Friday Crime–The Culvert (29)

Up the Apple Isle
Part 2

Meeting Mavis

When she left the old man at the service station, Dee made a mental note to turn left at the fork in the road where the purple house sat; just as the man said she needed to do to find the Thomas farm. She hoped the new owners would know where the Thomas family had moved.

After parking her car off the road, and in a ditch near the creek, Dee picked her way over the road and up the uneven path to the pastel pink painted house. Chooks ran amok in the front yard, scratching and pecking at the patchy lawn. A silver-haired blue heeler trotted around the yard after the chooks, sniffing and checking out where the hens had visited.

*[Photo 1: Free-range hens near Mt. Field © L.M. Kling 2016]


The door creaked open before Dee had time to knock, and a plump woman in her early 40’s looked at her and asked, ‘Are you lost?’

Dee replied, ‘No, actually, I’m an old friend of a lady who worked here with the Thomases back 40-years ago. Name of Lillie von Erikson? Did you know her? I’m trying to track down the daughter she had here back then…Adopted out…’

‘Ah, me mum…’ a knowing smile spread across the woman’s face, ‘always suspected that woz the case. So, now the truth comes out.’

She laughed, her tummy jiggling under her apron that covered with her latest cooking venture. Then she beckoned to Dee to come inside.

Offering a side of the table free of papers, the local lady said, ‘Cuppa? I have some delicious apple pie what’s just been cooked.’

Dee, who had a weakness for dessert and anything sweet, gladly accepted.

Over tea and heavenly pie with cream, straight from the cow cream, so the woman called Mavis boasted, Dee learnt the history of the little Huon hamlet, the days of the lives of each of the inhabitants, who was related to who, how many partners each had as well as offspring. Dee’s head spun with all these extraneous details but struggled to put in even one question related to her enquiry. Mavis rabbited on and on, barely pausing to take a breath.

The apple pie was good, though, and Dee accepted a second, then third piece in the quest to ask at least one question.

*[Photo 2: Mountain Range over Huon River, Tahune airwalk © L.M. Kling 2016]


When Dee glanced out the window and saw the hill presiding over the river all black in the darkness of night, she decided to move the conversation along. She pointed at Mavis’s pie and melted cream. ‘Aren’t you going to have some?’

Mavis stopped mid-sentence about her son and ex going Mutton birding, and she stared at her plate. ‘Oh, yeah, forgot about that,’ she remarked and shovelled a spoonful into her mouth.

As she chewed, Dee said, ‘Can you tell me where the Thomases went?’

At the mention of the Thomas family and Mavis’s mouth was off again, full gallop. Dee could see that at this rate it’d be midnight before she had an opportunity to leave. She didn’t fancy navigating these tricky Huon valley roads in the darkness of night and hoped Mavis would offer her a spare room or couch to sleep…if she ever stopped talking.

Dee tolerated the whole Thomas history, from convict beginnings of their ancestors, a ship that never was that they built and sped them to the coast of Chile, another daring escape from most certain hanging, to finally straightening out their lives to buy this patch of land on God’s earth.

*[Photo 3: The Ship That Never Was play, Strahan © L.M. Kling 2001]


Dee was sure Mavis was making it up as she went along.

A few hours later after weaving through the Thomas family history over the last century, Mavis announced, ‘You see, that’s why Zoe never fitted in; she wozn’t one of us.’

Before Dee could utter, “How so?” Mavis raced on, ‘Me mum grew up with Janine, went to school wif her and they got married at the same time. But while me mum went on to have ten kids, Janine had none. That was until that girl, Lillie come to work wif them. Me cousin worked wif her on the apple farm. She reckoned something woz wrong wif that girl. You can tell if someone’s up the duff, ya know. It’s the way their tummy sits, no hiding it.’

Mavis took a quick sip of her now, stone-cold tea, gulped and continued, ‘Then the next thing, off Janine goes on a holiday and bingo, comes back wif a baby. By that time, the girl, Lillie, so me mum says is gone. She woz preggers with me at the time.’

‘Did you…?’ Dee began.

Mavis cut in. ‘I went to school with Zoe. All brains that girl, and you could tell she wozn’t one of us. She definitely had the makings of a mainlander. But Janine never budged. As far as she woz concerned, Zoe woz hers and nothing could persuade her to tell the ‘onest truth. But we all knew…I mean, the Thomases, bof of them dark haired, Irish, and here they have a blonde who looked like one of them German kids that Hitler used to go on about. What were they called, them kids?’

‘Aryan,’ Dee replied and then zipped in, ‘so where are the Thomases now?’

