For a sample of where some of the main characters have come from, a short story which will be serialised over the next few weeks. This one focuses on Minna’s future love-interest, Günter and his origins.]
The Choice—Bits
Short Story: Black Forest…in Bite-sized Bits
Bit 1: The Centripetal Force of Günter
Herr Crankendinger cracked the switch on Günter’s open hand. The lad, fourteen years old, the in-between of boy and man, clenched his teeth. He locked eyes with the scowling school master. Günter had the urge to snigger. Not a good urge to have when the school master is beating his hand. Günter pushed down the bubble of snigger rising from his beating chest. His stomach churned, and all fizzed up, the snigger with a mind of its own, rumbled in his throat and then slipped out of his curled mouth.
‘Dumkopf!’ Herr Crankdinger screamed. He hammered the boy’s palm again and again. ‘You will learn!’
‘Aber, the water in the bucket is held by centripetal force, not magic. The man at the Show is not the devil.’
Herr C’s face glowed red and his ice-blue eyes bulged. He stomped his one foot and peg-leg (a casualty of the Thirty Years War), and cried, ‘Heretic!’
In the candle-lit chapel, thirty-nine pairs of eyes stared at their castigated classmate, and the owners of those eyes froze on their cedar benches. One boy in the back row tittered.
Encouraged by the titter of support, Günter continued, ‘Gravity, have you not heard of gravity? Have you not heard of Isaac Newton?’
‘Oaf!’ The teacher pointed at the door. ‘Witch! And don’t come back! Your education is finished. Understand?’
‘Never learnt anything here,’ Günter muttered as he strode between the rows of school boys towards the heavy doors made of oak.
He pushed one open, squeezed through and then bolted. Pigeons fluttered as Günter ripped through the town square, of the small village in the Schwartzwald (Black Forest). First flush of spring made Günter a bundle of nervous energy, especially when he saw three milk maids delivering their buckets full of cow juice to the stalls in the square. He looked at the blonde triplets in their puffy cotton sleeves and blue pinafore dresses, and he stumbled on the cobble stones.
The girls sheered away from him.
‘Oh, keep away from the plague,’ one said loud enough for him to hear.
‘Ugh, he smells like cow dung.’
‘No one would want to marry him.’
‘All he attracts is bugs and flies.’
And the three girls giggled.
‘You’re no beauties yourselves,’ Günter muttered as he dug his hands in his pockets. He didn’t care it was bad manners to dig hands in pockets. Too bad, he thought, then tramped up the hill to his home.
On the way up, Günter glanced in a pond. His nose like the Blauen-Hoch dominated his dusky face, and pimples gathered in clumps like pine trees on his high forehead, square chin and of course, his mountain of a nose. He pulled his thick dark curls over his face to hide the awkward ugliness, and then with his head down and hands buried in his pockets, Günter shuffled up to his home presiding over the village, a mansion crumbling with neglect.
How long before his home looks like those Roman ruins down the road? Günter wondered. Another victim of the Thirty years war that had dominated life in the 17th Century. So close to the sanctuary of Switzerland, and yet…his father had to go and join the cause. So did his older brother Johann. How could Günter as a boy keep the house and home together?
Go on a reading binge and discover the up close, personal and rather awkward relationship between Günter and that nasty piece of cockroach-alien work Boris in…
[Currently, I have three of my paintings displayed at the Blackwood Rotary Art show which is on for the next couple of weeks. If you are in Adelaide, check it out. A number of us Marion Art Group artists have our work in there. Hence, one of these paintings, my painting, the feature painting of Mt. Zonder which has nothing to do with the ongoing saga of my Friday serial, “The Culvert”.
I post this work-in-progress for your entertainment and also, feedback, if you are so inclined to give some feedback.
Cheers, Lee-Anne]
Collaboration
Thursday, May 19
10am
Police HQ
El
El stood beside the multimedia touch screen and created a Venn Diagram. She felt awkward, like an imposter—she shouldn’t be here. But here she was. She glanced at the patent label down the bottom of the screen, in teeny weeny script, “All rights reserved, Sven von Erikson” and again, was not sure they should be using this programme.
Dan assured her it would be fine and that he’d been using the so-called collaborative/crowd-sourcing material for months. ‘If it helps catch the culprits, what harm can it do?’
El pointed at the middle of the intersecting circle where the name of Sven von Erikson was written in bold Arial script. ‘But he’s a suspect, Dan. Who says he won’t fiddle with the programming and make sure he disappears?’
‘I’m sure he won’t do that,’ Dan replied. ‘After all, he wouldn’t have given me the programme to test, if he didn’t want crimes solved too.’
‘Keep your enemies closer,’ El muttered.
‘He’s a friend,’ Dan said. ‘Besides, if it’s a success the department will be rolling it out Australia wide.’
‘I prefer the old-fashioned whiteboard and Blue Tak,’ Dee plopped her comment in, ‘all this technology is begging for stuff to go wrong. I hate technology.’
‘Why don’t you go down to the basement and dig out an old whiteboard and Blue Tak then,’ Dan said.
‘Rather not, all that dust gives me hay fever.’ Dee shook her head. ‘Anyway, I’ve got my investigation mapped out on a wall at home.’
The three studied the diagram with the intersection of suspects who out-numbered the witnesses on either side. Dan tapped the name of Lille’s and Sven’s father, Jan von Erikson. ‘Where’s he?’
‘If he’s still alive, he’d be ninety-two,’ Dee said. ‘But I do remember from my research that he walked out on the family back in 1977.’
‘Right, Dee,’ Dan said, ‘I want you to find out where Mr. von E went and what he’s been doing all this time. No one ever reported him missing?’
‘Appears not, seems they just accepted he walked out and wanted nothing more to do with the family,’ Dee said.
‘Now, El, let’s not assume, but confirm if he’s dead or alive, and when and where he might’ve died or where he’s living now. I want you to go where the von Erikson’s lived at the time, I have the address here,’ Dan handed El a slip of paper, ‘and ask around. You never know, there maybe someone who remembers something.’
