Female Heroine

Friday Crime–The Culvert (23a)

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Cupcakes

Norwood
Saturday, May 1, 2022
1:00 to 5:00pm

El

When the football hammered on her favourite station, El switched to her USB drive and cheerful strains of Vivaldi swung into action. Nothing like this energetic Italian composer to get El into the mood of painting. Today, Lillie Edwards awaited another Saturday portraiture session.

El sighed as she replayed an awkward conversation with Dan. He so much wanted her to return to the force. El had put off the inevitable as long as possible. The longer she was away from the pressure of policing, the more she enjoyed the luxury of sleeping in, and spending each day as she pleased, the less she was inclined to return to the drudgery of work. She loved painting. Why spend days, weeks, months years behind a desk drowning in paperwork? Why waste time running multiple steps behind chasing criminals? Then, why spend all her hours again behind a desk researching, building up a case, just to watch the guilty slip through her virtual fingertips when at court, a clever defense lawyer convinces a jury to find them innocent?

With painting, she witnessed pleasant results in a few hours of dibbing and daubing while listening to her favourite podcast. Admittedly, lately, a certain crime story podcast was her go to of the month. Somehow, listening to crime stories proved more therapeutic than being involved in actual crime solving. Or so she told herself…

‘Would you consider returning to the force, El?’ Dan asked, desperation in his voice. ‘There’s nothing to stop you, now.’

‘I’ll think about it, and get back to you,’ El replied. The thought of returning to work, fighting the peak hour morning traffic, battling to find a park, and the daily grind of managing unruly people, set El’s teeth on edge.


That conversation happened on Tuesday.

Friday, Dan called again. He had asked, what was her decision.

[Photo 1: Beach view and sailing boats Somerton Beach © L.M. Kling 2025]


While gazing out at the rolling waves from her floor to ceiling window, and still dressed in her dressing gown, El said, ‘I’m sorry, Dan, I’m not ready to come back.’

‘But why?’

‘I need more time.’ Just couldn’t break it to him that she really didn’t feel like ever returning. ‘The stress of the last couple of years has taken its toll.’

‘Oh, please reconsider, El.’ Dan’s voice softened to a whisper. ‘Just between you and me, Dee is driving me crazy. With her bean-counting.’

‘And her paranoia, no doubt.’ El snipped. ‘Look, it’s people like her that make the job an issue for me.’
‘But what about the challenge, the thrill of solving a case?’

‘Hmm, only to see it all fall apart and dissolve in court. And people like Dee who with their darn bean counting miss the whole point and give the defense lawyers a win on a silver platter.’ El shook her head.

‘Nah, I’m done.’

‘What? I thought you said you just needed more time.’ Dan sounded hurt.

‘Oh, I mean, for now. But if I decide not to return, I may still consider being a private detective. Be my own boss and bypass Dee and her cronies.’

‘Oh…but…’

‘Face it, Dan, I’ve had it up to here with the government and how they’ve treated us.’

‘But we need more…’ Dan sounded sad.

‘I know.’ El shifted in her seat on the lounge chair. Guilty. ‘Downward spiral. Less workers. More work for those left. Crime goes up. But-er-I’m pretty fragile at the moment. I can’t take the pressure.’

Renard chuckled in the background. ‘Can’t blame ya; they have treated public servants poorly. I’d quit too if I was you.’

El turned and glared at Renard who pretended to concentrate on the Advertiser crossword. She placed her finger on her mouth. ‘Shh!’

‘And you think I don’t have problems, El?’ Dan snapped. ‘You know, I’d much rather be an outback cop, on the coalface, than having to put up with all this cr—I mean politics here in the city. I mean, with all the demands put on me, I don’t have a life. It’s just work, and sleep. Hell, and then I can’t sleep because this cold case has got under my skin.’

‘Is it personal, Dan?’

‘Hell, yeah, it’s personal.’ Dan’s tone had a sense of urgency. ‘I mean, I remember Jimmy and Lillie Edwards from youth group. I remember when Lillie’s father Jan disappeared. And then, a year later, Percy, Jimmy’s father vanished. So strange. So strange.’

‘Perhaps, then, you are too involved,’ El said with a sniff, ‘you need to step back from it. perspective, remember. Just a thought, who says they didn’t run off together?’

‘Yeah, yeah, but something about the whole case doesn’t sit right. I can’t rest until I…’

‘Sounds like a rabbit hole, Dan.’

‘Well, let’s just say, Dee’s already dived in and buried herself in it. And so, I must go along and pull her out.’ Heavy breathing. ‘That’s why I wanted you to consider coming back. Helping. I mean, you came to me with the cold case. You asked me. The least you could do is…’

‘I know. I know. I regret that. Moment of weakness.’ El clenched her fists. Be strong. Resist temptation. ‘Sorry, Dan, no can do. I’ve reconsidered and I’ve got to put my mental health first, or I’ll be no use to anyone.’

‘Not even now we’ve found a body?’ Dan urged. ‘Not even a little bit curious?’

‘No, Dan.’

‘Please, can’t you just find time to do some digging. In an unofficial capacity, perhaps? Please?’
Renard swayed his head while filling in a crossword clue. ‘He’s desperate.’

