide CBD Police HQ

Dan

Dan sighed as he filled in the archive retrieval request form. ‘Things I do for her majesty—Eloise Delaney.’

Under reason for retrieval, he wrote, “Relevant to cold case, the fatal accident of Milo Katz.” He had a hunch, but that was all. Had a gut feeling back in 1981 when he was a recruit, and the youth group was a-buzz with the sudden and tragic death of Milo. Something about his then friend, Sven’s behaviour in the weeks after the road accident had disturbed Dan, but being a trainee policeman, Dan put his head down, stuck it in the proverbial sand, and got on with training.

Dan recalled Christmas Eve, Sunday School kids doing their nativity play and Sven never came into the church hall to watch. Just kept loitering out in the carpark, smoking. Cigarette after cigarette. Even his girlfriend, Fifi couldn’t persuade him to join in the festivities.

*[Photo 1: Nativity Scene © L.M. Kling 2017]

While Dan hunted in the rolling file cabinets, he nodded and murmured, ‘Sven and Fifi, bonded over missing dads.’ Never discussed. Never. They went missing and their existence vanished with them.

Curious about information the police might have on the elusive von Erikson, he spotted the man’s name on a box on the middle shelf. Detective Dan Hooper pulled out a file titled, “Jan Von Erikson”. The one slip of paper described a disturbance on January 1, at 2:00am, 1977. One word dismissed the event. “Domestic”.

The account read, “Police were called to a disturbance at the home of Jan von Erikson in Somerton. Neighbours had heard loud shouting and glass smashing and called the police to attend. Police in attendance described the perpetrator, Mr. von Eriksson as drunk, belligerent, and angry.”

Dan flipped the page. No mention of von Erikson’s disappearance. No one asked. No one said. Had he disappeared? Or was it all in his youthful imagination?

He stared at the page. 1977, and he recalled Sven turning up to youth group with a brand-new Ford Falcon XB. Shiny red, as he remembered. Dan had been so envious that Sven, a contract labourer, could afford a shiny, red Ford Falcon XB. How could he? Sven was, what, nineteen? Same age as he was. And Dan knew he, at nineteen and a poor police cadet, didn’t have enough money in the bank to buy such an expensive car. Darn! He had to settle for a run-down, ten-year old Ford Cortina. Courtesy of church friend of the family, Gracie Katz.

[Photo 2: Brother’s Charger bogged in the creek, Flinders Ranges © L.M. Kling 1984]

The detective scanned the single sheet of paper with his phone and mumbled, ‘Something fishy here. Delaney’s onto something.’

After placing the Jan von Erikson file on the shelf, Dan moved the rolling cabinet to the 1978 section. He used a ladder to lift the cream and brown file box from the top shelf titled “Missing Persons, Percy Edwards”.

‘At least his Missus did the right thing,’ Dan said.

He hauled the box out and lugged it over to a desk. Under the light of a wide green hooded accountant’s lamp, Dan leafed through the wad of notes. Witness statements, leads, and character references.

Percy Edwards was a respectable businessman who dealt in antique furniture, art auctions, valuations and insurance. He belonged to the Ford car club which seemed odd to Dan. He remembered Percy from church as a man who exuded airs and graces, who he imagined preferring the elegance of a Mercedes Benz, rather than the common Ford.

Dan chuckled remembering a friend of his, Leigh who had gone camping with his family and Percy and his son Jimmy had come along too. Percy had never gone “roughing it” in the bush before and had complained endlessly, from the start of the camping trip to the finish. Leigh’s Dad never invited the high and mighty Percy on a camping trip again. Not that Percy would’ve gone after suffering the indignities of sleeping on stony ground under the stars.

*[Photo 3: Million-star accommodation with the T-team © C.D. Trudinger 1981]

Jimmy was okay about camping, though. He became a regular for youth group camps, hikes, and the road trip to Western Australia. In Perth, Jimmy was arrested after drinking beer in a public place and spent the night in the lock up. On camps, everyone appreciated the entertainment Jimmy provided with his strong singing voice and his acoustic guitar. He remembered the not-so-complimentary songs Jimmy made up about his father. That was before he disappeared. Jimmy lost his music mojo for years after his father mysteriously left. Started munching through packets of crisps instead.

Dan photographed page after page of the Edwards file. Boxes of evidence must not leave the storage facility. Percy Edwards fine upstanding citizen. Percy Edwards tall, distinguished, moustache, patting Jimmy on his head calling him, “Ma boy”.

Mrs. Edwards, otherwise known as “Primrose the plentiful” (yes, you got it, her real name was Primrose) as she had borne the illustrious Lord of the Edwards manor, eight children. Always pregnant or breastfeeding, yet eternally immaculate, black hair coiffured in a beehive to perfection, and with fashion sense that made her a trendsetter amongst the ladies. President of the church ladies guild, fantastic fundraiser, chairman of the local school’s Parents and Friends association, and all-round super mum. As some of the younger girls at youth group used to say about her, “What a woman!”

Dan smiled remembering how when her husband walked out the door and never returned, Primrose Edwards persevered. She worked on the checkout at the local supermarket, studied part-time and made full use of her mothering skills to become a teacher, and by gum, an exceptionally good teacher.

He thought then of Lillie. It was Mrs. Edward’s tenacity that inspired that socially awkward yet attractive girl Lillie to train to be a teacher. What ever happened to Lillie? he wondered. Is she still teaching?

His youth group had all grown up and drifted. Like Mr. Edwards they had disappeared into their grown-up lives. However, unlike Mr. Edwards, they were still traceable.

And Mrs. Primrose Edwards, was she still alive? Dan made a note to check the birth, deaths and marriage records. Or he could just ask Fifi, the encyclopaedia of life and everyone in Adelaide. Primrose was her mother. Besides, since Eloise was friends with Fifi, all he’d have to do is ask to have a chat with Fifi.

‘Who needs Google when you have Fifi,’ Dan laughed as he finished the final pages of scanning.

[Photo 4: Adelaide Flower Festival © S.O. Gross circa 1960]

Dan entered the lift at the basement and as it propelled him upwards to the ground floor, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

‘Hello Dee,’ Dan spoke.

‘Hey, Dan, I’ve been searching all day,’ Dee said, ‘you don’t happen to have a number for Sven von Erikson?’

‘Hey, Dee,’ Dan chuckled, ‘you must be psychic. I was just thinking of him. Why?’

‘Um, I think he might be key to the investigation.’

‘What? How?’ Dan stepped out of the lift and onto the ground floor.

‘Well, I have found out that he had a red Ford Falcon. Didn’t Mr. Wilke who we saw a few weeks ago say that the motorbike was struck by a red painted car?’

‘Oh, oh, yes, I’d forgotten about Mr. Wilke. Yes, follow that up.’ Dan strode to his desk and packed up his laptop. It’s going to be a long night. ‘Good work Dee.’

‘By the way, did you remember that I interviewed Lillie Edwards, formerly von Erikson, today?’ Dee sounded proud of herself.

‘What?’ Dan dropped his laptop. It thudded on the table. ‘How? How did you…?’

‘When I read the reports, I remembered Lillie from school days. Small world, isn’t it?’

‘Well, I’ll be. It is Adelaide after all. Anything useful?’

‘Maybe. That’s why I would like to speak to Sven her brother. And there was a friend of hers she was always hanging around with. Fifi? Married Sven. Was, I mean.’

Dan snorted. ‘Welcome to the family. I’ll send through the contact details.’

‘You have them?’

‘Yes, just not on me at the moment.’ Dan wasn’t about to plop Eloise, his former partner fighting crime into the conversation. He avoided triggers of the Dee kind as Dee and Eloise never got on. ‘I’ll text them to you as soon as, okay.’

‘Great!’ Dee replied. ‘Bye.’

‘Great work, Dee. Catch you in the morning,’ Dan said and tapped the red button. Must make note to send Dee the details, he murmured while leaving the office.

© Tessa Trudinger 2024

*Feature Photo: Not exactly a Ford, but red. Note the Cortina in the background © Courtesy of R. Trudinger circa 1983

***

Sometimes characters spring from real life,

Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.

Sometimes real life is just real life.

Check out my travel memoirs,

And escape in time and space

To Central Australia.

Click on the links:

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or for a greater escape into another world…

Check out my Sci-fi/ dystopian novel,

And click on the link:

The Lost World of the Wends

Dan recalled Christmas Eve, Sunday School kids doing their nativity play and Sven never came into the church hall to watch. Just kept loitering out in the carpark, smoking. Cigarette after cigarette. Even his girlfriend, Fifi couldn’t persuade him to join in the festivities.

Second Friday Crime–Under the Bridge (14)

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

Bushie on the Beach

Tuesday, April 12, 2022, 9:00am

Adelaide Police Station HQ

Dee

Dee clicked on the video-recording app on her mobile phone. Lillie’s voice rang shrill, but shaky at times. She had interviewed Lillie in her college office, late the previous afternoon. Hard for Dee to discern if this private school principal is telling the truth.

Still, Detective Inspector Berry was pleased with herself. Tracked the elusive Lillie down—with the help of the Electoral Roll, Births, Deaths and Marriage Records and Trove.

Lillie seemed happy to share her perspective on that night of Saturday, November 29, 1980. Dee reflected, a little too willing.

“I remember that day, I mean night,” Lillie spoke, “We went down to Sellicks Beach for the end of year bonfire. There was this old man on the cliff top waving his arms around and shouting.”

She gave a short laugh. “Fifi thought that he was calling for Milo. Remember him? He was this loser from our school who had repeated year 8 twice. Not the brightest of bulbs, that one. Or should I say, not the full glass and a half.” Lillie chuckled at her own joke in reference to a current commercial involving a chocolate milk drink.

“Now, I was with Renard that night. Thought all my Christmases had come at once, you know. I remember being so proud of cutting your lunch, Dee. You see, as I recall, he said he was meant to be at a party you were putting on that night, but here he was, with me.”

Lillie stabbed the air. “He was afraid of you, Dee. Afraid of what you’d do when you realised that he didn’t turn up at your party. He reckoned your party would be boring.”

She’s enjoying this, Dee thought, then asked, “How did you travel from Adelaide to Sellicks beach?”

Lillie pursed her lips in a sly smile, “With my brother, Sven. In his Ford. So much better than chugging along in my mother’s little red Honda. Mum needed the Honda. Ladies guild meeting at the church. You should’ve seen the fuss my brother made about that. Reckoned I’d cramp his style. With Fifi, I s’pose. Fifi’s Jimmy’s sister who was with Sven at the time. Neighbours actually. Anyway, Sven didn’t have a choice, but. He just had to deal with it and endure me in the back seat.”