‘What about the Edwardes’s?’ Dee asked.
‘They’re a no go at the moment; Lillie has put in a complaint of harassment. So, we have to tread carefully until we have more solid evidence,’ Dan said. ‘I’ll be continuing to gather information concerning Percy Edwards and his murder.’
Dee raised her hand. ‘What about the trafficking of the baby Lillie had back in 1981?’
‘That will need to be put to one side until after we sort out the murders,’ Dan said. ‘Now, we have our work cut out for us, so let’s get onto it.’
Again, a detective sat opposite Francis. This one was female and wore a smug expression. Introduced herself as Detective Dee Berry. She announced that she had further questions that must be answered into the cold case inquiry of the hit-and-run of Milo Katz.
Francis Renard watched as this woman who he vaguely remembered from his youth purse her lips as if her mouth were full of berries. He noted that his wife, Eloise had made herself scarce. Gone for a walk on the beach. A fine morning for it, so she said after hearing Dee Berry was coming to visit.
“You’ll be fine,” El promised, before departing, leaving him to be fed to the “shark”. “Text me if she becomes too much of a problem. Besides, Zoe’s in the next room.”
So, this lady detective opened her strawberry-coloured lips and said sweetly, ‘I have some news for you, Mr. Renard.’
‘Really?’ he shifted his wiry body in the occasional lounge chair making it squeak. ‘I really think I told your partner, Dan Hooper everything I can remember from back then.’
‘Can you remind me who you spent the night with, and where on the night in question?’
‘Er…um…well, it’s a long time ago,’ Renard paused, and decided to change the subject. ‘You look familiar, do I know you from a past life?’
Her expression soured. ‘We used to go out, around that time, Francis.’
‘Did we? I-I don’t…’
‘Obviously not,’ Dee said, glaring at him. ‘Just to clear the air, you stood me up at my own end of school party. Then later, you said that you were there, but you weren’t. I have it in my diary and you’re in none of the photos. And…’ Dee raised her hand for emphasis, ‘this is the best part, we have witnesses, and subsequent evidence that place you and your Kombi at Sellicks Beach on that night when Milo Katz was run over. Would you like to comment, Mr. Renard?’
‘Er…er…’ Renard fiddled with his phone trying to surreptitiously send an S.O.S. to El. ‘Wh-what evidence?’
‘Some pretty solid evidence,’ Dee rubbed her hands together. ‘On the night in question, witnesses reported that you spent the evening with a certain young lady. Do you remember? Or have you forgotten her too?’
‘Um…probably, there were a lot of them back then.’
Dee leaned back in her chair. Looking smug, she said, ‘It would seem there was fruit from your labours, Mr. Renard. Nine months later, a girl called Zoe Thomas was born. We believe this child is yours Mr. Renard.’
Renard looked up and beyond Dee. He smiled, ‘Oh, yes, I know all about Zoe.’
The blonde standing behind Detective Berry grinned. ‘Did I hear my name in vain?’
‘Huh?’ Dee turned; her eyes widened. ‘I’m conducting an investigation here, Miss. Who are you?’
‘Zoe Thomas, Ma’am,’ she held out her hand to Dee. ‘Barrister.’
Dee refused to take her hand. ‘I see, so you’re not just a wee bit curious about your mother?’
‘I am, but at this present time, I’m more concerned with the current investigation of my father.’
‘Why?’
‘It would seem from your tone and attitude, and from what I could hear, that your history with him makes it too close and personal for you to be involved.’ Zoe narrowed her eyes at Dee. ‘You may conclude your discussion and leave now.’
[Twelve years ago, the T-Team, next generation embarked on their pilgrimage to Central Australia. Purpose: to scatter Dad’s ashes in his beloved Central Australia, in Ormiston Gorge. Over the next few months, I will take you on a virtual trip to the Centre and memories of that unforgettable holiday in 2013, with my brother and his family; the T-Team Next Generation. This time, the T-Team farewell Glen Helen, then struggle with the concept of driving in convoy.]
The sound of boots scuffling in the boys’ section of the tent woke me. I wormed my way out of the sleeping bag, careful not to wake Hubby. He still puffed out the sweet dreams while softly snoring while I crept next door to investigate.
Captured more of Mt. Sonder at sunrise; this time in blue and mauve hues rising above helicopter landing pad. In 2010, Mum and her sister had splashed out and taken this helicopter ride over the MacDonnell Ranges. In some ways an easier way to have a birds-eye view of the ranges without all the huffing and puffing and effort climbing a mountain.
Mum had been there and done that in her youth when she climbed Mt. Sonder with my dad and other Hermannsburg friends. Mum shared just recently, that one of the friends was a rather luscious looking fellow. She puzzled why there seemed to be no photos of this chap in Dad’s slide collection of the occasion.
On my return from this venture down memory lane, I collected some firewood from an old campfire. Hubby narrowed his eyes and growled, ‘We’re not making a fire.’
‘Okay.’
I approached my nephew who squatted by a campfire which he had lit. ‘We’re not making a fire,’ I said and then dumped my wood collection into the fire. ‘We’re not having a fire?’
My nephew laughed. ‘I was just playing with my stick and it broke and went in the fire.’
‘And my pieces of wood just fell into the fire,’ I added.
We watched the flames grow, both chuckling at our insurrection to his Lord-ship’s ban on fire.
After a toilet break, I filled a billy can with water and it made its way onto the coals. The family gathered, enjoying its warmth and relative scarcity of flies and other insects. But for some, like my younger niece, the fire failed to ward off all the flies; especially those tiny little sticky flies that crawl in one’s eyes, nose and mouth. For her, the only solution was to put a re-usable cloth shopping bag over her head.