‘You know that’s not…’

‘If you could just…I mean, I have a family…I’m so busy, Leo, my son has gone rogue. I think he has a girlfriend but…I don’t know where he is half the time. And I haven’t seen my girlfriend Jemima and our daughter Bella in weeks.’

El sighed. Nothing like a guilt trip to make her give in. ‘Alright, I’ll see what I can…’

‘Thank you! Thank you! I’ll send the details of discovery your way. Thank you.’

*[Photo 2: Another kind of portrait session, at Marion Art Group © L.M. Kling 2024]

El pulled up in the wide driveway of the Edwards’ mansion. Just what she didn’t need, another hidden agenda behind the portrait session in honour of Lillie Edwards. Somehow, she envisioned the rabbit hole of the Edwards-von Erikson cold case drawing her into its vortex too.

She giggled. There was something in that idea that Percy and Jan had run off together. Then again, perhaps things turned sour, and Jan had given Percy the “heave-ho”. A variation on that famous cold case back in the ‘70’s of the body in the freezer.

El smiled and nodded while alighting from the car. Yes, she might start with that story and see if she sensed a reaction from Lillie.

Lillie, wearing a flowing, rainbow-coloured poncho, welcomed El into her mansion.

‘Sorry about the clutter, El,’ Lillie waved a hand at the stacks of books and piles of papers, tableaus ready to dance on what was intended to be the dining room table and floor. ‘Every holiday, I intend to tackle that lot, but…’

While skirting the newspaper piles at the edge of the open hallway, Lillie led El to the spare bedroom come art studio. Freshly brewed coffee percolated its aroma, filling the room. Lillie glided over to the table holding the coffee and a silver standing tray with a pyramid of cupcakes laden with icing. El mused, pink icing with cupcake. Would she scrape off the icing and eat the cake? Risk offending her portrait muse and host who had gone to all that trouble, slaving the whole morning buying those cupcakes from the local bakery?

[Photo 3 and feature: Cupcakes at Tealicious © L.M. Kling 2024]


‘Coffee? Cupcake?’ Lillie’s shrill voice shook El out of her sugar-frosted nightmare.

El bared her teeth in a polite smile and said, ‘I’ll have coffee, but, um, I’ll need to pass on the cake. My sugar levels were a bit up, so I need to…’

‘But they are gluten-free.’

Before El could make another excuse, a cake appeared on a Noritake plate which was graced with delicate grey leaves and accompanied by a matching cup and saucer filled with coffee and cream.

‘I thought we could have some afternoon tea before you get down to painting,’ Lillie said while biting into her icing with cupcake. Gluten-free. ‘I’m sure that’s how that famous artist on the ABC does it.’

‘Get to know the muse—I mean, person he’s painting, you mean?’ El said, then sipped her coffee. ‘So, in that vein, let me ask about your childhood. Where did you grow up?’

From that question, more followed with the answers. No painting that afternoon, only more coffee, more cake, then biscuits which were brought in by Lillie’s husband, Jimmy—interesting—and finally, to keep the conversation flowing, some white wine, a Moscato, from McLaren Vale. By the time the wine appeared, Jimmy had joined the party and El mused that this was the most successful informal interview she’d ever performed.

Something about Jimmy Edwards caused disquiet in El.

However, Lillie’s story about their history—Jimmy the boy next door, allayed El’s concerns…

© Tessa Trudinger 2025

Feature Photo: Cupcakes from Tealicious, Willunga © L.M. Kling 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

Friday Crime–The Culvert (18b)

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Another Life
Part 2

Thursday April 21, 2022, 10:30am
Adelaide University

Dee

Dee wrapped her jacket tightly around her and shivered. Sven von Erikson’s office, on the fifth floor of the science block was cold. Science books and journals cluttered the shelves in no apparent order. The desk was a mass of papers weighed down by a model of a Mad Max replica of a Ford Falcon XB GT, colour red.

*[Photo 1: Mad Max Ford advertising replica, Morphett Vale © L.M. Kling 2021]


Sven, coffee mug in hand, hurried in slamming the door on a dozen students waiting to see him. He placed the mug on a stack of assignments, then with hands clasped leaned forward. ‘Now, Detective Berry, what can I do for you?’


Dee watched the coffee cup balanced on the paper pile, and worried that the coffee would spill and ruin the work. Resisting the urge to remark on this danger, she said, ‘Thank you for seeing me, Dr von Erikson.’
A young hopeful, seeming little more than a child, opened the door a crack and poked her head through. Sven smiled and waved the girl away.


Then he turned his attention back to Dee. ‘Sorry about that. First term, lost souls.’


‘That’s okay.’


Sven glanced at his analogue watch which Dee suspected was an Asian imitation of a famous and expensive Swiss brand. ‘I have half an hour, Ma’am. Lecture at eleven.’


‘Right, I’m investigating a cold case from…’ she paused and then said, ‘November 1980.’


Was that an expression of relief on Sven’s face? Dee noted the relaxation of Sven’s mouth. His cheeks all hard lines and gritting teeth before and during the pause. And then softening and a hint of a smile once the date was announced. What was that about? she wondered.


‘November 1980? What am I meant to remember about that time?’


‘The 29th of November 1980, to be exact.’ Dee held her gaze on Dr Sven von Erikson. ‘What can you tell me about the events of that day?’


Sven laughed. ‘I barely remember what I had for breakfast and you’re asking me to recall my movements over forty years ago?’


