Spiritual

Second Friday Crime–Under the Bridge (16)

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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 (15)

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

The Indiscretions of Overtime

Tuesday April 12, 2022, 6pm

Adelaide CBD Police HQ

Dan

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Hello Dee,’ Dan spoke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘You have them?’

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

‘Great!’ Dee replied. ‘Bye.’

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

© Tessa Trudinger 2024

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

***

Sometimes characters spring from real life,

Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.

Sometimes real life is just real life.

Check out my travel memoirs,

And escape in time and space

To Central Australia.

Click on the links:

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or for a greater escape into another world…

Check out my Sci-fi/ dystopian novel,

And click on the link:

The Lost World of the Wends

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

Travelling Friday…with some Family History

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T-Team, Next Generation: Uluru (1)

Central Australian Convoy 2013

[Eleven years ago, the T-Team, next generation embarked on their pilgrimage to Central Australia. Purpose: to scatter Dad’s ashes in his beloved Central Australia, in Ormiston Gorge.

[Photo 1: Ron Trudinger(snr), second from the left © scanned from slide courtesy of L.M. Kling circa 1913)]

I add here, that today, is my paternal grandfather’s birthday. In 1886, he was the first of his family to be born in Australia, a true-blue Aussie. His 12 siblings had been born in England, and his parents in Germany. Like the rest of his family, he was full of adventure and yen to travel. Seven of his siblings were missionaries. Some in China, while he and his brother were missionaries in the Sudan. Although his brother then went on to be a missionary in Korea, my grandpa continued his mission work in Sudan for decades until he retired in 1954. But, even after his retirement, the spirit of adventure spurred my grandpa on to travel to Central Australia to visit my uncle in Ernabella at the top end of South Australian, and my dad in Hermannsburg, Northern Territory.

On that note, over the next few weeks, I will continue to take you on a virtual trip to the Centre and memories of that unforgettable holiday in 2013, with my brother and his family; the T-Team Next Generation.]

Uluru—The Sign Not to Climb

Monday, July 8, 2013

Last night, over a game of cards, the T-Team decided to stay an extra night in the Yulara Campsite.

So, that morning, after a well-deserved sleep in, we pottered around the campsite, cooking, sorting, and relaxing. My husband, Anthony was doing a great deal of hunting…things, where were they?

Around midday, the T-Team, loaded up with hampers for a picnic lunch, set off for the Rock. We dutifully lined up at the National Park check point, for our passes.

[Photo 2: First glimpses of Uluru © L.M. Kling 2013]

Once through, Anthony gazed at the Rock. ‘Wow! It’s huge!’

‘It’s even more spectacular third time round,’ I remarked.

‘How long does it take to climb the rock?’ he asked.

‘Oh, a couple of hours, although, we are older; more like my Dad’s age when he climbed with us kids in 1981. He took longer to climb than us.’ I wasn’t keen on climbing and was going to give my excuses (such as inadequate footwear) when we arrived at the climbing site.

[Photo 3: Memories of the T-Team climbing the Rock © L.M. Kling 1981]

We parked the Ford in the first free space we could find. Before us, stood rows upon rows of busses. The area was already swarming with tourists.

‘This’ll be fun,’ I muttered, ‘the Rock’ll be covered with climbers.’

‘Where do we go?’

‘Follow the crowds.’ I sauntered behind a couple with packs on their backs and decked out in state-of-the-art hiking gear. ‘This way.’

We reached the climbing site and gazed up at the empty expanse of rock.

[Photo 4: An empty expanse of Rock © L.M. Kling 2013]

‘What’s happening?’ Anthony asked.

‘Read the notice,’ I answered.

Anthony peered at a sign and read, ‘No entry.’

‘The one behind it,’ I sighed.

Anthony frowned. ‘Hmm, due to high winds the Rock is off-limits.’

The rest of the T-Team arrived. They milled around the gate as if willing the sign to change.

[Photo 5: The Forbidding Sign © L.M. Kling 2013]

‘Well, that’s a bummer!’ Mrs. T said. ‘I wanted to climb the Rock.’

‘We can explore the Olgas instead.’ Rick pointed at the pale blue (distant) stumps of Kata Tjuta. ‘We can have lunch there.’

With long faces, the T-Team trekked back to their vehicles, and we sped west down the Lassiter Highway to Kata Tjuta.

[Photo 6: And leaving Uluru behind…for now © L.M. Kling 2013]

Over lunch, my brother and wife discussed with us their reservations about staying another night, as they had not budgeted for it. A reluctant Anthony agreed we would cover the cost of the extra night. After all, having seen the magnificence of the Rock and the Olga’s, Anthony wanted to spend more time exploring these wonders—and hopefully, climb the Rock…another day.

Kata Tjuta

[Photo 7: Then: Walpa Gorge in 1981 © C.D. Trudinger 1981]

As the afternoon light bathed the conglomerate boulders of Kata Tjuta in bronze, the T-Team explored Walpa Gorge. Except Mrs. T who had retreated to the van. She had a headache.

The site had been seriously sanitised since the T-Team’s last visit in 1981. All for the tourists and preserving the environment. Parts of the track were paved, with plastic bridges over ditches. The edges were roped off and signs warning of fines for those who chose to stray from the path.