Following breakfast by the fire that my husband said we weren’t going to have, I washed and packed up my bedding and stuff in the tent. Having done as much as I could to pack the Ford, I walked up to the restaurant with Son 2. He wanted an iced coffee. There, while Son 2 drank his iced coffee, I bought a book about Uluru, and then had a coffee with Mum. We talked with the owner and Mum shared that she had visited Ayers Rock (Uluru) in 1953.
‘We were the only ones there,’ Mum said.
‘Was Dad there that time?’ I asked.
‘Yes, but I was much younger, and we weren’t going out then.’ Mum laughed. ‘One of the ladies lost the sole of her shoe when we were climbing, and Dad gallantly lent his shoes to her and walked down the rock barefoot.’
‘Just like my brother did in 1981 with his cousin. Only they did it as a dare.’
‘Must be in the genes,’ Son 2, who had been quietly listening to the conversation, snorted.
By 10.30am, the T-Team convoy had left Glen Helen, its red cliffs, its flies and the doused and covered fire in a distant mirage and we headed for Ormiston Gorge, again. My sister-in-law wanted to buy a souvenir magnet at the Ormiston Gorge information centre.
We parked at the turn-off, where Mum, Son 2 and I waited in Mum’s hire car for the Ford containing Hubby and Son 1 to arrive, and the T-Team in their white van to appear.
‘What’s taking them so long?’ Son 2 asked.
‘Maybe the Ford won’t start.’ A definite possibility, I thought.
‘Don’t say that,’ Mum said.
‘What about the T’s? They’re late too.’ Son 2 grumbled. ‘We’ve been waiting twenty minutes!’
I sighed. ‘Perhaps the Ford has broken down and brother is under the bonnet trying to fix it up.’
‘Should we go back then?’ Mum asked.
‘Yes, I think we should,’ I sighed again while starting up the engine. I rolled the car forward, performed a U-turn and then headed back to Glen Helen.
Just as we reached the road to Glen Helen, the Ford appeared and sailed past us on its way to Ormiston Gorge.
Down the valley we travelled until we could safely do a U-Turn, at what we had coined the “U-Turn Crossing”. This was the place where a couple of nights ago, Son 1 had collected firewood while I collected photos of Glen Helen’s iron-red cliffs bathed in the golden rays of the setting sun.
Then, stepping on the accelerator, we chased the Ford. Upon catching up to the Ford, we beeped the horn and flashed the lights of our rental car.
‘What the…?’ Son 2 pointed at a white van on the opposite side of the road, heading back towards Glen Helen.
‘No,’ Mum said, ‘we’ve all missed the turn off to Ormiston.’
More sighs. A brief park by the side of the road, our car with the Ford, and then exchange of information with Hubby and Son 1. Then with my brother who had also missed the turn off to Ormiston and had to retrace his tracks back. We turned around (in our cars) and in convoy, bumped our way down the rough track to the Ormiston where we waited for Mrs. T to buy her fridge magnets.
Transactions done, we began our journey to Hermannsburg. This time, the T-Team in their white van, waited for us to catch up. Again, this time in convoy, to Mum T’s childhood home.
By five in the afternoon, Dee was driving down the windy road from Queenstown to Strahan. She heeded Mavis’ warning to take care on this narrow, steep road. She counted the number of cans strewn on the side along with the native wildlife carnage—mostly pademelons and wombats.
Local traffic frightened her. They swung around the bend, on her side, almost colliding head on before swerving to their side of the road.
Dee drove slower than the locals to avoid becoming another statistic. A conga line of cars fumed behind her. Every so often, a frustrated driver risked their lives and sped past her around a blind corner. Dee expected to witness disaster awaiting her on the other side, but this time, they’d been lucky.
Finally, as the sun set over a choppy Port Macquarie, Dee pulled in at the caravan park cabin she had booked that morning.
After a quick shower and change into a fresh pair of black slacks, white shirt, and black jacket, she headed for the hotel. There being a number of eating places that lined the main street, she chose the one that appeared most popular, a bar and bistro.
Before settling at a table to sit, Dee weaved her way through the Friday night crowds to the bar. She hoped the bar staff were not too busy to have a chat. She also hoped they had an inkling who Greg Thomas was and where she could find him.
Resting one elbow on the bar, while trying her best to look casual, Dee waited. The bar staff scurried from customer to filling up large glasses called “schooners” with beer and ignored her as if she were invisible.
‘I’d make a good private detective,’ Dee sighed and muttered. She wondered if word had got out around Strahan that she was in town, on the warpath, investigating. Perhaps Mr. Thomas had gone into hiding and the locals were all protecting their own and their secrets. Or was it just that she was at that age and invisible. Probably the latter, she thought.
As a more mature bar staffer, a balding man with grey sideburns whizzed past her, Detective Dee Berry straightened up and leaned over the counter.
‘Excuse me,’ she said.
‘Hold on,’ the man glanced back, ‘just a minute.’
Dee gritted her teeth, pulled out her ID card and held it up. ‘It’ll only take a minute of your time.’
The man looked like a rabbit, or in Tasmania’s road case, a pademelon, stunned by the headlights of an oncoming car, and hurried over to her. ‘How may I help you?’
‘I’m looking for Greg Thomas,’ she said, ‘do you know him?’
The man’s eyes widened. ‘Is he in trouble?’
‘Na, not really. I’m trying to chase up his daughter, actually. You know, the lawyer?’
‘Oh, is she in trouble?’
‘I can’t say, it’s confidential.’ Dee smiled. ‘Do you know where I can find him?’
The man pointed across the street at crowds of people milling around a brown and green structure topped with sail cloth. ‘See the Visitor’s Centre, there, he’s next to that in the timber yard.’
‘Oh, right?’ Dee lifted her hand from the counter and prepared to leave. ‘Thank you. What time does he finish work?’
The man shrugged. ‘He’ll most probably still be there. He works late on his projects most nights.’
Dee waved and said again, ‘Thank you.’
She walked over the road. The visitor centre swarmed with the latest offload of tourists from the Gordon River cruise to an open-air theatre. The timber yard and shop appeared dark and empty.