‘I’m sure you can remember if those events are significant.’


‘Significant? How? Any hints?’

[Photo 2 and Feature: Sunset over Sellicks Beach © L.M. Kling 2017]



Dee glanced at her notebook and looked up. ‘I believe you attended a bonfire on the night of Saturday, November 29, at Sellicks Beach. Is that correct?’


‘If you say so.’ Was he mocking her?


‘We have a witness who puts you at the bonfire on that night.’ Dee narrowed her eyes. ‘Have you no recollection of that particular night?’


Sven shrugged. ‘Uni had…no, that was before I went to…I guess it’s something I would have done. Bonfires on the beach…ah, those were the days.’


‘Does anything spring to mind about that particular bonfire that you would like to tell us about, Dr von Erikson?’ Dee kept her eye on the Doctor of Computer Engineering for any flicker of deception.


The professor picked up the red model Ford Falcon XB and stroked the bonnet. ‘A roo hit my car; I remember about that time. Not at night, but the next morning. Gave my girlfriend a fright. We were nearly home, just driving down a little detour by the Happy Valley Reservoir. And this roo came leaping out and attacked my car. No respect those roos. Worse thing is, I had to stop and pull the animal off the road. Wasn’t sure what we were meant to do about a dead roo, so I left it there, I guess. My girlfriend at the time said that, if it had been a koala, being an endangered species, it would have been a different story, but…’

[Photo 3: Kangaroo in Happy Valley Reservoir Reserve © L.M. Kling 2022]



‘I see…’ Dee responded making a mental note of Sven’s version of how his car came to be damaged.


‘I always remember her saying that kangaroo-icide is better than koala-cide,’ Sven said with a chuckle.
Dee remained stone-faced. ‘Do you recall a motorbike incident? A fatality on that night?’


‘Vaguely,’ Sven looked her in the eyes and blinked, ‘oh, yeah, Milo…Milo Katz. Was that, then? I always thought it was 1981. Wow, 1980. His death, I remember had an impact on me. There I was back then, a tradie, a brickie, life going nowhere. Milo was in our youth group. Then, he was gone, killed in that motorbike accident. Snuffed out. And it made me realise that life was short, and I needed to make the most of it. So, I applied as a mature age for university. And here I am today. My girlfriend who became my wife was none too happy. Being a wife with a baby to a poor uni student. She couldn’t hack it, and she left me.’

[Photo 4: Mother and baby koala on garden wall © L.M. Kling 2013]



‘You mean, Fifi Edwards.’


‘Yes, you know her?’


‘Yes.’


‘You interviewed her, I s’pose.’


‘Yes.’


‘I bet she had some stories to tell,’ Sven snorted.


‘I can’t comment on that,’ Dee replied flatly.


‘Yeah, well, I wouldn’t believe much of what she has to say; being the village gossip.’


I wonder…he’s hiding something. Dee thought and then remarked, ‘That’s for a jury to decide, Professor.’


‘Are you implying something?’


‘No, but…’


‘Well, then, I have nothing more to say.’


Sven von Erikson gathered up some papers and placed them into an antique leather case. Then he picked up his mobile phone and tucked it into his shirt pocket.


‘As I said, I have a lecture to give, now,’ Sven said, before striding to the door. ‘Thank you for your time. I hope you get the answers you are looking for.’


Dee clicked off the record function of her phone and followed the professor to the door. ‘Thank you, Dr von Erikson, we’ll be in touch,’ Dee replied.


As von Erikson vanished around the corridor’s corner, Dee messaged Dan: “Any info on von Erikson that you might have gathered, past or present? What about his sister, Lillie?”

© L.M. Kling 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–The Culvert (17)

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

[I’ve been considering the title of this novel. Under the Bridge was a working title, made more “working” when I discovered a recent thriller is called exactly that, “Under the Bridge”. So, time to get my thinking cap on and figure out another title. “The Culvert” had been swimming around in my head. I realised that the drain in which the victim’s remains are found is essentially a culvert. So, it has been decided, and with the team of Indie Scriptorium’s blessing, “Under the Bridge” will be renamed, “The Culvert”.

The Accident

Wednesday April 20, 2022, 10:30am

Darlington, Fifi’s home

Fifi

Dressed in grey tracksuit pants and turquoise fleecy windcheater bought from the nearby Salvos, Fifi regarded her opponent. Dee sat opposite her at the green Formica table, masked and ready for interview.

So, this is the Dee Lillie always banged on about when they were teenagers, Fifi thought. Not so formidable now, are you, Dee Berry.

Dee pressed the record button on her smart phone and commenced, her voice muted by that mask. ‘So, Fifi, what can you tell me about Saturday night, November 29, 1980.’

‘Not much, it’s all a bit of a blur after forty plus years.’

‘Anything stand out?’

Fifi shrugged. ‘Just the usual end of year shindig and then later we saw Milo get knocked off his bike.’

Dee leaned forward and puffed through her mask. ‘Did you see the car that hit Milo?’

‘Oh, well, actually, we were quite a distance away and it was dark.’

‘Can you describe what happened? What you saw? And heard?’

‘My friend Lillie and I were up on the clifftop, on the Esplanade, sitting on a bench seat there. I heard the roar of the motorbike, then a bang. Then a cry. I looked and saw something flying up in the air and then disappear. I remember a car accelerating and the sound of the motor getting fainter and fainter.’