[Photo 8: Walpa Gorge in 2013 © L.M. Kling 2013]

The wind howled through the steep valley between the massive lumps of rock. A hoard of tourists followed us as we marched up Walpa Gorge.

[Photo 9: Tourist Group a-marching © L.M. Kling 2013]

Richard and the T-Lings met us on their return.

‘Boring!’ Richard said. ‘You have to stick to the path.’

‘But I want to still see what’s up there,’ Anthony said.

‘You can get a $135 fine if you go off the path,’ a random lady warned as she passed us.

My younger niece nodded. ‘I know, my brother just went a little off the path and this Indigenous guy appeared from nowhere and told us we’d be fined.’

‘So, I jumped right back on the path again,’ my nephew added. ‘I didn’t want a fine.’

As the T-Team Next Generation, we then hiked up Walpa Gorge as far as we could go. Not far, actually. Not like the old days when we climbed to the top of the gorge and could see the “plum pudding” rock formation on the other side.

[Photo 10: The Billabong was as far as we could go © L.M. Kling 2013]
[Photo 11: Top of Walpa Gorge back in the old days © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1977]

Valley of Winds

From Walpa Gorge, the T-Team drove along the road to the Valley of Winds. After a short hike to the vantage point, we admired the view of boulders that had taken on the formation of rounded steppingstones. A school group passed by. They chatted amongst each other entertaining us onlookers with snatches of assorted topics ranging from food, to adventures in the cold.

[Photo 11: The Valley of Winds © L.M. Kling 2013]

The Mystery of the Missing Boots

Evening and Anthony insisted on cooking sausages using the camping BBQ facilities provided. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the snags were ready. Even shared a few with the teenaged T-Lings who have hollow legs when it came to food.

Then, as the campsite descended into darkness, Anthony’s voice rose in frustration. ‘Lee-Anne, where are your boots?’

‘Boots? Why do you need my boots?’

‘You need proper hiking boots for hiking,’ he snapped. ‘How are you going to climb the Rock in your sandshoes?’

‘Not going to climb,’ I muttered.

‘Where are they? I’m sure we packed them.’

‘Maybe we didn’t,’ I bit back, then wandered off to the BBQ facilities. There I heated up milk for hot chocolate.

Later, after drinking hot chocolate, I rang Son 1 back in Adelaide. During the conversation, I said, ‘By the way, I am missing my hiking boots. Would you be able to find them and bring them up when you and your brother and Grandma come up to Alice Springs next Saturday?’

Son 1 assured me that he would.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2020; updated 2024

Feature Photo: The Empty Flanks of Uluru © L.M. Kling 2013

***

Virtual Travel Opportunity

For the price of a cup of coffee (takeaway, these days),

Click on the link and download your kindle copy of my travel memoir,

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari. (Australia)

Second Friday Crime–Under the Bridge (14)

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Bushie on the Beach

Tuesday, April 12, 2022, 9:00am

Adelaide Police Station HQ

Dee

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who else was there?” Dee asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lillie takes a breath.

Dee asks, “What happened then?”

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

I wondered why Milo doesn’t take the hint.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘What was that?’ Fifi says.

‘Probably just a roo,’ I reply.

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

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

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

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

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

‘It was Milo,’ I yell at him.

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

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

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

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

So, up we go.”

“What did you see then?” Dee asks.

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

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

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

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

“What? Renard?” Dee asks.

“No, the accident.”

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

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

Dee leans forward. “Are you sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monday, April 11, 2022, 6:05pm

Eastern Suburbs College Office,

Lillie

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

She reached for the cake.

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

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

She slowly removed her hand from the cake.

But I need sustenance for the drive home.

Reach for the cake.

No, I’ll get a headache.

Replace hand on her lap. Stare at the cake.

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

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

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

© Tessa Trudinger 2024

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

***

Sometimes characters spring from real life,

Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.

Sometimes real life is just real life.

Check out my travel memoirs,

And escape in time and space

To Central Australia.

Click on the links:

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or for a greater escape into another world…

Check out my Sci-fi/ dystopian novel,

And click on the link:

The Lost World of the Wends

Second Friday Crime–Under the Bridge (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

Sunday Story Crime–Under the Bridge (8)

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

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

So, here it is.

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

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

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

The Ford

Monday, February 7, 10am

Kapunda

Dan

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

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

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

‘I don’t want ya germs.’

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

‘No pandemics back then.’

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

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

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

‘Who cares.’

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

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

‘Hmmm, Lillie what? Watson?’

‘Something like that,’ Dan laughed.

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

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

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

‘Good for you, Dee.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Never!’ Dee replied.

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

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

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

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

Dee’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, my Lord!’

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dan nodded. ‘Hmmm, Mad Max.’

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

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

‘Good work,’ Dan said.

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

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

‘Name?’ Dan asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Probably do, Dan. It’s Adelaide.’

© Tessa Trudinger 2024

***

Sometimes characters spring from real life,

Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.

Sometimes real life is just real life.

Check out my travel memoirs,

And escape in time and space

To Central Australia.