‘Are you looking for someone?’ a voice called out of the dark.
Dee looked in the direction. The glitter of red ash splashed onto the pavement a few metres away. She could just discern the outline of a man in the shadows.
‘Huh? Who are you? Are you Mr. Thomas?’ she asked keeping her distance. You can never be too careful, she reasoned.
‘Nah,’ the man sucked on his cigarette making the tip glow red. ‘Why, do you want with him?’
‘I’m looking for his daughter, Zoe. Wondering if he could help me find her,’ Dee said, mindful not to reveal her identity as a police officer. ‘I’m an old friend of her mother’s.’
‘I see.’
Dee could just make out the man’s long hair, and beard that covered his face.
‘I was just wondering if you knew when Mr. Thomas would be in the workshop.’
The man coughed and with a gravelly voice replied, ‘Try tomorrow morning. He’s gone home for the night.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Good luck,’ he responded.
She left the old man on the wharf to his smoking and headed back to her cabin for the night.
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.
If you are in Adelaide, check out Marion Art Group’s exhibition at Bayside Village, Glenelg. On until Saturday, May 10. You can buy the paintings on the spot and take them home. Just in time for Mother’s day. My paintings are there too. Don’t miss out, have a look and enjoy the wonderful artwork.
When she left the old man at the service station, Dee made a mental note to turn left at the fork in the road where the purple house sat; just as the man said she needed to do to find the Thomas farm. She hoped the new owners would know where the Thomas family had moved.
After parking her car off the road, and in a ditch near the creek, Dee picked her way over the road and up the uneven path to the pastel pink painted house. Chooks ran amok in the front yard, scratching and pecking at the patchy lawn. A silver-haired blue heeler trotted around the yard after the chooks, sniffing and checking out where the hens had visited.
The door creaked open before Dee had time to knock, and a plump woman in her early 40’s looked at her and asked, ‘Are you lost?’
Dee replied, ‘No, actually, I’m an old friend of a lady who worked here with the Thomases back 40-years ago. Name of Lillie von Erikson? Did you know her? I’m trying to track down the daughter she had here back then…Adopted out…’
‘Ah, me mum…’ a knowing smile spread across the woman’s face, ‘always suspected that woz the case. So, now the truth comes out.’
She laughed, her tummy jiggling under her apron that covered with her latest cooking venture. Then she beckoned to Dee to come inside.
Offering a side of the table free of papers, the local lady said, ‘Cuppa? I have some delicious apple pie what’s just been cooked.’
Dee, who had a weakness for dessert and anything sweet, gladly accepted.
Over tea and heavenly pie with cream, straight from the cow cream, so the woman called Mavis boasted, Dee learnt the history of the little Huon hamlet, the days of the lives of each of the inhabitants, who was related to who, how many partners each had as well as offspring. Dee’s head spun with all these extraneous details but struggled to put in even one question related to her enquiry. Mavis rabbited on and on, barely pausing to take a breath.
The apple pie was good, though, and Dee accepted a second, then third piece in the quest to ask at least one question.
When Dee glanced out the window and saw the hill presiding over the river all black in the darkness of night, she decided to move the conversation along. She pointed at Mavis’s pie and melted cream. ‘Aren’t you going to have some?’
Mavis stopped mid-sentence about her son and ex going Mutton birding, and she stared at her plate. ‘Oh, yeah, forgot about that,’ she remarked and shovelled a spoonful into her mouth.
As she chewed, Dee said, ‘Can you tell me where the Thomases went?’
At the mention of the Thomas family and Mavis’s mouth was off again, full gallop. Dee could see that at this rate it’d be midnight before she had an opportunity to leave. She didn’t fancy navigating these tricky Huon valley roads in the darkness of night and hoped Mavis would offer her a spare room or couch to sleep…if she ever stopped talking.
Dee tolerated the whole Thomas history, from convict beginnings of their ancestors, a ship that never was that they built and sped them to the coast of Chile, another daring escape from most certain hanging, to finally straightening out their lives to buy this patch of land on God’s earth.
Dee was sure Mavis was making it up as she went along.
A few hours later after weaving through the Thomas family history over the last century, Mavis announced, ‘You see, that’s why Zoe never fitted in; she wozn’t one of us.’
Before Dee could utter, “How so?” Mavis raced on, ‘Me mum grew up with Janine, went to school wif her and they got married at the same time. But while me mum went on to have ten kids, Janine had none. That was until that girl, Lillie come to work wif them. Me cousin worked wif her on the apple farm. She reckoned something woz wrong wif that girl. You can tell if someone’s up the duff, ya know. It’s the way their tummy sits, no hiding it.’
Mavis took a quick sip of her now, stone-cold tea, gulped and continued, ‘Then the next thing, off Janine goes on a holiday and bingo, comes back wif a baby. By that time, the girl, Lillie, so me mum says is gone. She woz preggers with me at the time.’
‘Did you…?’ Dee began.
Mavis cut in. ‘I went to school with Zoe. All brains that girl, and you could tell she wozn’t one of us. She definitely had the makings of a mainlander. But Janine never budged. As far as she woz concerned, Zoe woz hers and nothing could persuade her to tell the ‘onest truth. But we all knew…I mean, the Thomases, bof of them dark haired, Irish, and here they have a blonde who looked like one of them German kids that Hitler used to go on about. What were they called, them kids?’
‘Aryan,’ Dee replied and then zipped in, ‘so where are the Thomases now?’
‘Ah, well, Janine, the mother, she’s passed, so I heard. Cancer got her, they said, but Mister Thomas, he lives in Strahan. They moved to the West Coast a few years back when Zoe woz still in high school. Told ya, she never fitted in. Heard she became some hotshot lawyer in Melbourne. If that doesn’t tell ya, once a mainlander, always one, I tell ya.’
After this comment, Mavis yawned.
‘Have you been…?’
‘No, never, why would I do that?’ Mavis said. She straightened up and puffed out her generous chest. ‘We have it all here on the apple isle, why would I go there, to the mainland?’