“Who else was there?” Dee asked.

“Oh, there was Fifi’s brother, Jimmy. Oh, yeah, Sven had to drive him too. Not a happy camper, Sven wasn’t. He plopped insults and sarcastic remarks aimed at Jimmy and me all the way to Sellicks. Poor Jimmy, he looked a bit sad and kept shovelling handfuls of salt ‘n vinegar chips into his mouth and crunching. Um, Jimmy’s my husband now. We grew up, as you may have gathered, Dee.”

Dee resisted the urge to roll her eyes at Lillie’s efforts to be condescending to her. Teachers. They never change.

“Anyway, also, besides Sven, my brother, and Fifi Edwards,” Lillie continued, “there was Francis Renard, as I have mentioned. Anyway, while we were there, we heard these sounds of puttering that filled the cove. And Sven, who had an uncanny ear for such things, reckoned it was a motorbike ridden by Milo Katz. He was right.”

Lillie smiled. “Sure enough, Milo on his Kawasaki turns up. He sprayed sand all over us. He was not popular.

Sven steps towards Milo and asks, ‘Who invited you?’

The rest of us cried, “Gate crasher! Gate crasher!” and we all threw sand at Milo.

Sven threw his cider bottle. ‘Go home to your mummy, Milo!’

Milo dodged the bottle and says, ‘Hey, I just wanna good time.’

Sven plucks up a rock. ‘You are not welcome here. Go away.’

‘Why not? I have every right to be here,’ says Milo.

‘Are you thick or something?’ Sven shakes his fist. He’s still holding the stone.

‘Did you call me thick? Did you call me thick?’ asks Milo.

‘Yes, you moron! Now, go home!’ Sven hurls the stone, hitting Milo’s helmet.

‘Hey! That’s my head you hit!’ Milo, hands on hips, leers at Sven. ‘You wanna fight?’

‘Be my guest, fool!’ Sven hits Milo’s shoulder.

‘Oh, cut it out boys!’ Fifi gets between the guys splitting them apart. ‘It’s not worth it.’”

Lillie takes a breath.

Dee asks, “What happened then?”

“We had this uneasy truce,” Lillie says, “Milo one side of the fire, in the smoke, Sven and the rest of us crowded on the other side. The tide was coming in and waves began to soak our feet and put out the fire.

I wondered why Milo doesn’t take the hint.

Jimmy munched through his third bagful of chips. Chicken, this time. I remember that because I was annoyed by his crunching. And I remember Milo too. Bad habits.

Milo coughed. And spluttered. He blew his nose into a grimy handkerchief and inspected the contents. He tried to move out of the smoke, closer to us.

[Photo 1: Brachina Bonfire (c) L.M. Kling 1999]

He provoked Sven again and they ended up fighting again. Sven and Milo toppled onto the sand crushing beer cans, steam-rolled one on top of the other singeing leather pants and denim jacket, rising from the ashes in a slow dance of boxing and fists and cuffs, and culminating in Sven’s $50 Reflecto Polaroid sunglasses flying into the fire. The coals must’ve still been hot as they melted the glasses on impact.

Sven was livid and vowed to kill Milo. We advised Milo to go. Nothing personal. But that he better take the hint and go. Fifi tried to calm Sven down reminding him that it’s only sunglasses.

Sven loosened his grip and sauntered towards the boulders, and Milo skulked to his bike and rode away, up the ramp, never that night to bother us again.”

“So, describe what you saw of the accident, then,” Dee said.

“Later, Fifi and I slipped away, up the ramp to the road. We kept warm with a kangaroo-skin blanket wrapped around us. We sat on a seat overlooking the miniature party scene. The lads still drinking. They’d moved up near the caves and away from the encroaching tide. We could see the orange glow of the revived bonfire. While we gossiped, focussing on Milo, the crisp air carried the beat of The Groping Paws from the sound system in Sven’s car.

Then we hear this almighty roar. ‘Excellent! A drag race!’ Fifi tears the blanket from me and waddles up the road. Shivering, I follow and peer down the peninsula. As the headlights approach, a dull thud and a blur of something flying, shock us. One headlight wobbles, then is out.

Fifi and I have this argument while rushing to the scene.

‘What was that?’ Fifi says.

‘Probably just a roo,’ I reply.

‘And what roo has two legs and arms? I definitely saw two legs and arms. I’m going to have look.’

We reach the spot. Motorbike shattered on the pavement. A group had gathered around a pole. We go and look. I can’t unsee the human wreckage; man’s frailty etched in my memory.

‘Come, we can’t just stand here. We better tell the others, someone.’ Fifi drags me down the ramp.

Sven is there lolling on the sand. He’s oozing the smell of alcohol vapours, and barely conscious.

Jimmy, through a mouthful of crisps, says to us, ‘A good thing that Milo wasn’t there otherwise he’d be raving about the grisly details till morning.’

‘It was Milo,’ I yell at him.

‘Oh.’ Jimmy pops a large curly crisp into his mouth and munches.

Renard pokes his head out of his Kombi. ‘What’s all the din?’

It’s the first time I register that Renard is there. He must’ve arrived while Fifi and I were up looking at the ghastly scene. I think I told him what happened to Milo to which he replied that was more exciting than going to your party, Dee.

Then Fifi pulls me away and says, ‘Come on, Lillie. We better see what we can do for the poor bloke.’

So, up we go.”

“What did you see then?” Dee asks.

“When we got back up,” Lillie says, “there was a group of pensioners hovering over the blood-stained sheet. Leaning up against the warped pole, a man with black rimmed glasses and bulging nose shook his head saying, ‘There’s nothing we could do.’

A woman, hair in rollers, wrapped in a lavender quilted dressing gown, was gawking, ‘Poor fellow. What a waste!’

It was a grizzly scene and I asked Fifi if we could go down again. I was feeling quite sick.

Renard was kind, you know, he comforted me. I found the whole ordeal very confronting.”

“What? Renard?” Dee asks.

“No, the accident.”

“Where was Sven? Your brother?” Dee says.

“He was there. His car was there. It didn’t go away.”

Dee leans forward. “Are you sure?”

“I’d know if my brother left; he was my ride.”

“What? With Fifi?” Dee leans back. “But you were with Renard, weren’t you?”

“So? So what? Nothing happened if that’s what you’re implying,” Lillie’s voice has an edge; agitated. “Sven was around the whole night and his car was still there in the morning. Besides, if he’d started up the engine anytime during the night, especially when Milo was hit, I would’ve heard it and recognised it. There’s no way Sven did anything. He was there the whole, entire night and Fifi was with him. Go on, ask them. You’ll see.”

The phone recorder clicked off. Interview terminated 18:05 hours.

Dee gritted her teeth and then muttered, ‘She’s lying. And I’m going to prove it.’

She straightened the page of her notebook holding the contact details of Lillie’s brother, Sven von Erikson and his ex, Fifi Edwards. ‘This will prove interesting,’ she said. ‘Pity she didn’t have any contact details for Renard.’

But then she remembered that Dan might. He’s interviewed Francis Renard the other day.

[Photo 2: Sunset on Breaking Waves, Sellicks Beach (c) L.M. Kling 2017]

Monday, April 11, 2022, 6:05pm

Eastern Suburbs College Office,

Lillie

Lillie stared at the pink frosted cupcake in the middle of her desk. Must resist. Must lose weight. Oh, but it’s only one. And besides, you deserve it.

She reached for the cake.

[Photo 3: Cupcake treat at Tealicious, Willunga (c) L.M. Kling 2024]

No, you’ll regret it. All that sugar. It’ll make you sick.

She slowly removed her hand from the cake.

But I need sustenance for the drive home.

Reach for the cake.

No, I’ll get a headache.

Replace hand on her lap. Stare at the cake.

She reflected on the interview with Detective Dee Berry. Sure, she was meant to tell a different narrative. Was it that night she spent with Renard? Hadn’t she actually gate-crashed Dee’s party because she wasn’t invited?

All the intervening years Sven had insisted, convinced her that she, Lillie had got it wrong. Imagined the accident, like a bad dream. Her mum had supported Sven. Mum, now, all muddled and in a nursing home. What would her 84-year-old mum say now? “No, dear, you have it all wrong—Sven’s the brains in the family, ya know.”

Lillie picked at the icing and licked her fingers. In increments the cake disappeared into Lillie’s mouth.

© Tessa Trudinger 2024

Feature Photo: Looking Forward to a Good Night’s Fishing, Sellicks Beach © L.M. Kling 2017

***

Sometimes characters spring from real life,

Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.

Sometimes real life is just real life.

Check out my travel memoirs,

And escape in time and space

To Central Australia.

Click on the links:

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or for a greater escape into another world…

Check out my Sci-fi/ dystopian novel,

And click on the link:

The Lost World of the Wends

Second Friday Crime–Under the Bridge (13)

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

Dee Does Some Digging

Monday, April 11, 2022, 4pm

Adelaide Police HQ

Dee

Dee adjusted her mask. Deep in the bowels of the records office, layers of disturbed dust and mould spores conspired to afflict her sensitive sinuses. Dee wasn’t about to give these enemies of her overactive immune system the pleasure of making her life miserable, so on with the filtering mask.

She wiped her foggy reading glasses and peered at the details from the 1980 file of Mr. Katz’s unfortunate accident.

10pm on Saturday, November 29, 1980, Mr. Rex Ackers finds Mr. Milo Katz (17). Katz slumped near a Stobie pole, on the Esplanade, Sellicks Beach. The motorbike found some thirty meters distance from the victim, landing in Ackers’ front garden. Ackers was not impressed that his freshly planted petunias had been destroyed by the motorbike. He complained that he was quote, “sick and tired” of the thoughtless hoons who roared up and down the Esplanade like it was a speedway and kept him up at night with all their shenanigans”.

Although he had a motive, Mr. Ackers and his 1966 Ford Cortina Mark 1 were ruled out as suspects to having collided with Katz and his motorbike. The Ford Cortina was a pastel green colour whereas the scrape marks on the motorbike were from red paint. Red paint from a red car, Dee concluded.

Dee leafed through the crash report. Motorbike was estimated to be travelling in a northerly direction along the Esplanade at 60km/h, the red car clipped the front wheel of the bike sending it spiralling out of control. The rider was flung from the bike and into the Stobie Pole while the bike careered to a stop thirty metres away in the front yard belonging to Mr. Ackers.