*[Photo 1: Afternoon glow, Sellicks Beach © L.M. Kling 2013]

‘And? What did you do then?’

Fifi sighed. ‘We went over and had a look. Freaked us out. The guy, Milo up against the pole. Obviously passed. There was quite a crowd come to look and help, so we slipped away down the ramp and to our party. We were having a bonfire. To tell them.’

‘Who attended your party and where were they when this happened?’ Dee asked.

‘Um, there was my boyfriend Sven, Lillie his sister, Jimmy my brother, and Francis Renard. Five of us. The guys were all down drinking beer around the bonfire when the accident occurred.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yeah, Lillie and I were watching them. From above. You know how it is when guys start drinking. It’s annoying. So, we had girl time.’

‘What happened when you returned?’

‘The guys sobered up with the news. They didn’t like Milo, but they would never wish any harm come to him. I remember we decided to camp there the night and sleep near the fire or in our cars. Besides, the tide had come in and the sand was too boggy to try and get out. Our cars were high up near the rocks, so they were safe from the tide coming in. But there wasn’t enough dry hard sand to get out. That’s why we camped there.’

*[Photo 2: Evening fishing at Sellicks beach © L.M. Kling 2017]

‘Then tell me what happened the following morning?’ Dee said.

Fifi sighed. ‘In the morning, the tide was out, and sea was all calm. I remember it was sunny. I had fallen asleep in my sleeping bag by the fire, and when I woke, the fire had gone out. I had refused to sleep with Sven in the car ‘cos he was still drunk.

I watched Sven step out from his Falcon. I watched banter between Sven and Jim through half-closed eyes.

‘Did that really happen?’ Jimmy said.

‘What?’ Sven lit up a cigarette.

‘Some hoon killed Milo up there. I can’t believe that really happened.’

‘Oh, I’m so sad!’ Sven replied.

I noticed Sven was wearing Milo’s polaroid sunglasses.

Crawling from my sleeping bag, I hobbled over to the Falcon. ‘Hey, just wait a minute. What’s Milo’s…How come you’re wearing Milo’s shades? That’s a bit disrespectful.’

‘Dunno, they were there, I suppose,’ Sven said. ‘‘Sides he wrecked mine!’

Fifi paused.

‘And?’ Dee asked.

Fifi shrugged. ‘That’s all I can remember. It’s over forty years ago. Nothing else sticks out.’

‘What about Lillie? Where was she?’

 ‘Oh, yes, Lillie.’ Fifi smiled. ‘Not sure, but I remember she ended up in Francis Renard’s van. With the Renard. Typical! I end up sleeping on the sand, under the stars, and everyone else wimps out and sleeps in their cars.’

‘When did Renard arrive at the party?’ Dee asked.

‘Not sure.’  Fifi frowned. ‘Had to be before the accident, ‘cos he wouldn’t have been able to drive up to the rocks where we were. The tide had come in by then.’

*[Photo 3: Waves at Sellicks Beach © L.M. Kling 2017]

Wednesday April 20, 2022, 6:30pm

Adelaide Police HQ

Dee

After reviewing the interview with Fifi, Dee jabbed the stop button on her mobile phone.

‘The mongrel!’ she snapped. ‘How dare he stand me up at my own party and hook up with Lillie! How dare he!’ Dee looked around the empty office and wrung her hands. ‘One way or another, whatever it takes, I’m going to get you, Lillie.’

Wednesday April 20, 2022, 6:30pm

Brighton Esplanade, home of El and Francis Renard

El

El studied the images on her mobile phone. She picked at the sides of the photo and enlarged it. She held the picture of Zoe against the faded photo of a slender blonde in a blue bikini.

‘Gawd, she was a beanpole,’ El muttered, ‘almost anorexic. Must ask Sven if she had any eating problems. Not normal to be so skinny.’

Francis leaned over her and said, ‘You’re just jealous.’

‘No! It’s not normal to be so skinny.’

‘Who’s that?’

El turned at locked eyes with her love. ‘You don’t remember?’

‘Er, um, well, she looks familiar…was she…one of my girlfriends?’

‘Unbelievable!’ El rolled her eyes. ‘This is Lillie. Back in the ‘80’s.’

‘Lillie? Lillie who?’

‘Your mate, Sven’s sister?’

‘Oh, her!’ Renard snorted. ‘Hardly recognised her. She’s so much bigger now.’

‘No food issue, now, then,’ El giggled.

‘Definitely not.’

El held up the two photo portraits, the mobile phone image of Zoe and the polaroid of Lillie. ‘What do you reckon? Any similarities?’

‘They both have blonde hair,’ Renard scoffed, then paused. ‘You don’t think—not Sven’s sister? I don’t think I ever…oh, maybe. There was that time…Milo’s accident. Hmmm.’

‘Worth Sven doing a DNA test?’

‘What about Lillie?’

‘And how are we going to get that to happen?’ El said. ‘I’ve been talking to Fifi, and she says that Jimmy wanted to give her a kit for her birthday, and she would have none of it.’

‘Heh,’ Renard chuckled, ‘probably knows the results and would open a can of worms. Sven says it’s all about image with that woman.’