Dee prepared to stand. ‘I must…’
Mavis jumped up and pushed her down. ‘No, no, you can’t go out now. Here, you stay here tonight. I have a couple of spare rooms; me kids are all grown up, ya see. ‘sides, it’s dark out there and dangerous to drive at night. All the animals come out and I wouldn’t want ya having an accident. No, you must stay and have a good sleep, and, in the morning, I’ll draw a map for how you get to Strahan, okay.’
Dee thanked Mavis for her offer. She’d forgotten about the wildlife. She’d seen more animal carnage on the roadside from Hobart to Huonville than she’d seen in a lifetime of driving in the Adelaide hills and surrounds. She would prefer not the add to the native wildlife body-count.
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.
Dee’s eyes crinkled as she chuckled under her mask. She slipped it to her chin and pecked at her chicken salad with croutons from the local supermarket. She had been tempted to treat herself to donuts (gluten and dairy free) from the market but resisted the urge. Must watch her weight; don’t want to end up like her high school nemesis Lillie. Boy, had she let herself go! Can’t understand how that husband of hers, Jimmy still fawns after her. Like a puppy dog, he was. Pity that enquiry went nowhere.
‘Anyway, got the Renard,’ she purred, then sipped her cappuccino. ‘By the way, Dan, there’s this no-fuss café near the bus stop that does the best. And so friendly. You should treat yourself.’
‘As you know, I had that interview with Francis Renard. You know, the Milo accident investigation?’
Dan nodded and cleared his throat.
‘You, okay?’
‘Yeah, fine. Just an allergy.’
‘Yeah, well,’ Dee replaced her mask and continued, ‘I followed up on Renard’s alibi. Says he was at a party the night in question. Now, I’ve got a feeling, just a hunch, mind you, that he’s not telling the truth.’
‘You have evidence?’
‘Not yet, but I’m working on it.’ Dee flicked through some files on the case which she had opened on her computer screen. ‘Did I mention I knew Lillie back then at high school? And Milo. What a sad character he was. So…so…thick. Kept hanging around us, wanting to be friends. Remember that?’
Dan snorted. ‘Frankly, I have no recollection of Milo. Was he in our year?’
‘Nah, should’ve been but had failed…I think he was part of the “special class”,’ Dee said, ‘Strange though, I have this vague memory of him hanging around with Renard and von Erikson. Saw them down at Glenelg in that bowling place.’
‘Bowling?’
‘Yeah, bowling. You know, ten-pin bowling? Remember Bayside Bowls? Opposite Colley Reserve. I used to bowl competition you see, and one day, around the time that Mr. Edwards went missing, there they were. Bowling. Not competition, just down the end having a social game.’
‘Did they look like they were enjoying themselves?’
‘Well, yeah, not actually … I was concentrating on my game.’ Remembering she had been trying to catch Renard’s eye with no success. ‘But I did notice at one stage, there was an almighty thud, then Renard and the von E guy laughing out loud. And I remember at that moment, Milo bawling his eyes out and then stomping out of the centre.’
The fact that this Milo character had walked off with the loaned shoes from the Centre, had disturbed Dee at the time, but it was her turn to bowl and her team “Top Spin” were depending on her for a much-awaited win against the opposing team, the “Cool Cats”.
They didn’t. Win, that is.
In her final stride, her focus slipped. To her right Renard hurled a ball at pin-breaking speed down the lane. He literally smashed the pins, leaving a 7—10 split, the tenth pin wobbling and broken. Her effort deviated at the last length to the far left and collected a mere three pins.
‘Interesting,’ Dan said rousing her out of her reverie, ‘follow that up. Perhaps Lillie has some comments about this Milo character that’ll be useful. Would you mind giving her a bell?’
‘No worries,’ Dee said with a smile. She was in a good mood today.
She didn’t mention the second part to her interview with Francis Renard. The somewhat informal part, when, after questioning Renard on his relationship with Lillie, he’d fumbled and bumbled his reply. His face all flushed he’d snapped, “It’s none of your business”, and it was long past by the time they, Dee and him, had hooked up.
Dee smiled again, and whispered, ‘Gotcha, Renard. I know you’re lying and I’m going to do whatever it takes to prove it. What’s more you weren’t at my party. I have that on record in my diary, so there. Gotchya!’
She then lifted the receiver of the office land line, punched in Lillie Edwards’ mobile phone number and waited for her to answer. She mused how small Adelaide was, particularly in church circles. The line clicked and a commanding female voice spoke, ‘Good morning, this is Lillie Edwards speaking, how can I help you?’
‘Good afternoon, Ms. Edwards,’ Dee naturally had the overwhelming urge to correct this woman, ‘it’s Detective Dee Berry from the Adelaide Police…’
‘I’m busy, I can’t talk to you at the moment,’ Lillie snapped.
‘Perhaps we could set up a time when we could …’
‘I don’t know, I’m juggling a million and one things—look, haven’t I already spoken to you guys? About that Milo case—I’ve told you everything I know.’
‘About that, I just have a few follow up questions,’ Dee said with a sigh.
‘Look, officer, I really don’t have the time,’ Lillie snipped. ‘I’ve said all I can on the matter, and I feel like I’m being harassed by you guys.’
‘Just half an hour? Could I send you an email with the questions?’
‘No. I know my rights and if you people call me again, I’m going to escalate my complaint that I filed. Got it?’
With a firm clack of the phone call ending, Lillie cut the conversation.
Dee studied her receiver, puzzled. ‘Well, that was a bit of an over-reaction.’
She wondered if Lillie remembered who she was from way back in high school and was taking revenge on her.
Dee shook her head and replaced the receiver in the cradle. ‘Nah, surely not.’
That time she met Lillie in church, while she recognised her, Dee was sure Lillie had a blank look as if she was just another person.