Dee rubbed her itchy nose through the mask. The date bothered her. Why did it seem so familiar? November 29, 1980…What was so special about that particular Saturday night? Sure, it’s forty-two years ago. Dee tried to think. Remember…

1980, the year Dee matriculated. Yes, that’s what graduating from high school was called back then. Dee relived that feeling of her last exam. Once it was over and she stepped out of the school grounds. Relief. Freedom. Liberty. The weight of nose to the grindstone, endless study, cramming all that information into her skull…over. No more books, no more teachers with dirty looks. No more performing.

She walked with a skip in her step down the driveway, past the chapel that looked like rocket ready to launch. No more religion forced down our throats, she thought. I’m free to do as I want.

‘I’m going to have an end of school party,’ she told a friend who was walking with her. Can’t remember who. ‘I’m going to invite everyone in our year.’

Then she spotted the slim blonde, the brainy blonde wheeling her bike out from the bike racks.

‘But I won’t be inviting her,’ she said. ‘Not Lillie. No drips allowed.’

She remembered another time when she and that same friend — darn, what was her name? And why, oh why do names escape her who was almost 60? — laughed at Lillie. “Swatvac”, and somehow, the blonde brainiac was swanning past them. Dee remembered being particularly annoyed by the fact that her nemesis had both intelligence and beauty. So, as Lillie brushed past their desk, Dee remarked, ‘Bet Lillie’s still a virgin; how sad!’

Her friend, who she remembered was quite “loose” with her love with the fellas, joined in. ‘Heh, no one wants poor Lillie.’

Dee watched and laughed with her friend as Lillie walked away hurt and confused.

© Tessa Trudinger 2024

Feature Photo: Sunset at Sellicks Beach © L.M. Kling 2017

***

Sometimes characters spring from real life,

Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.

Sometimes real life is just real life.

Check out my travel memoirs,

And escape in time and space

To Central Australia.

Click on the links:

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or for a greater escape into another world…

Check out my Sci-fi/ dystopian novel,

And click on the link:

The Lost World of the Wends

Second Friday Crime–Under the Bridge (12)

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

“Karen” on What’s App

Monday, April 11, 2pm

Art Studio, Beachside Suburb

Eloise

‘We had another one of those exchanges with “Karen” on What’s App over the weekend,’ Fifi said. She then, with her brush, spread a blob of paint over the canvas.

‘Karen?’ Eloise asked while detailing the finer bits of her work. Tree branches. ‘Who’s she when she’s at home?’

‘Code word for you know, she who must be obeyed.’

‘Huh? Can you be more specific?’

Fifi sighed and whispered, ‘Lillie, my sister-in-law.’

‘Ah, she who must be obeyed. The,’ cough, ‘controller.’

‘Yes, her.’

‘You see, Easter is upon us, and she who is high and mighty just had to have a rant on What’s App,’ Fifi said. ‘Like “I hope we aren’t all going to just scoff down hot crossed buns and soft drink. And let’s consider our dear 85-year-old Aunty Gracie and not sit back and let her do all the work and have a free lunch. And, to top it all off, “It’s about time we think about healthy food and not eating all this junk”.’

‘Must be going on a diet, do you reckon?’

‘Yeah, well, she has her 60th coming up and wants to look her best, I guess.’ Fifi snorted. ‘Last time I was there, she’d bought a new exercise bike. There she was, peddling away to the tune of the latest detective series streamed on the tele.’

‘Good for her,’ Eloise said and dipped her brush in her paint cup of water. ‘Tell her, if she wants a walking buddy and a stroll by the beach, I’m up for it.’ Then thought, Nothing like a spot of fishing of the family history kind. Although, after all that Fifi had divulged about her prickly sister-in-law and old friend, she just couldn’t imagine what Francis Renard had seen in the girl. Perhaps he was drunk, she mused.

Photo 1: A walk along the beach, Glenelg South © L.M. Kling 2022

‘I’ll tell her that. Doubt that she’ll appreciate the offer. But I’ll ask.’ Fifi dabbed a cluster yellowy-green blobs with her raggedy basting brush, ‘Can I join you? On these walks, I mean.’

Eloise pursed her lips. She really wanted to see Lillie on her own. To interview her. Informally. Can’t exactly do that with her sister-in-law around. But then she’d have more a chance of meeting this Lillie Edwards if Fifi came too. Such potential interviews of the informal family kind do take their sweet little time.

So, El smiled and replied, ‘Yes, of course. With you coming, she will be more willing to join my fledgling walking group and make it a regular thing.’

‘Oh, sounds wonderful. I’ll give it a go. Can’t promise. We’re not exactly close. I mean, over the last few years she has been a bit frosty. But walking together might thaw things out.’

Eloise was tempted to introduce the idea of the “aunty” compliments of Fifi’s sister-in-law Lillie, but decided such information may be too hot, too wrong, too complicated to put out there for Fifi to consider. Any mention might put her plans to get to know Lillie in jeopardy.

Instead, Eloise said, ‘Say, Fifi, you told me once that Lillie had spent time in Tasmania, um, around 1981. Do you think, considering what happened during the summer, you know, when you discovered the bones, that there might have been another reason she went there?’

‘I thought it was just for the apple picking,’ Fifi said. ‘And she was having a gap year.’

‘When did you see her again?’

‘I’m not sure. The next year, after travelling a bit overseas, she went to teachers college. I saw her around the neighbourhood, but I was married to Sven and wrapped up with my baby, and you know, we drifted apart.’

‘Why do you think you drifted apart? Sven’s her brother.’

‘It’s like, she had her study, her teachers college friends and like she looked down on me for getting in the family way and married so young. I was only 18.’

‘How did she feel about you marrying her brother?’

‘I don’t know. It’s so long ago. But Lillie and Sven were close. Come to think of it, I reckon she did resent me taking her brother away.’

Feature Photo: Macquarie Harbour, Tasmania © L.M. Kling 2016

Monday, April 11, 3pm

Strahan, Tasmania

Zoe

Dear Dad

Zoe perched on her stool in the workshop and stared at the blank screen on her laptop. The week before Easter and Strahan put on a cracker of a day. A warm breeze from the north, the sun shining, and boats bobbing on the shimmering blue waters of Macquarie Harbour. Pity that tourism was down.

After taking compassionate leave from her demanding work as a lawyer, Zoe Thomas was helping a friend selling souvenirs at this woodcraft shop in Strahan. She enjoyed the laid-back pace, and the stunning scenery that the wild west of Tasmania offered after the mad task-driven world of trying to make her mark as an up-and-coming barrister in Melbourne. She had only returned to the “Island” for her mother’s last days and funeral.

Then, after her “ancestry” discovery, Zoe stayed on in Strahan with her father. He needed her support. And she needed to process this information that her father and mother were not her biological parents, but one Francis Renard and an unknown woman were her blood relatives.

Thus, here she sat. Computer screen blank, begging her to send a message to this Francis Renard. All sorts of thoughts raced through her mind. Will he accept me? Does he want to know? What about my birth mother? Who is she?

“Dear Dad,” she typed. Delete.

“Dear Francis.” Delete.

“Hey there, Mr. Renard.” Delete.

Screen remained blank.

Check emails. Notification from “My Family History”.

The shop doorbell tinkled.

Zoe sighed. Star by notification. Close laptop.

She looked up at the tall, tanned gentleman with a long thinning mane of grey hair. He looked familiar. Ah, yes, one of the regulars from the mainland. Regular as in once a year, usually around this time, in autumn. The luthier and guitarist from a band in Adelaide. What’s his name? Ah, yes, Jim Edwards. Over the last few years, Zoe had made a habit of helping the local wood-turner out with sales when she came to visit her father in Strahan. She liked wood. She loved the scent of Tasmanian timber. The heady thrill of freshly cut Huon Pine. The subtlety of Sassafras. The boldness of Blackwood.

Zoe smiled. ‘Hey there, Jim, how’s it going?’

‘Great! Yeah, good. Good,’ Jim replied with a wave. He kept looking beyond Zoe. The grandfather clock cabinet constructed out of Huon Pine had caught his eye. ‘One day, I’m going to buy that.’

‘It’s not for sale, I don’t think. How would you transport it?’

‘Oh, you know, in my Hilux. My wife’s big zero birthday is coming up.’ Jim stood nodding at the clock. ‘I wonder…’

‘Dream on,’ Zoe said with a chuckle.

Jim shrugged and sighed. ‘Might make one like that for her next big birthday, I guess.’

‘That amount of Huon Pine is getting scarce, you know. You can’t cut down the trees anymore, so the only pieces are the ones loggers source from drifting down the river, the Franklin-Gordon.’

‘I know. The missus would probably complain its more junk cluttering up her house. Seriously, I reckon she’s got a chronic case of minimalism. Into decluttering, she is. I don’t know how many G-sales we’ve had over the years.’

‘She must love your business.’

‘She tolerates it. I have my man-cave, the garage, that is, and she has the house. No one touches my garage, except me. And me mates. And of course, me band. Been a bit slow, but we’re still jamming.’

‘Yeah, slow everywhere now, but I reckon it’ll pick up. Must,’ Zoe said while shuffling brochures advertising the local play, The Ship that Never Was.

‘My thoughts exactly,’ Jim said. ‘Keep positive. Anyway, I’m looking for some Sassafras for my neck. I mean the neck of my next guitar I’m building.’

‘I’ll see what we have out the back,’ Zoe replied and left Jim standing at the counter while she hunted through the stores of timber in the shed. She trusted Jim. She pictured him hauling the clock away and fixing it onto his Toyota Hilux tray. But he just didn’t look like someone who would take without paying.

Then, an idea. Did she dare ask if he knew Francis Renard? Worth a try, she thought. But then decided that divulging such a personal truth of her being his long-forgotten daughter to a virtual stranger was not worth the risk.

She found a suitable sized block of Sassafras wood, about 1500mm by 500mm by 50mm and returning to the desk, presented it to Jim Edwards.

‘Perfect,’ Jim grinned, ‘you wouldn’t believe how impossible it is to get timber anywhere in Australia at the moment. I’d almost given up on building guitars at this present time.’

‘I know,’ Zoe said. ‘It’s like gold.’

They negotiated a price that was more than Jim had paid for specialty timber such as Sassafras in the past, but Jim, Zoe and her boss were happy with the arrangement. For this piece, she didn’t have to wrap it up and post it.

After Mr. Jim Edwards left the shop, Zoe resumed her perusal of the emails. She opened the one she had started to read.

“Dear Zoe,” it read, “this is your Dad, Francis. I hope you don’t think I’m being too presumptuous but when I saw in My Family History, that you are a close relative, and possibly, no, my daughter, and that you were open to making contact, I just had to write to you.