‘Francis Renard, you are full of surprises.’ El kissed her husband. ‘So, it’s decided, we will contact Sven and suggest he do the test. Anyway, I already think he suspects he’s an uncle, again.’

© Tessa Trudinger 2024

Feature Photo: The Incoming Tide, 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 (16)

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

`

Wood from Tasmania

Tuesday, April 19, 2022,10am —1pm

Norwood, home of Lillie and Jimmy Edwards

Lillie

School holidays and Lillie relished the slower pace. Morning workout at the gym, working off the cakes and sweet buns and the excess that had gathered around her waist and thighs. Only six weeks to get in shape for her 60th.

Then Burnside Village for essential shopping. Clothes and shoes. Plus, hairdresser to colour and shape her whitening locks. Hairdresser suggested bronze streaks to compliment the blonde. Walked out looking like a porcupine and $300 less on her debit card. Swore never to go there again, but…somehow knows she will. Convenient and better the devil you know, so they say.

*[Photo 1: Echidna © L.M. Kling 2017]

Lunch at the French Café with Tiffy, her daughter. Tiffy on about family history and over coffee she asked, ‘Mum, why don’t you get your DNA done?’

‘Why do I need to?’ Lillie retorted. ‘We are pure German stock, and you know everybody and their mother in our family have been digging up our ancestry. Haven’t you seen the five thick books in our library? If I want to find out where I came from, I just look in them.’

‘But Mum, von Erikson is not a very German-sounding name. More like Dutch. Just think, you might have Viking blood.’

‘Hmmm, Vikings were from Scandinavia, more like Norway, dear. And besides, your grandfather, rest his soul, came from Hamburg. Von also denotes aristocracy. Dad’s ancestors owned a castle. As I said, dear, it’s all in the family history books.’

*[Photo 2: What better castle than this—Neuschwanstein © L.M. Kling 2014]

‘But Mum, wouldn’t you want to find out what happened to Grandpa?’ Tiffy stroked the side of her cup. ‘He just sort of vanished. Who knows, maybe he ran off and started another family.’

Lillie’s stomach churned. ‘How’s your love life, dear?’ she bared her teeth and braced herself waiting for the inevitable response.

This time, Tiffy didn’t hold back. She smiled and said, ‘Oh, Mum, you’ll never guess. I’ve found someone special.’

 ‘Oh, time for some celebration,’ Lillie clapped, ‘let’s share your favourite apple cheesecake, and you can tell me all about him. It is him? Not her?’

Tiffy rolled her eyes. ‘Him! His name is Jacob, and he works at Woolworths.’

‘Woolworths? Couldn’t you do better? I mean, at least date someone with a proper job?’

‘Mum! How insulting! You always spoil everything with your impossible standards.’ Tiffy snatched up her smart phone and stood up. ‘Nothing’s ever good enough for you. I’m leaving.’

Tiffy stomped a few paces from the table. Then turned. ‘You know, Mum, you’ll never be satisfied. You want your perfect daughter to be a lawyer or some such high fancy thing. Well, I’ve got news for you, it’s not going to happen. So, suck it up and deal with it.’

With that final comment, her daughter swung around and marched out of the café.

After Lillie paid the bill for both of them, and also made a hasty exit.

While grocery shopping, Lillie chuckled. At least the DNA minefield had once again, been diverted. What is it with this craze to find one’s DNA? I don’t want to be responsible for sending one of my descendants, if I ever have more than Tiffy and…and…whoever she is, to jail because they use my DNA to trace them, she thought. Or long-lost secrets to be unearthed.

[Photo 3: Autumn Glow © L.M. Kling 2024]

Lillie then mounted her brand-new Mitsubishi Pajero and wended her way home through the leafy streets of Norwood. A magic time of year when leaves change colour, red, golden and rusty brown. The light on this autumn day was golden, and the air had a hazy warmth to it.

She rolled into the double driveway. To her left she noticed a white Toyota Hilux with Tasmanian number plates filling the space.

A slight blonde woman who appeared aged around thirty leant up against the Toyota chatting to her husband. Smiling, flicking her long blonde hair. Flirting. Jimmy, exuding a youthful charm despite his plus sixty years. Jimmy lapping up the attention of the younger version of herself.

Lillie’s first thought was, Not another, younger woman. Her entanglement with the Frenchman, Renard all those years ago, had left her scarred. Jealousy.

Lillie pulled the Pajero to an abrupt stop and jumped out. She marched to her husband. ‘Hi, there, love,’ she called out. Then claimed him with a hug and a kiss. On the lips.

Jimmy beamed and turned to the young lady. ‘Lillie, this is Zoe from Strahan, I’ve been telling you about. She’s over here delivering my wood.’

‘Yeah, um,’ Zoe waved, ‘Pleased to meet you, Lillie. I was coming over on family business and as I waz in the neighbourhood, I thought I’d deliver the wood personally. Waz going to fly, but no flights available. So, drove. Glad I did.’

‘Isn’t it great?’ Jimmy rubbed his hands together. ‘It’s so hard to get timber these days. I’ll be able to start on those guitars I’ve been planning for I don’t know how long.’

There were minutes of awkward silence as Lillie studied Zoe, Zoe looked away and Jimmy stared off into the not-so-distant hills.