Click on the links:

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or for a greater escape into another world…

Check out my Sci-fi/ dystopian novel,

And click on the link:

The Lost World of the Wends

Second Friday Crime–Under the Bridge (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.

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

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The Lost World of the Wends

Family History Friday–Grandma’s Letter Part 2

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

Grandma’s circular letter

CIRCULAR WRITTEN by ELSA GROSS from HERMANNSBURG,

OCTOBER 1939

From Riverland to Desert (part 2)

About quarter to 7 we arrived at the station and there was the whole station out to meet us, black and white, big and little, and such a noise too, it sounded just like a whole lot of parrots or galahs.  Then the truck came to a standstill and Sam got out and had to shake hands all around.  I had to stay in the truck on account of the measles.  I could only talk to them from a distance.  It was just like a dream and to see all the natives running to and fro, reminded me of the movie films which Lou Borgelt had taken in New Guinea.

*[Photo 1: Greetings on arrival in Hermannsburg © S.O. Gross 1939]

        Well, after all the greetings were over we were taken across to our new home, which by the way isn’t very new, it’s one of the oldest houses on the station.  Mrs Albrecht was going to have us over there for the first few days for meals, but through this measles business we decided it was best if we stayed isolated for a while so as not to infect the natives.  Mrs Albrecht sent us over our tea, then, and such a huge tea, too, and we did full justice to it, too.

        And now began our life on the station.  But so far we haven’t seen very much of it, I haven’t been out of the place at all, Sam has gone to the other places more, but we keep away as much as possible.  And now, last weekend, Ruth gets the German Measles, she was fairly miserable, but is alright again now, except for a cough.  Now it means we have to stay isolated for another 10 days or so, in case Marie gets them.  It is a real nuisance, because we can’t get to anything properly.  The only advantage it has is that we can get things a bit straight around the place.

*[Photo 2: The not-so-new home—even older in 2021!!! © L.M. Kling 2021]

        Such a lot wants doing, the doors don’t fit, and the floors need doing, and the garden has to be made.  These last two days Sam has had 2 natives helping him with all sorts of odd jobs, yesterday and today they dug the front garden and this morning we planted the lawn and tomorrow I want to put in some flowers.

        The first 2 days we were here were terribly windy and dusty and hot.  The dust came in everywhere, it was just like a real dusty day in the mallee.   Our box of goods was supposed to come out the same day that we got out here, but it didn’t come Wednesday, we waited Thursday, and still didn’t come.  By this time Missionary Albrecht was getting worried, he thought the thing might have tipped over.  Friday morning we got a wire to say they couldn’t get it off the truck in Alice Springs.  They had been trying to get the wire through since Tuesday but the weather had been too bad, they couldn’t get it through.  So Sam had to pack up an go into Alice Springs and there saw to the unloading.  Eventually on Sunday afternoon the lorry arrived and was duly unpacked, of course the natives were very interested in everything, especially the piano.

*[Photo 3: The arduous journey of belongings to Hermannsburg © S.O. Gross 1939]

        So far I haven’t any house girls yet, as soon as we are out of quarantine I will get two.  Mrs Albrecht has been baking my bread for me until I get the girls.  Milk I have brought over every morning, also cream and from that I make my own butter, but unfortunately I am not a good hand at it yet.  There are some nice vegetables in our garden, which is quite a big one, we have over 20 date palms in it, 4 orange trees and 3 figs and quite a number of vines.  This last week we had about an inch of rain which was quite nice for the gardens and settled the dust.

*[Photo 4: Garden view to Mt. Hermannsburg—yes, the palms still exist in 2021 © L.M. Kling 2021]

        I am afraid it will take me quite a while to get to know all the natives and all their names too.  I know Albert, the artist, by sight, of course, he always wears an overcoat and is quite proud of his appearance.  I also know,

Manasse the leather worker, also Herbert and Ferdinand the two Sam had helping him.  Of the women, I think the only one I know by name is,        

Cecelia, an older woman who always wears a red dress.  Some of the children are lifted up so that they look over the fence to watch the children play and when we come out they scoot.  Some of their attire is pretty weird too.  One little chap wears his father’s shirt, it reaches nearly to the ground and has to have the sleeves rolled up.  Another little girl has her big sister’s dress on, and every time she runs she has to hold it up or she would fall over it.  Another little chap has a “has been” shirt on, his father’s, it’s only strips now.  Most of the men wear hats, some felt, some harvester hats.  The boys that Sam has have straw hats on but they look as though the mice have been at them.  Yesterday morning the one came along with feathers sticking out of the holes, I don’t know if he had visited the fowl-house or not.

*[Photo 5: Hermannsburg back in the day © S.O. Gross circa 1950]

        And now we have been here nearly 4 weeks and haven’t been able to do any real work yet, but we hope it won’t be much longer before we can start.

        And so begins our life on the Hermannsburg Mission Station.  May God make us a blessing to many.

© Elsa Gross 1939

*Feature Photo: My grandma, Elsa looking out from her Hermannsburg home © S.O. Gross circa 1940

***

Want more, but different?

Check out my Central Australian adventures.

Click on the links:

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981