However, the cogs of Dee’s overactive brain began to click over. She remembered Fifi. That girl who trapped Lillie’s brother into marrying her. Pregnant, she was. Sven had to do the right thing, he did. Too young, and the inevitable happened. Separation after a couple of years. Thinking about Fifi, caused Dee to fill with pride. I never tricked a fella into marrying me. Not even Francis Renard, tempting though he was. Come to think of it, marriage and men in general passed her by. Here she was, near sixty and married to her career.
Dee gazed over at her partner in fighting crime, Dan. Not bad shape. Did she have a second chance with him? He’s single, right? Sort of. He did mention a woman called Jemima from time to time. Part indigenous so the rumours said.
She smiled and remembered him saying Jemima was up in Central Australia looking after her elderly mother.
Dan looked up from his desk and waved. ‘How did you go with Ms. Edwards?’
Dee primped her fading strawberry-blonde curls. ‘She got all defensive. I think she’s hiding something, the way she over-reacted.’
Her object of hope didn’t seem fazed. ‘That’s okay. There’s more than one way to skin a cat, so to speak. I think her former sister-in-law, Fifi Edwards might be a bit more amenable. They were best friends in their youth. Lived next door. I’ll send you the number and you can try her.’
‘Right,’ Dee nodded. ‘I’ll get in touch with Fifi, then.’
After all, back then, Dee had lived just around the corner from those two. She had hung out with Fifi when Lillie wasn’t around. They had become particularly close while Lillie was on a working-holiday in Tasmania.
As she picked up the phone handle from its cradle, finger poised to dial, Dan signalled to her. ‘Hold on, Dee, on second thoughts, I’ll make the contact with Fifi.’
‘Why?’
‘I have another matter I need to discuss with her.’
‘What? I can handle it.’
‘I just think it’s better if I maintain contact with her at this time,’ Dan replied while shuffling papers on his desk. ‘I mean, she might get spooked if too many different people see her.’
‘Why? What’s this other issue anyway.’ Dee was most indignant that Dan would take away her opportunity to catch up with her old friend.
‘Remember the body found up Mt. Lofty way?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, turns out that the boots are Percy Edwards’s. Which means most likely that the body belongs to Percy Edwards. Fifi Edwards’s father has been missing for over four decades.’
‘Fancy that!’ Dee drummed her desk. ‘Just as we start the Milo accident hit and run investigation; Mr. Percy Edwards turns up.’
‘Yeah, I know. Strange how the universe works,’ Dan said.
‘Hmm,’ Dee paused, ‘You don’t think they’re connected?’
‘Could be, Dee.’ Dan leaned back on his seat and twiddled his thumbs. ‘Stranger things have happened.’
Dee jumped up. ‘I’m off for a coffee, you want one?’
‘Yeah, why not?’ Dan patted his tummy. ‘And could you get me a couple of those delicious donuts from the market? There’s a good girl.’
Dee pouted under her mask. So, condescending! Oh, well, be kind to the man; I might catch him yet. ‘Yeah, will do, what flavours?’
‘Just cinnamon and sugar. Oh, and a skinny cappuccino while you’re at it.’
‘I’ll be back,’ Dee said and strode out the door. She had Fifi’s number on her mobile phone, so she intended to call her. While I’m out getting coffee and donuts, I’ll have conversation with my old friend Fifi, off the record, she mused.
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.
[Oops! I made a bit of a blue last time when sharing a chapter of The Culvert. A repeat of a previous chapter under the guise of a different chapter heading. How did that happen? It’s a mystery…No, actually, I confess, the chapter repeated itself in the manuscript. All fixed, so here’s the real, fair dinkum “Fallout” Chapter.]
Fallout
Norwood Saturday, May 1, 2022 5 to 10:00pm
El
El gleaned from the afternoon that currently had turned into dinner and an excursion to an exclusive club restaurant in Kingswood, seated by an open fireplace, red wine in hand, that Lillie had loved her father. To her he was a kind man but had trouble holding down a job. She reckoned he deserted the family because he was ashamed that he couldn’t provide for them.
‘Just before he disappeared,’ Lillie said, showing an antique gold watch, ‘he received this watch and he said, “I’ve lost my job, and this watch is all I have to show for it.”’
‘Can I have a look?’ El asked.
Lillie took the watch from her wrist and handed it to El who studied it, turning it over in her hand. She recalled the watch Zoe was holding the other day after the discovery at Mt. Lofty.
An inscription on the back of the watch read: In appreciation. P.E.
For what? El wondered and said, ‘Interesting. Nice watch. Would be worth a few bob, I’d imagine.’
Lillie shrugged. ‘Yeah, it’s gold.’
‘Golden handshake, I guess,’ El remarked. Then without thinking glanced at Jimmy and asked, ‘Who’s P.E.?’ Lillie had consumed a few glasses of some red wine by then. Lillie’s choice. Madam being a connoisseur of red wine. She particularly recommended drops from the Clare Valley.
Jimmy squirmed in his seat, and mumbled, ‘My dad. His boss.’
‘Golden handshake?’ El said.
‘Hard times, had to lay off people,’ Lillie jumped in and with an edge to her voice. ‘Nothing personal, he reckoned. It broke him, though.’ She then gulped down her glass of red and poured another.
‘Is that why he left?’ El said.
‘You betchya!’ Lillie said followed by another skull of wine. She started to pour more Clare red into her glass.
Jimmy placed hand over the glass. ‘I think that’s enough, dear.’
‘Oh,’ Lillie glared at her husband, ‘I’ve only started, dear.’ She nudged his hand out of the way and completed the task of filling her glass. Then she offered the remainder of the bottle to El. ‘Want one?’
‘Why not?’ El replied. She shouldn’t, she knew she shouldn’t, but with this woman of status and force, resistance seemed pointless.
She watched Lillie fill her glass. I’ll just sip, she thought.
Lillie, now slurring her words and swaying, launched into a diatribe; wrongs done to her and her hard life. Her mother, once Dad had gone, worked two jobs to send her to college. But poor Lillie suffered bullying from the rich kids. Did she mention her nemesis? Dee. Dee Berry. Oh, how she hated that Queen of bitches.