You see, I have always wanted a family, children, but it never happened for me. Or so it seemed. And now, I am delighted to discover I have you. After all these years. I think the mother, who ever she was (confession, I was quite the lad, you see, sowed my wild… you get the picture), never told me. So, I never knew.

Dear Zoe, I would love to meet you.

Please let me know if meeting would be okay with you.

Love your Dad,

Francis Renard.”

Zoe collapsed onto the stool. Lightheaded. ‘Wow! My Dad!’

Then, before even replying, she googled “Flights to Adelaide” and began the process of booking the first available flight to South Australia.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2024

Feature Photo: Macquarie Harbour, Tasmania © L.M. Kling 2016

***

Sometimes characters spring from real life,

Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.

Sometimes real life is just real life.

Check out my travel memoirs,

And escape in time and space

To Central Australia.

Click on the links:

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or for a greater escape into another world…

Check out my Sci-fi/ dystopian novel,

And click on the link:

The Lost World of the Wends

Second Friday Crime–Under the Bridge (11)

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

I Know Nothink

Thursday, March 3, 2022, 2pm

Brighton

Dan

Dan perched on the vintage two-seater 1960’s occasional armchair. He admired its upholstery, a stunning turquoise woven velvet. Francis Renard sat opposite in a matching single armchair.

‘You can’t get too comfortable in these chairs,’ Renard leaned back and crossed his long legs, ‘or get too heavy.’ Renard chuckled. ‘We once had a colleague of El’s here. Walt Wilberforce, chaplain from Yatala, actually. On the big side. Sat where you’re sitting. Chair had to go in for repairs after. There’s a good repairer down on the Broadway. Took ages to get it back.’ Renard laughed and fidgeted. ‘Guess these chairs keep us honest as far as weight and fitness goes.’

*[Photo 1: 1960’s Occasional Lounge Chairs © L.M. Kling 2017]

Dan stroked his chin. Hmmm, honest. Let’s see how honest Renard will be. He sighed wishing Eloise Delaney could be a part of the interview as she was so astute in reading people. However, he knew that El being there would ruin the interview. Being a close family member to Renard. Wife, actually.

‘So, Francis,’ Dan said, ‘can I call you Francis?’

Renard nodded. ‘What’s this about, Sir?’

‘We are looking into an incident that happened in November 1980. Saturday night November 29 to be precise. Do you remember that day?’

‘That’s over 40 years ago.’ Renard shrugged. ‘To tell you the truth, I can’t remember what I had for breakfast.’

‘You remembered Walt Wilberforce.’

‘He-he, lucky guess, oh and association with the chairs.’ Renard rubbed his ear and his face flushed a bright pink making his bald patch more prominent. ‘So long ago, I have no idea what I’m supposed to remember.’

‘Okay, let’s start with some basics, then,’ Dan leaned forward. ‘What make and model car were you driving at the time?’

‘Ah, that brings back memories.’ A wide smile spread across Francis Renard’s face. ‘A red and white 1967 Kombi.’

*[Painting 1: One red and white Kombi © L.M. Kling 2015]

‘Good memories?’

‘Yeah, had some good times in that van.’

‘I bet you did.’ Dan scribbled 1967 Kombi on his notepad, then pulled out his mobile phone. ‘Do you give your consent for me to record this interview?’

Renard gestured with palms open upwards. ‘Sure, I’ve got nothing to hide.’

‘Right, now, I believe you were friends with Sven von Erickson at the time.’

‘Uh-huh, where this going? I’d rather not be dropping my mate in this, whatever it is.’

‘Alright, I’ll leave Sven out of this for now.’ Dan shifted his weight on the spongy cushions of the occasional lounge chair. They certainly didn’t allow one to get too comfortable. ‘Okay, what were you doing, I mean for employment, in 1980?’

‘I was a panel beater come mechanic, back in the day. Gap year, I mean, ended up being several years. I was still growing up, you could say. After dropping out of engineering in 1979, I went back to university as a mature-aged student to study Physics. Never looked back. That’s how I met Sven, actually.’

‘What was the name of your boss at the time?’

‘My boss? Hmm, some German, I remember. A perfectionist. Hard, really hard on me. Nothing I did was good enough.’ Renard scratched his chin. ‘But his name? It’s so long ago, I can’t remember.’

Dan placed a laminated photo of a red 1976 Ford Falcon XB on the glass coffee table that divided them. ‘Does this jog any memories?’

*[Photo 2: My Ford Falcon XB, yellow, but © A.N. Kling 1986]

Renard jerked back and folded his arms. ‘Is that supposed to mean something?’

‘You tell me.’

‘Look mate, I worked on tonnes of cars. They came in, I fixed them up, they went out. Well, eventually, once the old boss…’ Renard sniggered, ‘can’t remember his real name, but we lads who worked at his shop, called him the Car-Nazi. Anyway, once Car-Nazi said it was good enough. Which, it never was, by the way. Oh, what a cruddy job. One of the reasons I went back to uni. And the pay was peanuts. You see, I wanted to have a gap year or two, to work, save up some dough and travel. You know, go overseas. See the world. But, never had enough, and the old Kombi was a money pit. Mon Dieu, talk about endless repairs.’

And, without Dan uttering another word or question, Francis Renard was off, back in the world of the 1980’s. For a start, the Detective Inspector was pleased that he’d successfully tapped into Renard’s memory files. That is, until he began wandering off track on his trek around Australia and sighting a fleet of UFOs on the Nullarbor Plain.

‘Did you see the news reports?’ Renard asked. ‘I was famous.’

Dan attempted to steer Renard back to November 29, 1980, only to be carjacked by a psychotic hitch hiker in 1984 when Renard and his friends took a road trip to the Flinders Ranges. He was glad to get rid of the van, then. The hitch hiker who stole it, had done him a favour.

*[Photo 3: Iconic Flinders Ranges © L.M. Kling 2023]

Dan again attempted to guide the conversation back to November 1980 asking what make and model cars his friends were driving. To this Renard said he couldn’t remember. So long ago.

The front door clicked and clacked. Footsteps on the floorboards.

Dan and Renard glanced at the lounge room entrance.

‘Hi there,’ Eloise strode through. She looked from Dan to Renard. ‘What’s all this about then?’

‘We have a visitor,’ Renard replied.

‘I can see that,’ Eloise said.

‘Just an informal chat,’ Dan added. ‘Francis has been telling me all about his adventures with UFOs and hitch hikers.’

Eloise looked away and muttered, ‘Can’t help himself.’

Renard looked at his wife and said, ‘Dan was just asking about Saturday night, November 29, 1980, my dear. Do you remember anything?’

‘I was too young, and still in Switzerland, I think,’ Eloise replied. ‘But thinking about that date, and the age of your daughter, I would say that it might be a significant date.’ She faced Dan and explained the recent discovery courtesy of a DNA test.

*[Photo 4: Iconic Switzerland with cow © L.M. Kling 2014]

‘How so?’ Renard asked.

Dan flushed, his face the colour of beetroot, and he chuckled. ‘I guess you got some value out of that old van of yours Francis.’ He glanced at his phone on the coffee table and realised the recording app was still activated.

Renard cleared his throat. ‘Oh, yeah, now, who was I with?’

‘Her DNA results will clear up that mystery,’ Dan said and then rose. He made the assumption that Renard would have been occupied with conceiving his daughter and thus not focussed on the fate of Milo Katz. No use continuing the interview now, he thought, and decided that if he needed more information from Renard, he’d make another time to see him on his own. He picked up his phone, with his notebook, tucked them into his pocket. ‘I better get going.’

Eloise walked him down the hallway. ‘How’s things?’ she asked.

‘Could be better,’ Dan said.

Over the next half hour, on the front porch, view of the gulf on a gentle autumn day, blue water and white sail boats bobbing, he proceeded to tell Eloise about the dramas in his life. His son wanting to move back to Europe to be with his ex. Mooch, actually. They’re in Lausanne, Switzerland. Whatever for, he has no idea. And his relationship with Jemima is under pressure. She’s all fired up about politics and a particular protest movement. Disruptions going on left, right and centre. And he must help police those from time to time and there’s Jemima on the other side. So awkward. What is he to do?

Plus, to make matters worse, he’s been partnered up with Dee Berry. Remember her? Such a difficult personality. And they have history going back to the ‘70’s. History he’d rather forget. Old flame, you see.

[Photo 5: Brighton Beach © M.E. Trudinger 2010]

In the pause while Dan reflects on his lot in life, Eloise asked, ‘Say, Dan, there’s this cold case I’d like to look into, if that’s at all possible. Would you be able to lay your hands on the Percy Edwards files? He went missing back in 1978. And could you possibly pass them in my direction?’

Dan locked eyes with Eloise. ‘Delaney, you know I can’t do that.’

‘But…Also, I think there’s more to the disappearance of Lillie and Sven’s father, Jan von Erikson. And I have this feeling in my gut that Mr. Edwards who disappeared a year later, has something to do with it.’

Dan puffed. ‘You and your gut, El, one day, I believe it will be the end of me.’

‘You will?’

‘I’ll have a poke around.’ Dan shook his head. ‘Can’t promise anything.’

As Dan climbed into his Government issue 2022 Toyota Corolla Hybrid, he remembered that his mobile phone recording app was still running. A colourful word escaped his mouth before he muttered that he must delete the last thirty-minutes of recording. When he gets home and works out how to do such things.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2024

*Feature Photo: Seagulls Brighton Beach © L.M. Kling 2010

***

Sometimes characters spring from real life,

Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.

Sometimes real life is just real life.

Check out my travel memoirs,

And escape in time and space

To Central Australia.

Click on the links:

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or for a greater escape into another world…

Check out my Sci-fi/ dystopian novel,

And click on the link:

The Lost World of the Wends

Second Friday Crime–Under the Bridge (10)

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

[In this chapter, I just couldn’t resist a visit to the Flinders Ranges by my characters. As this South Australian mountain range is one of my favourite places and art muse, I have interspersed this rather long chapter with some of my paintings.]

PASS THE PEACE

Tuesday March 1, 2022, 9:00pm

Church on Flinders Street

Lillie Remembers

Lillie wasn’t much of a “Fringe” goer, but Jimmy’s band had a gig in town, and she had dutifully gone to support him. Around 9:00pm, the middle-aged couple ambled up (meaning heading east) Flinders Street. Lillie grumbled that they had to park so far away because there were no parks. Jimmy was simply happy that, after a long hiatus, his band could perform again. He had no complaints about parking way up Flinders Street, as it meant people were again out and about and the city was coming alive once more. Lillie stressed that she didn’t like crowds, and her back and feet ached from all the walking.