‘Ah, well, Janine, the mother, she’s passed, so I heard. Cancer got her, they said, but Mister Thomas, he lives in Strahan. They moved to the West Coast a few years back when Zoe woz still in high school. Told ya, she never fitted in. Heard she became some hotshot lawyer in Melbourne. If that doesn’t tell ya, once a mainlander, always one, I tell ya.’

After this comment, Mavis yawned.

‘Have you been…?’

‘No, never, why would I do that?’ Mavis said. She straightened up and puffed out her generous chest. ‘We have it all here on the apple isle, why would I go there, to the mainland?’

Dee prepared to stand. ‘I must…’

Mavis jumped up and pushed her down. ‘No, no, you can’t go out now. Here, you stay here tonight. I have a couple of spare rooms; me kids are all grown up, ya see. ‘sides, it’s dark out there and dangerous to drive at night. All the animals come out and I wouldn’t want ya having an accident. No, you must stay and have a good sleep, and, in the morning, I’ll draw a map for how you get to Strahan, okay.’

*[Photo 4: Unharmed wildlife, Echidna, Tasmania © L.M. Kling 2016]


Dee thanked Mavis for her offer. She’d forgotten about the wildlife. She’d seen more animal carnage on the roadside from Hobart to Huonville than she’d seen in a lifetime of driving in the Adelaide hills and surrounds. She would prefer not the add to the native wildlife body-count.

© Tessa Trudinger 2025
Feature Painting: Huon River Tributary, Tahune, Tasmania © L.M. Kling 2023


Sometimes characters spring from real life,
Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.
Sometimes real life is just real life.
Check out my travel memoirs,
And escape in time and space
To Central Australia.

Click on the links:

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


Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or for a greater escape into another world…
Check out my Sci-fi/ dystopian novel,
And click on the link:

The Lost World of the Wends

Friday Crime–The Culvert (28)

Dee Digs

May 3, 2022
3pm
Adelaide Police HQ

Dee

After the phone call to Fifi, Dee leaned back in her chair. ‘Gotcha, Mr. Renard. Gotcha!’
She couldn’t believe her good fortune in Fifi. Didn’t take that “Rannga” much to turn against her former friend.

However, youth group rumours were not enough to “hang” Lillie, she needed hard facts—evidence. She started with the local council office at Glen Huon. After all, most apple picking happened in the Huon Valley, Tasmania. So, a good place to commence digging dirt on her nemesis.

[Photo 1: Crab apples in autumn © L.M. Kling 2024]


Thankful that she woke up the sleepy young man in the office before the council chambers closed, she trawled through the files he sent her. She was glad that such information about payrolls and workers in the area in 1981, had been digitised. Lillie von Erikson was listed as working for apple orchard owners, Greg and Janine Thomas. However, no mention of a baby or her being pregnant. Dee puzzled over the fact that Lillie, according to Fifi, seemed to have been in Tasmania long after the apple-picking season was over.

What was she doing there after apple picking? Dee wondered.

She moved onto Trove, an online digital archive, that has recorded historic newspaper articles and publications. Searched Lillie’s name in the local and state newspapers from the day.

Nothing.

She calculated when the baby would arrive if conceived in November. Then scrutinized state and also national papers for a birth in the personal pages. August—September 1981, in particular. Nothing. Still, all is not lost. Perhaps she didn’t put the birth in the paper if she adopted the child out.

But a quick check of newspaper dates available revealed that Trove only published papers up to 1950. What a disappointment!

A visit to the South Australian State Library was the next step in the search. There she trawled through the microfiche files for the Tasmanian newspapers, concentrating on births around August and September.

After an unsatisfactory August, she scanned the first week in September.

‘Ah! That looks more like it,’ Dee murmured.

She zoomed in on the notice of a daughter, Zoe, born to Lillie’s apple picking bosses, Greg and Janine Thomas. Detective Dee Berry smiled while resting her clasped hands on her belly. September 1, right in the timeframe too.

‘Interesting,’ she murmured. ‘Did the moll stay to help Mrs Thomas? Or did she give the baby to Mrs. Thomas?’

A check of the births, deaths, and marriages register, and confirmed. Mrs. Janine Thomas was over 40 when she had her first child, Zoe.

‘Not impossible, but suspicious,’ Dee muttered. ‘I think a little trip to Tasmania is what I must do.’
After saving the information onto a file labelled “Moll”, she put in an application for a visit to Tasmania courtesy of the government. After all, it was an enquiry into a murder investigation.

Who knows, Dee smirked, my enemy may be a suspect that needs to be eliminated; one way or another I’ll get her.

[Painting 1 and Feature: Sleeping Beauty over Huon River © L.M. Kling 2018]


Up the Apple Isle
Part 1

Thursday May 5, 2022
Huon Valley, Tasmania

Dee

Dee gripped the leather-bound steering wheel of Toyota Corolla hire car as it rumbled up the unsealed road. Won’t tell the hire company about that little detour, she thought. From the Council records, the Thomas farm was hidden way out west, close to the “Great Western wilderness”. The further west she drove, the thinner and rougher the road became.