Jimmy nodded. ‘Oh, yes, Dee. Oh, my goodness!’ He turned to Lillie and gestured. ‘Tell her about the time she beat you up in the woodwork room.’
El covered her mouth as she tried her best to hide the smirk forming on her mouth. ‘Dee Berry? You went to school with Dee?’
‘Yeah, piece of work she was. Had it in for me from the moment we met eyes back in Year 8. We both liked the same guy—Danny. Danny Hooper.’
A snort escaped from El. Dan? That’s one for the books.
‘Did you know her?’ Jimmy asked.
El in a moment of awareness, cleared her throat. Don’t mention her association with the police force. ‘Ah, small world. Adelaide, you know.’
Jimmy narrowed his eyes at El. ‘What sort of work did you say you did?’
Ah, trick question. ‘Public service in human resources and management,’ El was quick to reply. She’d added the “resources” to give some distance to the management (aka policing part). Now to distract him. She took a sip of wine, then said, ‘Speaking of your father, what ever happened to him?’
Jimmy blanched and turned away. ‘I’d rather not talk about it.’
El bit her lip. ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ From what she had gleaned from Dan’s notes, Percy Edwards was himself a piece of work. ‘I understand.’ She decided not to mention the body in the freezer, even though she knew Percy was most likely the body they’d discovered under the culvert bridge on route up Mt. Lofty. She figured by this time, Dan or Dee had informed Jimmy of the discovery.
Meanwhile, Lillie was on a roll with the alcohol. She poured another drink, lost count of how many, and drawled, ‘Oh, my, Dee hasn’t changed. She’s plaguing me again. What is it with that woman?’
‘Yeah, no stopping that woman.’ Jimmy bobbed his head up and down. ‘She’s a copper now.’
‘Suits her, but why does she have to drag up the past and bother me?’
‘Why?’ El asked. ‘What’s she done?’
‘Aw, my brother hit a kangaroo way back in 1981, and now they think he’s killed somebody,’ Lillie said. ‘Hell, who do they think they are? Sven wouldn’t hurt a fly.’
Jimmy patted his wife on the hand. ‘They’re just doing their job, Honey.’
‘Yeah but takes Dee to start bugging me again.’ A cloud fell over Lillie’s expression. ‘I tell you, if that Constable Berry calls me again, I’m going to sue for harassment.’
From there the conversation meandered from current trends in politics, bitcoin (and the Edwards’ massive profits) to conspiracy theories and Lillie’s passion for pro-life. No mention of her early travels to Tasmania and adopting out her baby there.
She smiled and considered the extended time with the couple, a most productive time. She checked her watch. My goodness! 10pm!
Lillie slapped her on the back. A friendly pat that with her level of inebriation had been a slap rather than a pat. ‘I really l-l-like you, El. I feel l-l-like I’ve known you forever.’
‘Yeah, likewise,’ El replied. She realised that, although she’d warned Francis she’d be out on reconnaissance with team Edwards this night, he’d be starting to get worried. She also realised she, herself had too much to drink to drive home.
El glanced at her phone to phone for a taxi.
‘Hey, El, dear, come tomorrow and we’ll get some serious painting done.’
El nodded. ‘Sounds like a plan, but um, I need to…’
Her phone pinged. A message from Francis. Where are you?
At the “Fireside” in Kingswood. Pick me up? Over the limit. El returned.
Francis: Ok, be there soon.
El assumed that Francis would text her from the car when he arrived, and she would make her escape. She would learn never to make assumptions.
Twenty minutes later, with Lillie praising the glory of not-so-local celebrity politician, Ivan T Rumf, a slim blonde in a grey jogging suit, stepped through entrance door to the lounge.
Jimmy jumped up. ‘Zoe! Fancy meeting you here.’
Lillie continued extolling the wonders of Ivan T Rumf’s financial wizardry. Barely noticed Zoe’s presence, until…
Zoe refused the offer to join them for a glass of the good stuff and being converted to the cult of Ivan T Rumf. El assessed from Zoe’s sour expression as she waited, that she was not a fan of the money mogul.
That sour expression and lack of enthusiasm for Lillie’s current pet topic, got Lillie’s attention. She looked Zoe up and down. And narrowed her eyes. She rose with hands on hips and snapped, ‘Who do you think you are, Madam?’
Zoe stepped back and holding up her hand, tried to diffuse the situation. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve just come to collect my friend.’
‘Come now, Honey, it’s okay to have a different opinion.’ Jimmy tapped Lillie’s knee. Then to El and Zoe, ‘It’s the alcohol talking; she won’t remember a thing in the morning.’
Zoe and El glanced at each other. El rose, shrugged on her coat, lifted her handbag, and prepared to leave.
‘Hey, El, my friend, what do you think?’ Lillie tugged El’s coat sleeve.
Jimmy leaned back and smiled. ‘Hey, you know, just looking at you two. I mean, Zoe my Tassie friend, and Lillie, and I could swear you two are sisters.’
To say Lillie made a scene would be a gross understatement. Foot stamping. Fury flying. Abuse hurling. Colourful language not befitting of a prestigious college principal.
After making a hasty retreat out the establishment and into Renard’s car, El said breathlessly, ‘Sorry about that.’
‘What happened?’ Francis Renard asked.
‘She-she exploded,’ Zoe said. ‘What was all that about?’
‘Well, I’m glad I didn’t go in,’ Renard said. ‘How embarrassing for you.’
El sighed. ‘I think we have our answer, amongst other things.’
‘What do you mean?’ Zoe said.
‘If there’s any doubt, her over-reaction said it all,’ El replied.
Zoe scratched her forehead. ‘I don’t get it. You’re speaking in riddles.’
Renard huffed. ‘What the detective is trying to say, is that that crazy woman was your mother. Geez, I never knew she had a crazy side.’