Jimmy just grinned at her and said, ‘Good exercise, Lillie.’

An unimpressed Lillie grunted in response. Another unwelcome reference to my weight, she thought.

East of the city centre, they passed the church. Men of all shapes, sizes and ages spilled out of the Lutheran church.

Jimmy glanced at the historic structure that glowed in the dark and a wide smile spread across his face. ‘Remember?’

Lillie glanced back at the men gathering in groups of two or three, happily chatting. She frowned. ‘I’d rather forget.’

At that moment, a red classic, and freshly renovated Ford Falcon XB roared past, causing Lillie to remember all the same.

***

[Painting 1: Sunrise on Brachina Gorge, Flinders Ranges © L.M. Kling]

Church on Flinders Street

May 1978

Lillie

The sanctuary of the church appeared crammed full of young people; they squeezed onto benches, pressed up against the walls and almost swung from the rafters. Looking like Moses but dressed in mohair, the minister stood above his congregation who buzzed with enthusiasm and hormones. He raised his hands and lisped, “Pass the Peace.”  The two boys on either side of her, reached across Lillie, as if she didn’t exist, and shook hands. Lillie stared across the crowded hall, the song ‘Some Enchanted Evening’ swimming in her head rather than a chorus from the Green Book. He wasn’t a stranger, not to her.

For Lillie, the popular pastor and his pantomime out of the pulpit, and the crowds caught in his spell, didn’t exist. Only he mattered, on the far side, fourth row from the front, thick black hair tumbling over his strong square jaw, his brown eyes fixed on the pastor. Her heart jumped to life and fluttered against her rib cage. She narrowed her eyes. Who is that girl? That round girl with the big blue eyes? Hate her!

As the pastor droned, could have been “begattings” and “thou shalts and nots” from Deuteronomy for all she cared, Lillie flicked spying glances on him, dagger looks on her beside him.

[Painting 2: Sunlight through a Flinders Creek © L.M. Kling]

Supper: after squeezing though the throng, shaking the pastor’s hand, Lillie entered the side hall. She drew in the instant coffee flavoured aroma and smiled as the clinking of cups greeted her. Young men and women bunched together gossiping, standing so close Lillie found no wedge of space between them to lever herself in. She stood on the outside of the groups, alone. Groups congregated and dispersed, people moved and jostled, acted and reacted, embraced and retracted under the fluorescent light.

Clutching her home-woven woollen tote bag, she side-stepped to the tea stand.

‘No milk!’ said a girl. She struggled to hide her protruding teeth between her lips. Her hazel eyes brightened. ‘Wookie!’

A man, appearing like the Wookie character, Chewbacca from Star Wars in size and amount of hair on his face blundered past, spilling boiling tea on Lillie’s flared jeans. Hot tea, no milk, no sugar, no ‘oops’ or ‘sorry’ as he brushed her on his bumbling way into the masses.

An acquaintance, from school, flitted past, mincing steps in her tight-fitting paisley pants, and layers of multicoloured silk. Primping her hippie afro, she stopped in mid-flight scratched the air chirping a brief ‘hello’. She glanced at Lillie’s plain black shoes, her beak curled and then she flew away into the crowd.

Lillie gazed down at her stupid shoes, scavenged from an op shop, she wiped her hands over her faded hand-me-down jeans, and tugged at her worn poodle jacket.

So, I’m not rich, she thought. No dad either. At least her best friend, Fifi and she were equal in the “no dad’ department now.

Lillie looked around the room, young ladies like peacocks strutting their Country Road rags, flaunting the fruits of love from wealthy parents. What was she doing here? She felt frumpy, everybody averting their eyes from her, avoiding her. She stared at the stained pine floorboards, her temples prickling with heat. Bad idea! Bad idea! What was I thinking? She twisted the bag handle in her fist and resolved to fight her way to the exit.

Fingers pinched her shoulder. ‘Lillie!’ A man’s deep voice rang.

Her heart skipped a beat as she turned. ‘Jimmy!’ She crossed her arms and focussed on his angular shoulders poking through his white t-shirt. His chicken breast chest rose and fell under the weight of a leather jacket. ‘So…’ Don’t think about the pass! Don’t get into conversation about the pass. It’s all in the past. ‘I haven’t seen you since – um…’ Just be thankful I have someone to talk to. Pink elephants. Mmm! I hope he doesn’t…I mean he’s just my best friend’s brother.

‘April? Easter in the…’

‘Flinders.’ She tried to avoid his sapphire blue eyes. Please don’t lead the conversation in that direction. ‘I like the jacket.’

‘Yeah?’ He pulled at the collar. ‘Makes me look like a rock star – Jim Edwards by name, Jim Morrison by nature.’

‘You do realise Jimmy Edwards is a British comedian,’ she said.

Jimmy laughed. ‘Famous, all the same.’

[Painting 3: Dinnertime, Arkaroola, Northern Flinders Ranges © L.M. Kling]

How did he afford an authentic leather jacket? It made her wonder about her brother Sven, who suddenly, at the beginning of the year, had cash to buy a year-old 1976 Ford Falcon XB. A shiny red Ford Falcon that looked like a slick shark and roared like a lion. She never asked. He never said. Same as he never questioned her about Mr. Percy Edwards’ disappearance. Neither did his son, Jimmy for that matter.

‘You like?’ Jimmy swayed, showing off his jacket.

‘Hardly!’ Lillie sighed. She felt stranded. Yes, he’s a friend.What happened in the Flinders stays in the Flinders, he should understand that. He should. Let it pass. There’s that word again. Just friends. Why do they always want more?

Jimmy nudged her arm. ‘Hey, Lillie, did you see me in the band?’

Stop trying to impress me! ‘Oh, er…’ She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, ‘I was way down the back, couldn’t see much of – except…’ her voice trailed into the thick of the hubbub. Francis Renard stood in a group, head and shoulders taller, so close, just Jimmy, and the groupies surrounding Francis dividing them. As Jimmy continued to try and impress her, Lillie patted her blonde locks and pulled at her cream skivvy, desperate to catch Francis’s attention.

A lull. Jimmy paused. Lillie snapped her attention back to him. ‘You were saying?’

Jimmy’s eyes narrowed and he bit his trembling lip. ‘You weren’t listening – what is it back there?’

Lillie shrugged. Sprung!

Jimmy glanced over his shoulder. ‘Oh! Fruitcake!’ He turned back hunching over as if trying to retreat into the shell of his leather jacket.

Lillie pointed in Francis’s direction. ‘Is that…?’

Jimmy darted his eyes from side to side.

‘Lucky Sven isn’t here,’ she said. For Lillie, this comment had a double meaning. One, her big brother wasn’t there to interfere. Two, he wasn’t there to cause a scene menacing with his .22 rifle or his fists in Francis’s face.

Jimmy straightened up and bared his perfect row of teeth. ‘Well, it’s been a long day. I’m off.’ He patted Lillie’s cheek. ‘You need a lift?’

‘It’s okay,’ Lillie pulled away from any further Jim touches, ‘I have a lift.’ Her nose tingled with the lie. Sure, Jimmy lived next door, but after the Flinders Ranges camping trip, she had avoided Jimmy’s offers for a lift. Just didn’t seem right, him being Fifi’s brother and one of Sven’s friends. Although, when she considered their relationship, it was one-sided; Jimmy always coming over to visit Sven and Jimmy always the one suggesting they go to the beach to surf or a water-skiing trip up the river.

Pity Sven didn’t go to the youth service. He’d avoided church and all things religious since Easter. Come to think of it, since Dad had gone. He blamed God.

‘See ya at the coffee shop?’ Jimmy nodded at her, then dug his hands in his jeans pockets and sauntered out the exit and into the darkness.

[Painting 4: Evening Camp, Arkaroola, Northern Flinders Ranges © L.M.Kling]

Lillie loped up to Francis’s group. She knew some of the crew from the coffee shop. ‘Hi,’ she said and grinned, her knees melting like wax in the presence of Francis. So suave. So French.

One by one the members of the group groaned their excuses and drifted away, leaving Francis fidgeting opposite Lillie. He nodded, opened his ribbon lips to bare his teeth. She noticed he had a slight gap between his top front teeth.

Cute, she thought.

Lillie’s tongue tied up in knots rendering her mute, while her brain offered suggestions and lines her voice rejected. She felt like a fish out of water gasping for air or any idea floating around that might hook him in.

He shrugged and then darted for the door.

Lillie raced after him and onto the footpath. Catching him by the arm, she said, ‘Look, about Sven…’

He stopped; his broad shoulders flinched. He spun around to face Lillie. ‘Who are you?’

She sprang back, his question sinking like a lead weight to the pit of her stomach. ‘But we – I mean we – I thought…’ she scrambled for an explanation.

He raised an eyebrow having a Sean Connery expression about him.

‘At Easter – in the Flinders…’ Lillie wrung her hands in her poodle jacket sleeves. ‘You and your friends were our next-door neighbours.’

‘You? No!’ He pointed at her black shoes. ‘You’re lucky I didn’t report him to the police. I have friends in the force, you know.’

‘I’m sorry about him. He means well, I mean…’ Lillie rubbed her fake woollen arms. ‘I mean, he was just trying to protect me in his own way. Being my brother ‘n all.’

‘What? Pointing a .22 rifle in my head?’ Francis aimed his index finger at his ear. He breathed out plumes of steam into the autumn air. ‘What did I do to provoke ‘im?’

[Painting 5: Rawnsley Bluff, Flinders Ranges © L.M. Kling]

‘Yeah, point taken.’ Lillie looked down at the damp asphalt, then glanced up at him. ‘Are you going anywhere near Glenelg? I need a lift.’ As soon as she produced that little gem, thoughts of recrimination crowded in. Have you got rocks in your head? What made you blurt that out? What if he takes you up on the offer? He won’t. Besides, he’s at least five years older than you. You tart! Mole! Am not! He’s spunky, I like him. Yeah, well he might just be a serial rapist and killer for all you know. He’s not, I’m sure he isn’t. Look at all those girls that have gone missing. He wouldn’t do that. Not him. What if he’s all hands going everywhere? What then? Hmm? Don’t be silly, he hasn’t taken up the offer yet.

‘I’m sorry, little girl, I cannot ‘elp you. No?’ Francis stared down at Lillie. ‘I’m going in the opposite direction. And I ‘ave university tomorrow and an early lecture. No?’