*[Photo 4: Timber cut path, Tahune, Tasmania © L.M. Kling 2016]

Zoe broke the spell. ‘Well, I better get going. I’m meeting my dad at the hotel in Magill.’ She climbed into her Hilux and waved again. ‘Nice meetin’ ya, Lillie. See ya, Jim.’

The couple waved in return as the Hilux backed out the drive and spirited down the leafy street.

After the truck had gone, Lillie faced Jimmy. ‘Bit young for you, Jim.’

Jimmy glanced away and replied, ‘Oh, yeah, but…I had no idea she’d turn up…it’s business…’

‘Yeah, right, so you say.’

Jimmy giggled. ‘Although, you have to admit, she does remind me of you when you were…’

Lillie shook her fist. ‘What do you mean? She looks nothing like me. Take that back.’

‘No, dear, you’re right, she looks nothing like you. Sorry for mentioning it and upsetting you.’

Too late. Lillie ranted and raged for the next half hour while Jimmy scraped, bowed and offered apologies to appease her. Lillie enjoyed watching her husband grovel and beg for his dinner. Then, they agreed to have takeaway delivery. Chinese. And together watch a classic movie from their favourite streaming service. On the couch. Eating lemon chicken and spicy fried rice. While sipping a sparkling glass of white wine.

Tuesday 19 April 2022, 6pm

Tower Hotel, Magill

Eloise

Eloise and Sven pretended to peruse their menus. Not that there was much to peruse. Just the usual hotel fare. A variety of burgers, fish and chips on offer, and steak and chips. The menu was simplified since the last time Eloise had graced the hotel with her presence as a police officer.

She watched Renard fidgeting with his glass of beer. Glancing up at the entrance every few seconds. Looking. Hoping. He had voiced his concerns to Eloise as they drove up. Maybe Zoe had second thoughts and won’t come. Did he provide too much information about his wild past? Perhaps he shouldn’t have written about sowing wild oats. Oh, dear. He must appear too wild for her taste.

Eloise had assured him that she’d be there. And all will be fine. Treat it like an adventure. At least there’s no film crew, she had joked. Besides, they share the same DNA, so perhaps she’ll be wild too and understand.

Still Renard fidgeted.

Sohan 61-0412545557

*[Photo 5: Cook ya own steak © L.M. Kling 2017]

‘I’m going to have the steak. Well done,’ Sven said.

As he spoke, a slim blonde woman, approached Francis Renard. He stood up. Smiled. They hugged. And then they sat down.

Eloise transferred her attention from the menu to her smart phone. She flicked through the photos scanned from Fifi’s 1980’s photo album.

Sven peered over the table. ‘Any likely suspects?’

Eloise shrugged. ‘Hard to tell. The quality is seriously bad.’

Sven surveyed the pair. ‘Could be anyone’s. I mean, at youth group the girls were all blonde. Oh, except for a couple of brunettes. Oh, and I do remember Renard once went out with a Japanese girl. From Japan.’

Eloise swayed her head, then asked, ‘Are you going to order? I’ll have the Caesar salad with chicken.’

‘Wine?’

‘No, just water.’ Eloise nodded at the father and daughter. ‘And a closer look.’

Sven collected the menus and glided past the persons of interest.

[Photo 6: Matching Mother and daughter © C. D. Trudinger 1975]

When he returned, Eloise leaned over. ‘Well?’

‘Hard to tell, actually. It’s quite dark in…’ he paused; his eyes grew wide. ‘O-oh!’

‘What?’

‘I don’t believe it!’ Sven slid down in his seat and covered his face. ‘Not her!’

Eloise twisted around and looked in the direction of Sven’s terror. ‘Is that your…ex? Fifi?’

With hands covering his face, Sven nodded.

Eloise mouthed, “Oh my God!”

‘You can say that again, she’s coming in our direction.’

The curvaceous woman with strawberry blonde curls strutted up to the table. ‘Oh, hi, Eloise, Sven, fancy meeting you here.’

Eloise thinned her lips and whispered, ‘Hi, Fifi, we’d ask you to join us…but…’ pointing to the table where Renard and Zoe sat, ‘delicate operation.’

‘What the heck, Fifi, join us,’ Sven stood and pulled out a chair.

‘Oh, is that okay. If you insist.’ Fifi plonked herself down in the offered chair. She plucked up a spare menu from a neighbouring empty table. ‘What do you recommend?’

Neither Eloise nor Sven replied.

While fingering the menu, Fifi continued, ‘By the way, I had a call from a detective Dee Berry. She’s looking into the Milo Katz accident.’

Sven glared at Fifi. ‘I hope you haven’t dropped me in it. I had enough trouble…’

Fifi made the sign of the cross. ‘I haven’t said a word. I haven’t spoken to the lady yet.’

Sven turned and locked his gaze on Fifi. ‘Keep your bl@#%y mouth shut.’ He then rose from the table and stormed out of the bistro.

Fifi and Eloise glanced at each other.

‘What was that about?’ Eloise asked.

‘Bit of an overreaction,’ Fifi replied while observing Renard and Zoe. ‘Well, what d’ya know. She’s the clone of Lillie.’

Eloise’s lips spread into a wide smile. ‘Thank you, Fifi, I knew you’d figure it out.’

‘At your service,’ Fifi chuckled. ‘You don’t think that’s why old Dee is poking around, do you?’

‘’Fraid not. Strictly possible murder investigation, according to inside sources…’ Eloise lowered her voice, ‘Dan.’