El chuckled, ‘Ah, repression, does that to a person. Comes out sideways.’
‘Her?’ Zoe glanced behind her through the rear car window. ‘That woman who made a scene? Glad she gave me up…I can see the headlines now, “Judge’s birth mother is a nutcase.”’\
El raised her eyebrows. ‘Judge? You want to be a judge?’
‘Why, yeah. It’s all in my five-year plan; I was just taking leave after my mother died.’
On the drive back to Brighton, Francis Renard sat in the driver’s seat, tall, his chest puffed out. A grin split his face, and he said, ‘My daughter, a judge. My daughter a judge.’
And El contemplated. Perhaps I could return to work as a detective. Despite the fallout, she had enjoyed her foray into covert investigation. For her, Lillie’s outburst had been the highlight.
However, she was a tad concerned how she’d manage retrieving her car from the Norwood address the next day.
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.
My first memory of the verboten was the kitchen floor. Every Saturday afternoon, the kitchen floor took on the status of holy floor. Floor that has been washed with the sacred waters of floor cleaner and left untrodden to dry.
‘Don’t walk over the floor!’ Mum would yell after she had cleansed the linoleum floor. I looked with longing at the floor red with the gold and silver flecks in it. Inevitably I committed the sin of trespass on the holy floor of the kitchen and tracked a trail of my tell-tale footprints.
‘I told you not to walk on the floor!’ Mum would growl and smack me on the bottom. But I had a good reason to walk on the sacred wet linoleum. It’s because Mum would excommunicate me into the backyard of boredom, so that she could get the cleaning done. And it’s because after she had shrouded the floor with water and soap, I would have to pee. The only way to the toilet of relief, was through the kitchen over the sacred floor.
As I grew up, the kitchen was barricaded during floor-cleaning sessions. Out of desperation, curiosity and loneliness in the backyard on Saturday afternoons, I became acquainted with the family next door. More particularly, the verboten made a gradual shift from kitchen floor to the boy and girl next door. I mean, really, Mum with her sacred floor business, brought the grief upon herself. If she had washed the floor during the week and not made such an issue of it on Saturday afternoons, I may never ventured next door. Their loo was available because their Mum washed the floor during the week, if she washed the floor at all under all the rubble of clothing from a large and uncontrollable rabble of children.
Jimmy proved attractive to me because of my parent’s opposition. Fifi, his sister, Jimmy and I were childhood friends. According to my parents, especially Mum, they were not good enough. I was told not to play with them. So, play with Fifi and Jimmy I did, and their multitude of brothers and sisters. We would romp through the jungle of their backyard of unmown lawn. The weeds were as high as us children. The family were working class and faking their Christian faith, my father would say. He still accepted a position at Mr. Edwards’s factory, but…And later, once Dad was gone, she was only too happy to accept Percy Edwards’s help.
My mother had her eye on the well-to do family, the Hoopers, around the corner whose two sons were progressing towards careers into law and medicine.
Mum would say, “The kids next door will never amount to anything.”
When Jimmy took me for a dinky ride on his bike and we returned home after dark, I was grounded. I hated being grounded. By the end of the week, I vowed not to play with Jimmy again. He was a bad influence. However, Saturday and the sacred floor rolled around again, and so did Jimmy on his Dragstar bike.
‘Come on! No one’s goin’ to know! Just one ride!’ he said.
The sun shone, the sky blue and my parents were out. We were off, pedalling down the gravel driveway where we nearly collided with my returning parents in their FJ Holden.
I had a choice, I could suffer another week’s grounding or have the indignity of a smack of the ruler across my hand. I took the ruler option and learnt to be more devious in the future. There are many ways to cross a wet kitchen floor without being caught. There were means and ways of continuing my friendship with Jimmy and Fifi without catching the ire of my parents. But then after their father deserted them, the enormous family moved.
I wonder what ever happened to that man.
Perhaps life would have been different if he’d hung around. Not that they missed old Mr. Edwards. Life seemed to improve for Jimmy and his family after he’d gone.
And despite, or should I say, in spite of my mother’s protestations, I ended up marrying Jimmy Edwards. I guess in my mother’s estimation, Jimmy being a musician didn’t amount to much, but me, I’m successful. Principal of a prestigious school, how good is that.
Shame mum’s not around to see that. Although, she would definitely be turning in her grave if she knew I’m still married Jim.
Now, those Hooper boys from around the corner…one of them was Dan, I remember. I wonder what happened to him. Did he become the lawyer my mother always said he was going to grow up to be?
El paused; painting brush poised in above the canvas. ‘Oh, Dan? Dan Hooper?’
Lillie raised an eyebrow. ‘You know him?’
El cleared her throat. Better not say too much or she’ll start to suspect. Change the subject. ‘Actually, I knew his brother, Al.’
‘Oh, yes, Al, the younger one. Bit weedy and pimply as I remember. So, did he become a doctor?’
El nodded. ‘He did…a psychiatrist, I think. But it was a long time ago and I think he had some crisis in his life and had a career change.’
Lillie snorted. ‘A mid-life crisis?’
‘You could say that.’
‘So, what career did he change to?’
‘Um…’ El bit her lip and dabbed the nose of Lillie’s painted image. ‘Teaching, I think.’ ‘Haven’t heard of any Al Hooper in my domain.’
El smudged Lillie’s painted mouth. Oops! ‘I think he didn’t stay that long in teaching before he went into working for the secret service, ASIO, or something like that…’ El mumbled.
‘I’ll have to look him up,’ Lillie said breezily.
‘Good luck,’ El muttered.
‘What did you say?’
‘Nothing, but, um, I don’t think he’s got a digital profile, being in the secret service or whatever it is.’ ‘Oh, you really don’t know; do you dear?’
El shrugged and wiped her mistake with her thumb. ‘So, tell me more about this Old Mr. Edwards. What was he like?’
At that moment, Jimmy reappeared in the studio. He held a tray with three flutes of sparkling wine.
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.
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