‘Yeah, fine.’ Lillie shrugged, then turned towards the amber lights of the hall. See, I was right. I knew he wouldn’t accept. Still, worth a try. She heard the click of a car door opening. She looked over her shoulder.

‘Maybe I see you at the Social Saturday night?’ she asked.

‘Maybe,’ she thought she heard him say. Bang! The door slammed shut. The car roared to life and disappeared east up Flinders Street in a cloud of smoke.

Fine rain spat on Lillie’s crown as she plodded towards King William Street. 9:00pm, Sven would be in the Pancake Parlour by this time. She’d hitch a ride home, so to speak, in her brother’s almost new red Ford Falcon XB.

© Tessa Trudinger 2024

Feature painting: Echo Camp, Arkaroola, Northern Flinders Ranges © L.M. Kling

***

Sometimes characters spring from real life,

Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.

Sometimes real life is just real life.

Check out my travel memoirs,

And escape in time and space

To Central Australia.

Click on the links:

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or for a greater escape into another world…

Check out my Sci-fi/ dystopian novel,

And click on the link:

The Lost World of the Wends

Second Friday Crime–Under the Bridge (9)

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

[There’s a story behind the feature photo. I caught this one on my way home the other night. The sky was ablaze with golds and reds reflected on the clouds. So I made a beeline down to Brighton Beach and after finding a carpark, snapped several shots on my trusty phone.

Next to me, an excited boy about eight, asked his mum, ‘Is that the Northern Lights?’

I chuckled to myself and proceeded to film the serene sea view. Even caught some dolphins gliding through the water.

Beautiful! So beautiful!

Today, we have rain.



*In this Episode of Under the Bridge,
the proverbial can of worms has unwittingly been opened…]

You Have a Match!

Monday, February 7, 2022, 6pm

Brighton

Eloise

Eloise entered her Brighton home on the Esplanade greeted by the cooling balm of a sea breeze and spicy aroma of stir fry. A balding man in his mid-60’s, wearing a chef’s black apron over his white t-shirt and blue jeans, busied himself preparing dinner.

‘Hey, there, Francis love,’ Eloise hugged him and then scanned the oil-splattered tiles and the bench covered in an assortment of sauce spills. ‘Mmm, smells delicious,’ she said before noticing three places set at the table. ‘Visitors?’

‘Ah, yes, just the usual; my mate Sven,’ Francis replied before using the spatula to push around the fried rice in the wok.

Eloise spied an opened bottle of Clare Valley Shiraz. ‘What’s the special occasion at Chateau Renard?’

Francis grinned. ‘You’ll see.’

Eloise studied the dining room and table for clues. Next to her husband’s usual place at the table rested his Surface Pro laptop. She thinned her lips. ‘I hope you’re not going to watch sport while we…’ She hated the way that even in the slate-black surface of the laptop, she detected in her reflection, the signs of crow’s feet spreading out from her wide blue eyes and a stray grey hair escaping from her honey-blonde ponytail.

 ‘Can’t help yourself.’ Francis laughed. ‘Always snooping.’

‘Old habits die hard. You know how curious I am.’

‘Well, dear, you’ll just have to wait.’

‘I could just read your mind, love.’

‘What? And spoil the surprise?’

A rap at the door.

‘Come in, if you’re decent,’ Eloise yelled.

A tall, bronzed man with bleached hair padded up the hallway to the kitchen-dining area. He placed the bottle of sparkling wine on the table before straightening his pastel green polo shirt over his beige shorts. ‘Hope this is decent enough, Ms Delainey.’ He looked at Eloise, his small Nordic blue eyes crinkled. ‘That is right, isn’t it, now that you have retired?’

Eloise snorted. ‘On leave, but who knows…’

[Photo 1: Brighton Jetty sunset © L.M. Kling 2020]

Francis Renard served the steaming plates of stir fry vegetables and wild rice, while Sven filled their wine glasses with the bubbly. Eloise stared at the table display and then looked at the men looking as if their mouths were filled with a canary or two. She resisted the urge to whip out the phone camera and take a photo.

‘So, what’s the occasion?’ Eloise asked.

‘What? You mean you haven’t guessed?’ Francis said.

‘Oh, Eloise, have you lost your superpowers?’ Sven joked.

‘He who must be obeyed said I’d spoil the surprise.’ Eloise said and then took a casual sip of sparkling. ‘Besides, there’ll be a war starting. March.’

‘Oh, it’s prophecy now,’ Sven said.

‘Among other gifts.’ Eloise sniffed. ‘I’m restraining myself from reading your grey matter.’

Renard opened his laptop and the screen lit up. ‘And now I’ll read the news that you’ve all been waiting for.’

Eloise and Sven put down their wine glasses and leaned forward.

Francis Renard cleared his throat. ‘I’m a close contact.’

Eloise and Sven sprang back. Eloise covered her mouth. ‘Oh, no! Then why have you…you’re meant to…you’ll get fined fifty-thousand dollars!’

Sven threw back his head and roared with laughter. ‘Priceless!’ he said. ‘Your reaction is priceless!’

‘Bad choice of words, but I’ve been waiting all day,’ Renard said and licked his lips. ‘My ancestry results from the DNA test. You know, the one you gave me for my birthday? They arrived in the email this morning. I have a close relative. A very close…’

‘Your dad? Mum? A sibling you didn’t know about?’ Eloise jumped out of her chair to look over her husband’s shoulder.

‘They say here that,’ Francis pointed at the screen showing a bar chart. ‘I’m a father.’

Eloise folded her arms. ‘I guess that’s always been a possibility.’

Her husband wiped an eye. ‘I don’t know how; the doctors always said I couldn’t…I had the mumps in my twenties. My wife back then and I tried, but then…well…’

‘What about before you were twenty?’ Eloise asked.

‘Possible, but you’d think I’d remember getting a girl pregnant back then.’ Francis Renard wiped his forehead. ‘Geez! That makes the kid over forty. I could be a grandpa.’

Sven’s eyes twinkled. ‘Try great grandpa. That’s what I am. If you include grand puppies.’

‘Is there a contact? A name?’ Eloise asked.

‘Well, yes. But it’s just a name and I don’t know how she fits in, who she’s related to—besides me, that is. I mean, for starters, who’s her mother?’ Francis sighed. ‘I’ve been looking through the list of matches. There are heaps of names. I spent all afternoon. It’s a real rabbit hole. And confusing.’

‘You mean, the physics professor can’t navigate the ancestry website?’ Sven said.

‘Here, let me.’ Eloise hooked the side of the laptop and swung it around to face her. ‘My job was mostly tackling computer stuff. What’s your child’s name? Are they a “he” or a “she” or, “they,” as some are these days? Oh, that’s right, you said, “she”.’

‘Come on, Frank, don’t keep us in suspense,’ Sven said. Then, ‘Hey, I’m hungry. Do you mind if I tuck in?’

‘Go right ahead, I’ll join you while the detective does her magic,’ Renard said and loaded up Sven’s plate with his signature Indonesian stir fry.

‘Well?’ Sven urged.

‘Her name is, according to this match, if she’s used her real name, that’s one thing I’ve found…’ said with a mouthful of rice.

‘Spit it out,’ Sven said.

‘Don’t you dare,’ Eloise snapped. Then quietly, ‘Zoe Thomas. Ta-da!’

Francis finished chewing and swallowed. ‘I was getting to that. But I still want to know who is the mother? Can you tell?’

[Video Screen Shot: Look for the dolphins–Check out the video on Facebook © L.M. Kling 2024]

After a few clicks, Eloise peered at the screen. ‘Hooper, how about that, I wonder if they’re related to Dan? Says here they’re a third cousin to you, Francis.’

Sven, his mouth full like a chipmunk, nodded.

Eloise dipped her fork into the rice dish and ate her meal, all the time staring at the screen.

‘But what about Zoe’s mother?’ Francis asked. ‘Any clues?’

‘I can’t tell you that; the results only reveal your DNA. Unless, of course, the mother is related to you somehow.’

‘A possibility in with our cultural and church heritage—everyone’s related,’ Sven said with a chuckle.

‘Not me,’ Francis puffed out his chest and announced, ‘my ancestors are French.’

El fixed her gaze on the computer screen and clicked the mouse. ‘According to your ancestry results, you are eighty percent Western European, ten percent Celtic and five percent Scandinavian.’

‘Okay, okay, there’s a little bit of German and I think my great-grandfather was Scottish, but so what?’ Francis replied.

‘So, back to Zoe Thomas.’ Eloise passed the laptop back to its owner. ‘I’ll let you do the honours of making contact, dear. How exciting! You have a daughter.’

The three raised their glasses and cheered Francis Renard’s success at producing a daughter.

After sipping, Sven placed his glass down. ‘Yes, but, mate. But who is the mother?’

Francis Renard shrugged. ‘Have no idea. Honestly!’

‘Don’t look at me.’ Eloise turned her head and looked behind. ‘My superpowers don’t extend to—what would that be—genealogy?’

Francis and Sven set their focus on her; eyebrows raised.

‘Is there nothing you can’t do?’ Sven said.

‘Or can do to help find out?’ her husband said.

Eloise sighed. ‘I’ll see what I can do. I’ll see what the queen of gossip, Fifi can tell me.’

‘God no! Not Fifi!’ Sven said.

‘Yes, Sven, your ex and I do art together,’ Eloise replied.

Sven rolled his eyes. ‘One of the joys of living in Adelaide, I guess.’

*[Photo 2: We even have local seals, Glenelg South © L.M. Kling 2022]

After dinner, the three sat on the balcony and while enjoying the Shiraz, they watched the sun set over the sea. The discussion centred on what a young female offspring of Renard might look like, what she might do for a profession, where she lived and most frustratingly, who the mother might be.

Social media had drawn a blank. No photos existed of Zoe Thomas. The only information gleaned was from a site used for professionals, “Link In” where a Zoe Thomas was listed as a high-ranking lawyer in Melbourne. She had completed her law degree, though, at the University of Hobart, and had been practising law for over fifteen years, in a well-known and prestigious law firm in Melbourne and rising in esteem to the ranks of barrister.

Then the conversation between Renard and his friend settled on the good old times in the 1980’s before circling back to the identity of Zoe’s mother.

Renard even retrieved his little black book from that time.

‘You’re not going to call all those dames, are you, Frank?’ Sven remarked.

‘Nah, too much water under the bridge.’

‘Not appropriate,’ Eloise added. ‘But, if you give your precious secrets in that little black book to me, perhaps I can check them out on social media.’

‘Nah, not appropriate, Eloise,’ Sven said.

‘I’m not sure about that, either’ Renard said.