‘Ooh, nasty, I always suspected Sven, but could never…you know.’

Eloise rose her voice. ‘Sven?’

‘Yes, Sven.’

A waiter balancing two plates, one with steak, the other with salad, approached the table.

‘Looks like you’re having the steak,’ Eloise said.

Fifi held up her hand as the waiter placed the steak before her. ‘Fine with me,’ she said.

© Tessa Trudinger 2024

Feature Photo: Autumn Glow © L.M. Kling 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 (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

Second Friday Crime–Under the Bridge (6)

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

Sowing and Reaping

May 1977

Private College

Lillie

She perched on the kerb waiting. The minutes stretched, ticking into what seemed to her, an eternity. Cars whizzed past. With each car that emerged around the corner, the hope—her mum’s car. That battered blue FJ Holden, had suffered many knocks in its fifteen years of life. Like me, same age and having suffered hard knocks, she thought. But cars with anonymous drivers passed by and so did her hope…until she just sat…waiting…expectations drained…waiting.

A mixture of gloom and uneasiness haunted her. It had shadowed her all day. Ever since the first period, home class, when Dee, yes, that’s right, Dee, her arch enemy, had sidled up to her and hissed, ‘He’s mine, Lillie. He’s mine. He never liked you. He likes me.’

Dee slithered into her seat; pink lips pursed in a smile. She flicked her brown mane, and then glancing at Lillie, she smirked and then rubbed her hands together. ‘Mine!’ she mimed. ‘All mine.’

Lillie imagined Dee at that moment morphing from the budding model she was into a female form of Gollum, bent on possessing the ring offered by her latest conquest—Danny. Why else was Dee gloating?

[Photo 1: Gargoyle, Notre Dame, Paris © L.M. Kling 1998]

Lillie’s heart plummeted to the pit of her stomach. A drop of rain plopped on the pavement and sizzled. Lillie sighed. She’d seen him—Danny—that morning. Lofty, blonde hair tousled, framing his high cheekbones, strong jaw and his face all tanned. But Danny hadn’t seen her. He never saw her.

On the way back from chapel, Danny had been walking behind her and she’d worried about her uniform. Was her dress hitched up in her regulation stockings? Autumn and the school demanded girls wear the winter uniform with the awful scratchy woollen skirt. The month of May in Australia, that day, hot and all steamed up, clouds billowing with purple bellies, threatening a storm, but not before all the students at College were fried having to wear their blazers as well as their uniforms woven in wool. The principal threatened the punishment of suspension if they shed any part of their school attire.

Plop! Another drop. A rumble of thunder.

[Photo 2: Storm threatening © L.M. Kling 2023]

During the day, her usual foes added to her discomfort. She was already hot, sweaty, and itchy, and then they had to weigh in. On the way to English class, Dee and her clutch of fiends attacked from behind. They threw verbal abuse; the usual “stones” of “loser”, “dog” and “no one wants you, Lil”.

Lillie fixed her eyes ahead even as the heat rose to her cheeks. She trod up the stairs to Dee chanting, ‘Poor Lil, poor Lil, what a dill.’

As Lillie turned the corner of the stairs, she glanced down. Danny leaned against the rail. Dee sidled up to him and pointed. ‘Hey look! She’s got a hole in her stocking. Poor Lil, poor Lil. Too poor to buy new stockings, Lil.’

Dee laughed and her gang joined in.

Lillie turned and continued plodding up the stairs.

‘Charge!’ Dee yelled.

At her command, Lillie quickened her pace. She knew what was coming. The thudding, the cries and the horde as her foes surged upon her. They crowded in and jostled her. Big beefy Twisty jammed her into the lockers and then bumbled down the corridor.

As Lillie straightened herself, Dee strode up to her and poked her. ‘He’s mine, understand?’ She then waved her hand in front of her nose. ‘Phew! You stink! B.O.!’

Danny lingered an arm’s length from Dee, and as she minced into English class, she blew him a kiss. Lillie’s stomach churned, and with her gaze riveted to the floor, she followed Dee into class. Her scalp prickled with the sense that the eyes of every class member had set upon her. Her orthodontic braces took on astronomical proportions and her pigtails drooped like greasy strips of seaweed.

[Photo 3: Seaweed Sunset © L.M. Kling 2001]

Then Scripture class. Just her luck! Lillie picked Dee’s name out of the Encouragement Box. So, she had to find a verse from the Bible to encourage Dee. Dee? What sort of blessing could Lillie bestow on her worst enemy? The girl who had everything—popularity, beauty, and a boyfriend.

Lillie opened her Bible and picked out the first verse that caught her attention. She wrote down the verse from Galatians 6:7: “…for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.” She plopped the note for Dee back into the box. From what she could tell, Dee seemed happy with her note, if not mildly miffed by the message.

As she sat on the kerb waiting, Lillie reflected on the verse she received. Matthew 5:3: “Blessed are the poor in spirit…” She nodded and mused, That’d be right, Dee had me. Still, it does say I’m blessed.

That odd pair of siblings, Milo Katz and his younger sister, Sharon shuffled by. Lillie curled her lip and shuddered. She sank deeper into the shadows of the school’s office entrance. Both had this peculiar awkward gait, like they were a “sandwich short of a picnic” as Fifi often said of the mentally challenged. Milo certainly was. He’d failed Year 8 twice, then been relegated to the “special class”. He was in her confirmation class at her church and attended the same youth group. For some reason, Lillie had no idea why, he’d set his romantic sights on her, despite Lillie telling him more than once, that they could only be friends.