‘Yeah, you’re right, most would’ve gotten married and changed their names. And I don’t have access to records. But as I said, I’ll ask around. See what people remember,’ Eloise said, and then added, ‘discretely, of course.’

*[Photo 3 and Feature: Not the Aurora Australis, but a Brilliant Brighton sunset © L.M. Kling 2024]

Francis Renard nodded and gazed at the grey wisps of cloud on the faded pink horizon. Eloise watched him as his eyes seemed to glaze with tears. She knew he’d had so many girls back then.

She gently touched his arm. ‘Are you remembering the days of your youth, love? Your Kombi?’

‘Those were the days.’ Francis sniffed and nodded. ‘I miss my Kombi.’

‘Ah, the good ol’ days.’ Sven sighed. ‘Before we…’

‘Had to grow up,’ El said and softly laughed.

© Tessa Trudinger 2024

*Feature Photo: Not the Aurora Australis, but a brilliant Brighton sunset.

***

Sometimes characters spring from real life,

Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.

Sometimes real life is just real life.

Check out my travel memoirs,

And escape in time and space

To Central Australia.

Click on the links:

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or for a greater escape into another world…

Check out my Sci-fi/ dystopian novel,

And click on the link:

The Lost World of the Wends

Sunday Story Crime–Under the Bridge (8)

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

[Ooops! Friday passed me by, and I missed posting my latest episode of my Detective Dan series, Under the Bridge (working title as some recent television series has snaffled it).

So, here it is.

This week I introduce an interesting witness, Warick Wilke who, as my story has progressed, may take on more significance than when I first thought of him. We will see…

On another note, I had feedback about a speculative murder mystery novel I’d written way back in 2010. I had shared a draft with my writer’s group and with my mum. The news was not good. Not good at all. Relegating that manuscript to the bottom of the drawer until I can work out how to fix it.

So, as this current story is a work in progress and essentially a first draft, let me know what you think.]

The Ford

Monday, February 7, 10am

Kapunda

Dan

Dee adjusted her double P2/N45 mask as the pylons of the Northern Expressway flitted past. Her glasses kept fogging up. Dan who had offered to drive the unmarked Camry, wore his supermarket purchased mask as a chin bag.

Dee glared at her partner in the fight against crime. ‘What use is it under your chin, Dan?’

‘I’m driving I need to see.’ Dan sniffed. ‘And breathe.’

‘I don’t want ya germs.’

‘Had no trouble way back in what, ’78,’ Dan replied with a shrug and then lifted the mask to just under his nose.

‘No pandemics back then.’

Dan chuckled. ‘Ah, those were the days.’

Dee huffed, folded her arms across her soft stomach and stared out the window at the Max Fatchen overpass. ‘Glad those days are over,’ she muttered.

‘Wonder what ever happened to them all? Our gang, I mean.’

‘Who cares.’

‘I remember your parties, you’d invite everybody.’

‘Not everyone…there was that skinny, bean pole of a girl with white hair. What was her name? Oh, yes, I remember, Lillie.’ Dee nodded. ‘I’d like to know what happened to her.’

‘Hmmm, Lillie what? Watson?’

‘Something like that,’ Dan laughed.

‘No, I remember, how could I forget? She looked like a reject from the Abba band. All Nordic, ya know. Yes, that’s right, von Erikson. Lillie von Erikson. She had a thing for you, ya know.’ Dee tapped the window. ‘But I put a stop to that. There was something wrong with that girl. In the head. Told her you was mine. And she believed it.’

‘Pity, she may’ve been my perfect match. Remember that show?’

‘How can I forget? I went on it, remember? The guy I got matched up with, let’s just say was not perfect. But I got a free trip to Bali out of it.’

‘Good for you, Dee.’

‘Actually, speaking of matches, I did see that Lillie once years ago. I went to this church up in Norwood one time. I was going through my religious phase.’ Dee coughed. ‘In front of me was this lady. I was admiring her dress and fashion sense. I thought she must’ve bought it from one of those exclusive boutiques in Burnside Village. She had a girl all tarted up though she must’ve been only about tenish. Mini with crop top and midriff showing. Asking for trouble. But the most beautiful auburn waist-length hair…just like the man on the other side of her, who must’ve been her father.’

[Photo 1: Inside Chapel Hill Winery, McLaren Vale © L.M. Kling 2023]

‘How did you know it was Lillie if you only saw the back of her? Wasn’t Lillie always plainly dressed?’

‘From op shops, yes. But you see, the priest up the front encouraged the congregation to greet each other.’ Dee wrung her hands. ‘So, this lady turns around and with a most beautiful smile on her face, shakes my hand and welcomes me. Then, she looks me in the eye and her smile vanishes. And I notice her nametag, put two and two together and my Sunday was wrecked.’

‘Why?’ Dan looked at Dee. ‘You could’ve kissed and made up.’

‘Never! That girl…I mean, why’s she so blessed? I ask you! And I mean there she was, still looking good, and rich enough obviously to live in the Eastern suburbs and afford clothes from Burnside. And darn it, her husband’s called Jimmy Edwards. Not the Jimmy but lead guitarist of the local band I liked.’

‘Oh, come on, people change. I remember the rumours back then. I heard that her father walked out on the family and her mother had to struggle to continue her education at our college. She refused to send her to the local state school…’

Dee turned her whole body and fixed her eyes on Dan. ‘How do you know so much about her?’

‘We went to the same youth group, Dee. I never went out with her, but we had some friends in common.’

‘So, what happened to her? How did she get so rich?’

Dan scratched his shoulder and took the tricky turn off the freeway to Kapunda. ‘After she finished school, she sort of disappeared. Went interstate for a while. We all went our separate ways, I guess.’

‘Probably got herself into trouble and…’ Dee chortled. ‘Now I remember, her brother was hot.’

‘Sven,’ Dan snorted. ‘Yeah, got married to the girl next door. Young. Didn’t end well, so I heard.’

‘What do you mean? Did he kill someone?’

‘No, they got divorced after a couple of years. But there were custody issues. I remember coming across the case. Still, long time ago. Geez! That poor little mite would be in his forties now. I wonder what he’s up to. Hope he turned out all right.’

[Photo 2: The Barossa from Menglers Hill © L.M. Kling 2017]

The welcome to Kapunda sign appeared followed by the Miner statue on the left. “Karen”, the trusty sat-nav, directed them to a road off the main road to the workshop belonging to Warick Wilke.

Dan pulled the patrol vehicle to a stop in front of the pastel green painted home. A parade of classic cars of varying antiquity lined the driveway leading up to a massive tin shed.

Dan stepped out of the car and smiled. ‘You can always look your nemesis up on Facebook and ask her to be your friend, Dee.’

‘Never!’ Dee replied.

Dan and Dee walked up the path lined with standard Iceberg roses. Dan adjusted his protective facial mask before knocking on the wire-mesh security door.

A man, his face smudged with grease and wiping his hands with a once-white cloth, emerged from the shed. ‘Can I help you?’

Dan pulled out his identity wallet and showed it to the man. ‘DCI Dan Hooper and DCI Dee Berry here. I believe you have new information about a cold case.’

‘Come inside,’ Warick said and gestured to the pair of detectives to enter his humble home. ‘I have it all set up in the dining room.’

Dee’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, my Lord!’

‘You have gone to a lot of trouble, Warick. Do you mind if I take some photos of your findings?’ Dan asked.

[Photo 3 and feature: What a legend! Our family car for many years, the old Ford © L.M. Kling 2018]

Warick placed down his cloth on an antique cedar chair and straightened a photo of a presumedly deceased kangaroo next to an obviously dented bonnet of a 1995 model Ford Falcon station wagon. ‘Best I could do; considering the original Ford Falcon XB’s can be worth in excess of a hundred thousand.’

Dan studied the photo. He’d owned a car such as this. Back in the early 2000’s. Ah! Memories! Camping trips to the Flinders Ranges with his then wife, Kate. His smile faded. Kate insisted the children have a shower each night after hiking. And made the whole family miserable if one of the children muddied their clothes. Scenery was unimportant for his ex, unless of course Kate was prominent in the photo.

*[Photo 4: Rawnsley Bluff, Flinders Ranges © L.M. Kling 2007]

‘You may want to compare this,’ Warick said and passed Dan a faded Polaroid photograph of a red 1976 Ford. ‘You can see there’s damage to the right headlight and the right side of the bonnet is caved in a bit, but you can see that a roo makes much more damage.’

Dan nodded. ‘Hmmm, Mad Max.’

Dee snorted and then continued perusing Warick’s wads of paperwork he’d gathered.

‘Also, on further inspection, I noticed that there’s what looks like a streak of black paint on the original.’ Warick quickly pursed and relaxed his lips. ‘I had to use a magnifying glass, but the image came into its own when I scanned it and enlarged it.’

‘Good work,’ Dan said.

‘Do you have a name for the person who brought the car in for repairs?’ Dee asked.

‘You see, it was only years later, upon reflection, that I recalled the motorcycle accident down at Sellicks Beach…I’m still kicking myself. Just that one detail, that one piece of paper—missing,’ Mr. Wilke said with a sigh. ‘I had an apprentice at the time. Great worker, but well, his brains, let’s just say weren’t in his head; they were elsewhere. As for paperwork? Hopeless. And unfortunately, he was responsible for fixing up that car and dealing with the owner.’

‘Name?’ Dan asked.

‘Francis Renard,’ Wilke grunted, ‘never forget that name.’

Dan made a note. ‘Francis Renard, now why does that name ring a bell?’

Dee snorted again. ‘Now there’s a blast from the past.’

Dan leaned over to Dee and whispered, ‘Is he on our records?’

‘Not exactly,’ Dee replied softly but with a sour note in her tone, ‘tell ya later.’

[Photo 5: Kangaroo, safe and sound at Aldinga Scrub © L.M. Kling 2023]

After recording Warick Wilke’s abundance of information about Fords, kangaroos, and receipts of repairs, followed by coffee and sultana cake with an informal interview, come witness statement from Warick, Dan and Dee finally dragged themselves away from the little green house in Kapunda.

‘Francis Renard and Lillie von Erikson, now there’s an odd couple I’ll never forget,’ Dee said as she yanked open the door of their Toyota Camry. ‘Imagine the offspring if there was any.’

‘What makes you say that?’ Dan asked while securing his seatbelt. He smiled, noting that Dee’s mask had slipped to below her chin after coffee and cake, and had yet to migrate up to cover it again. ‘There were rumours. Her friend, Fifi Edwards was quite concerned for her after an end-of year party.’

‘Ooh, you do remember her. Thought so.’ Dee checked her image in the mirror. ‘Wonder what happened to Francis? A mechanic: that sounds about right. If he’s the same Francis Renard, he didn’t strike me as the academic type.’

Dan tapped the steering wheel, then adjusted the visor to minimise the glare of the late afternoon sun. ‘Francis Renard, I’m sure I know him from somewhere.’

‘Probably do, Dan. It’s Adelaide.’

© Tessa Trudinger 2024

***

Sometimes characters spring from real life,

Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.

Sometimes real life is just real life.

Check out my travel memoirs,

And escape in time and space

To Central Australia.

Click on the links:

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or for a greater escape into another world…

Check out my Sci-fi/ dystopian novel,

And click on the link:

The Lost World of the Wends

Second Friday Crime–Under the Bridge (7)

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

Discoveries Awaiting

Sunday February 6, 11am

Magill Bakery,

Lillie

The Kitchener bun, its mouth between the sweet bread filled with cream, begged Lillie to take it. Eat it.

[Photo 1: A Kitchener bun courtesy of Pintrest]

Lillie ruminated over the Sunday after the week of false starts, the threat of staff strikes and extended sullen preparations for a messy beginning to the school term. The week ahead loomed. As if the official rollover of High School beginnings for Year 7’s that pulled it in line with the other states, was not challenging enough, now the virus had reared its spikey head again. A staggered start. Sevens and Eights and the Twelves, back at school face to face, but the middle years on zoom, yet again.

‘How’s it all going to work, Jimmy?’ Lillie asked the man with long greying hair tied back in a ponytail.

Her husband, Jimmy popped a handful of gluten-free lentil chips in his mouth and crunched. ‘You’re the expert, you tell me.’

Lillie pointed at the Magill Bakery display window. ‘I’m having one of those, the Kitchener bun. I deserve it. What’ll you have? The usual?’

Jimmy shrugged and munched on some more chips. ‘Yup.’

Once they had entered the bakery, Lillie pulled out her credit card from her glossy black bag and ordered a salad sandwich, gluten free, of course, and iced coffee for Jimmy. For herself she requested a pie plus Kitchener bun and long black coffee with milk on the side. The she waved her card over the machine offered and listened for the affirming ping of transaction success.

Lillie smiled and repeated, ‘I deserve a little treat.’

The couple sat at a table near the automatic sliding door under the cool breeze of the air conditioning vent. They settled, first course on white plates arrived and they removed their masks.

Lillie noticed Jimmy’s lips stretch in an expression of disapproval and she said, yet again, ‘I’m treating myself. I deserve it.’

‘You say that every Sunday after church when we come here,’ Jimmy remarked.

Lillie pouted. ‘Well, after the week I’ve had.’

‘It’s always such a week you’ve had.’

‘The trials and tribulations of being a secondary school principal, dear.’

Jimmy glanced at her not so healthy choices and frowned. ‘No rest for the wicked.’

Lillie leaned back in her chair, her wide girth prominent. ‘And what do you mean by that comment?’

‘Er, nothing my love, just banter, a saying, so to speak.’

‘I hope so,’ Lillie tucked into her pie with sauce, ‘because it’s not easy running a large and prestigious college at these times.’

‘No, dear,’ Jimmy stood up and strolled over to the counter where he picked up the latest Sunday paper. ‘Crossword, dear?’

Lillie sniffed. ‘If it’s not half-done.’

‘I could go to the newsagents…’

‘Don’t bother, got my Words with Friends.’

After shaking his head, Jimmy sat down and spread out the paper on his side of the table.

Lillie finished her pie and then took a bite of bun. With mouth full and hand outstretched, said, ‘Crossword, dear?’

*[Photo 2: Kookaburra in Magill © L.M. Kling 2016]

Several minutes of silence ensued as husband scanned the latest news, and Lillie puzzled over the crossword. Wife shifted in her seat; just couldn’t get comfortable. Words for the clues eluded her. Was she growing demented?

Lillie studied the black and white squares of the puzzle. ‘Another word for fox. Really? Who compiles these crosswords?’

‘There’s over 20000 cases and two more people died,’ Jimmy said.

‘It’s like the critter is stalking me,’ Lillie muttered while hovering her pencil over the crossword. Everywhere she looked these days, her past shadowed her. Memories from her youth attached themselves to every thread of her thoughts. A burden tempting her to confess deeds done over 40 years ago. She must resist. Too much to lose.

Jimmy looked up. ‘You say something?’

Lillie swayed her head and pinned back a bleached strand from her face.

‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine.’

Jimmy reached over and held her hand. ‘You know, I was thinking.’

‘That sounds dangerous.’

‘Yes, well, it’s a big zero birthday for you this year.’

‘Don’t remind me.’

‘Anyway, I was wondering what we, I mean the family could get you for your special day.’

Lillie sighed. ‘If you think I want an exercise bike or gym membership…’

‘I know we talked about an overseas holiday or even a trip to Tasmania, but um under the circumstances…’

‘I agree, a caravan and a trip to Robe?’ Lillie chuckled.

Jimmy grinned. ‘Caravan, hadn’t thought about that.’

‘They’re everywhere, love. Like there’s a secret caravan breeding programme going on.’

*[Photo 3: Caravan cutie, Mambray Creek, Flinders Ranges © C.D. Trudinger circa1959]

Jimmy snorted and laughed.

‘Only problem is. We’d need the four-wheel drive to pull it, and they’re not cheap, especially now.’

‘And not exactly something we can afford right now. What with bailing out my brother again and forking out more money to save our daughter, Tiffy from that scam she got tangled up in, we don’t have much left in the kitty.’

‘And all the gigs for our band have dried up over the last two years,’ Jimmy added.

‘Yes, that too.’ Lillie sighed. ‘So, my big birthday will have to be a rather simple affair this year.’

‘What I was thinking,’ Jimmy squeezed her hand, ‘what about a DNA testing kit. I’ve been doing some family history research and I reckon it would be interesting finding out where we come from. I mean, remember I got one of those things for Christmas from our nephew, Jacob. We could do the test together. Think of all the discoveries we could make.’

Lillie narrowed her eyes. ‘Nup, not happening.’

‘Don’t you want to know? I mean, your dad disappeared too. Left you, and somewhere, out there you might have a whole new second family.’

‘Like your dad?’ Lillie wagged a finger at her husband. ‘I see where this is going. You want to do your DNA, and then trot along to the police station and wave it in front of their faces saying, “Do you have any John Does matching this profile?’’ She scooped up cream from her plate and licked her finger. ‘Nup, not interested. It’s in the past. Water under the bridge. If those bones we found all those years ago were anything to do with your dad and your family, the police would have gotten back to us. Besides, from what I remember of your dad and what your sister has said about him, it was best that he left. Like my dad, he was a bad egg.’

Jimmy bit his lip. ‘He was still my dad. He had his faults. But, um what I want is closure.’

He then rubbed his nose and looked away.

*[Photo 4: Birthday Cake © L.M. Kling 2023]

Lillie shoved her empty Kitchener bun plate to the side of the table. ‘DNA? Not happening. You do realise that it’s all a rip off. I’ve read half the time they make it up.’ The sugary yeast bun and cream was beginning to give her indigestion. She burped. ‘End of discussion.’

Jimmy folded the newspaper. ‘Caravan? Holiday to Robe?’

Lillie glared at her husband.

‘Camping trip to the Flinders Ranges?’

‘I have work to do.’ Lillie stood up. ‘Let’s go.’

*[Photo 5 and Feature: View near Flava Café, Christies Beach © L.M. Kling 2023]

Sunday, February 6, 2pm

Café at Christies Beach

Eloise

Eloise and Fifi shared a generous serve of battered Port Lincoln flathead, chips and salad. Fifi kept an eye on the Bay Marie hoping no one would snaffle up the last chocolate mousse. Eloise settled on the citrus tart—if she had room. It seemed the more they went to this place, the larger the serves became.

Fifi smiled. ‘A continuation of our family saga, and away from prying ears, so to speak…’

‘What?’

‘You know how I don’t seem to fit in my family.’

‘No but go on.’ El leaned forward.

‘Anyway, I decided to settle the matter. You know how you were going on about getting your DNA done? Well, I did it.’

‘You ordered a test then?’

‘Yeah, I got it for my son, Jacob to give me at Christmas. I gave one to Jimmy, too.’

‘How did that go down?’

‘Not too good. Jimmy my brother was okay with it, but you should’ve seen Lillie. She went white, and then argued that we were condemning the family and any crimes my descendant might commit in the future would be discovered through my DNA. “Done it in America with the Golden Gate killer,” she said. It ruined the whole afternoon with her going on and on about it.’

‘I wonder what crimes Lillie’s committed that she’s so mental about the whole DNA thing?’ El said and laughed.

‘Hmm, I wonder what she’s hiding,’ Fifi said and chortled. ‘Well, I’m going to snaffle that…’

[Photo 6: Cappuccino still available and delicious © L.M. Kling 2023]

A small whiney voice interrupted Fifi’s thought of mousse-poaching. ‘Hi, there Eloise and Fiona. I couldn’t help over-hearing…’

El and Fifi snapped their attention to the owner of that whiney voice. Shaz with chocolate on her lips, grinned at them. The last mousse in her possession. ‘I just wanted to say, I done my DNA and it’s amazing. They traced me back to Queen Elizabeth the first of England.’

‘How’s that possible?’ Fifi asked. She knew her history.

‘Well, they did.’

‘Not a direct descendant,’ El remarked. She knew how family history worked. She’d been working on her ancestral trees for five years now.

‘Huh? What’s a direct descendant?’

El sighed. ‘Sorry, dear, but we must get going. See you at art?’

As El and Fifi left the establishment and made their way to the car, Fifi whispered, ‘I swear that girl is stalking you.’

‘I have wondered, and wouldn’t be surprised,’ El said. ‘I’ve got a creepy feeling about her. By the way, have you got the results back yet?’

‘Not yet, I waited a bit before doing the deed, Christmas and New Year ‘n all that. And I reckon Lillie’s stopping Jimmy from taking the test. But mine should be ready soon. Maybe there’s some cousins…’

© Tessa Trudinger 2024

Feature Photo: View near Flava Café, Christies Beach © L.M. Kling 2023

***

Sometimes characters spring from real life,

Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.

Sometimes real life is just real life.

Check out my travel memoirs,

And escape in time and space

To Central Australia.

Click on the links:

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or for a greater escape into another world…

Check out my Sci-fi/ dystopian novel,

And click on the link:

The Lost World of the Wends