[Photo 4: Blessed be the burger eaters © L.M. Kling 2023]

Then Sharon graduated from confirmation and began attending youth group. She’d taken a shine to Lillie after she was her leader at a youth South Zone camp. Now every time Lillie came to youth group, Sharon made a beeline for her and stuck to her like a clingy baby. They called her “Shatz” as Sharon’s mother called her that as a term for endearment in their native European language. Fifi joked that Lillie was Shatz’s “mother”. The other girls began avoiding Lillie. They didn’t like Shatz. Behind her back and in front of this unfortunate child, they teased her, calling her, Shatz the— (a derogatory name that rhymed with Shatz).

Lillie mused, How could a dynamo of a woman such as Mrs. Katz, leader of the ladies guild, classy dresser in league with Fifi’s mum, have borne and raised these two lame ducks? Were Mr. and Mrs. Katz first cousins? Were their offspring inbred?

[Photo 5: Duck © L.M. Kling 2017]

A flash of lightning. A crack of thunder. Fat dollops of rain splatted on the footpath. Lillie sighed and muttered, ‘I’ll just have to risk getting laughed at. My mum’s car. What a relic! How embarrassing!’

She shrugged her bag full of books over her shoulder and sauntered to the chapel. Rain pelted down on her, and she sought refuge in an alcove of the chapel hidden behind a diosma bush. There, she drew her knees up to her chin and sniffed. The rain and then the tears had melted her mascara. Her vision blurred. She drew a soggy tissue from her blazer pocket and wiped her eyes.

The downpour stopped. Fellow students emerged from shelter and straggled along the road to the carpark where their cars or parents in their shining white Commodores awaited them.

Lillie examined her calloused knees that had broken through the holes in her stockings. When would mum be able to afford new stockings? Her parents barely scraped together the school fees. ‘We go without for your education,’ Mum says. Lillie had begun to understand how that worked in a posh school like this one. No friends, no choice but to study and get good grades…and a scholarship.

A car screeched. Expecting her mother, Lillie looked up. But it wasn’t her. But she saw them. Dee and Danny. They held hands. Dee nestled into Danny’s side as he held an umbrella over her, even though the sun now shone casting an eerie golden glow over the gum trees and oval. Lillie winced.

[Photo 6: Love birds © L.M. Kling 2023]

The couple perched on the chain fence where they swung back and forth and whispered into each other’s ears. Lillie parted the diosma bush. She watched and cursed them as wrapped in each other’s arms they consumed each other’s lips.

‘Ugh! How could they? In public!’ Lillie muttered. ‘I hope the principal catches them and puts them on detention.’

Lillie heard a familiar roar. She stepped from the bush and strode towards the carpark.

The FJ Holden raced up the driveway, its wheels crushing the car-park’s gravel in its rush to meet Lillie. Dee and Danny remained oblivious in their passion on the chain fence. Mum’s car cut through a large puddle. Water flew high in the air and then dumped on the couple.

Dee shrieked. They stood like two drenched rats, their legs and arms spread in their sodden clothes.

Now Dee really does look like Gollum, Lillie thought. Her nemesis’ mascara streamed down her face and made her eyes look like a panda’s and hair pasted on her head.

The couple glared at the FJ Holden as it screeched to a stop in front of Lillie. She smirked as she jerked open the white door of the mostly blue car and then scrambled in.

[Photo 7: Mum’s old car in Lillie’s mind © L.M. Kling 2010]

‘How was your day, dear?’ Mum asked.

‘You’re late,’ Lillie snapped.

As the FJ Holden with Lillie and her mum merged with the crowd of cars on the main road, Lillie glanced back and smiled.

‘Oh, by the way,’ Mum spoke while patting her wet hair from a late shower, ‘your dad’s gone for good this time.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Just do,’ her mother snapped. ‘Stop asking questions.’

Lillie gazed out the window at the passing Morphettville Racecourse and muttered, ‘Fine, then.’

‘Oh, another thing,’ Mum added, ‘You’ll be staying at your grandmother’s tonight. I hope you don’t mind, sorry about that.’

‘What about my…?’

‘Don’t worry dear, I’ve packed a bag. You know how your gran loves to have you.’

‘It’s okay, Mum,’ Lillie sighed, ‘at least I don’t have to put up with Sven’s arc-welding all night.’

‘Sorry about the inconvenience,’ Mum rattled on, ‘it’s Sven, you see, we’re just trying to help him set up his business. And I wish you wouldn’t begrudge him of that. Show a bit of respect.’

‘Sven, it’s always about Sven,’ Lillie mumbled to the window.

Her mother rambled on about everyone is different and that her brother needs a helping hand to move forward in life, and that Mr. Edwards was doing his best to help them out.

Lillie tuned out. She uttered not a syllable the rest of the journey to her grandmother’s house near Marion Shopping Centre.

[Next chapter Friday fortnight…]

© Tessa Trudinger 2024

Feature Photo: Autumn fruit © L.M. Kling 2024

***

Sometimes characters spring from real life,

Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.

Sometimes real life is just real life.

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

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