She passed a tiny town with houses painted in gaudy orange and pastel greens. A purple house stood sentinel at a fork in the road. Dee took the left track hoping to reach her destination soon. She’d given up on the Sat Nav. The designated voice, named Jilly was vague and hadn’t a clue where to go.

Dee was proud that she could still read maps and follow the directions of an old local manning the service station at Glen Huon. He said he’d remembered someone like Lillie 40-odd years back. Strangers were a rarity in a small town of fifty-odd people from where he had come. He said Lillie had walked into the church, and all twenty heads turned to size up the blonde from the mainland.

‘It wasn’t long before rumours were flying,’ the station owner said, ‘pregnant, just like the lady who lived in that purple house you’ll see when you get to the town up there. Rumour has it, she’s got a child from ten different men. Anyways, that’s a lifetime ago now. Back then, if someone sneezed across the valley there, everyone in town would know about it and the person who sneezed would have died from pneumonia. Not much better now.’

[Photo 2: Tahune Tree Walk © L.M. Kling 2016]

Dee must have given him a strange look, because the station owner added, ‘Oh, er, don’t believe the rumours. Them folk up there are all related, married cousins and what not, but they don’t have two heads.’

‘Didn’t think they had,’ Dee replied, ‘I just want to know how to get to the Thomas farm.’

‘Don’t know why you want to go there; the family left years ago.’

‘Do you know where they went?’

The man shrugged. ‘The missus died, so I heard. Daughter’s become some big shot lawyer in Melbourne. Something not right there, she never fitted, you know what I mean. She wasn’t one of us.’

‘Did she look like Lillie, the blonde?’ Dee showed the man a photo she had scanned to her phone of 17-year-old Lillie.

The man paused, squinted and then nodded. ‘Yeah, there were rumours. But we could never prove it. Janine, Mr. Thomas’s missus, always insisted the baby was hers.’

© Tessa Trudinger 2025


Sometimes characters spring from real life,
Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.
Sometimes real life is just real life.
Check out my travel memoirs,
And escape in time and space
To Central Australia.

Click on the links:


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


Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or for a greater escape into another world…
Check out my Sci-fi/ dystopian novel,
And click on the link:


The Lost World of the Wends

Friday Crime–The Culvert (22)

Choices and Consequences

Brighton Beach
Tuesday April 27, 2022
10am

El

El plodded along the shore towards Seacliff Beach. Dan’s request had been troubling her all morning. ‘Darn! I was just beginning to enjoy my freedom,’ she muttered, ‘and now this.’

The crisp clear morning, blue skies dotted with cottonwool clouds, seagulls wheeling over the aqua waves and the sand crunching beneath her pounding feet, annoyed Eloise Delaney. How could she enjoy this brilliant day if she had to go back to work? Maybe after a few months of leisure she might get bored and want to return to the hamster wheel of police work and no play, but at the moment, she wasn’t bored.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket.

*[Photo 1: Towards Seacliff Beach © L.M. Kling 2017]


El stopped, gazed at the sea, the morning sun sparkling on the waves, dug the device out of her pocket and spoke, ‘Hey there Sven. What’s up?’

‘I was just thinking, why don’t we organise another get together for Zoe and Francis?’

‘Why? Can’t they organise their own social life? They are both adults.’

‘Yeah, but, actually, I was thinking, I could invite Tiffy, my niece to come along.’

‘Tiffy,’ El sniffed, ‘good luck with that.’

‘I dunno, it’s worth a try,’ Sven said, ‘we don’t have to say anything, but we could see if they look alike and have similar…I mean, they’d be half-sisters.’

‘I can’t see it happening. Nah, only way is to get Tiffy to do a DNA test and that’s not going to happen. Besides, won’t Tiffy think it’s a bit strange you wanting her to meet Zoe?’

‘Uh…well…’

‘I mean, from what I understand about Tiffy, is that she rarely turns up to family gatherings. So, how are you going to get her to meet Zoe at say a park or coffee shop? Huh?’

‘Er, um, she does tend to show up if there’s something in it for her,’ Sven replied.

‘So, you reckon, then, that Tiffy might come if you tell her that Zoe is her long-lost sister and that she’s a lawyer?’ El said.

‘Oh, er…she might. That’s a good angle.’

Tramping in like an elephant where mice fear to tread. El shook her head. ‘Could get awkward, Sven. As for your sister, you might be opening a can of worms.’

‘Yeah, but, but the truth must come out. There’s been too many lies and cover ups.’ Sven’s voice raised an octave. ‘Francis, he’s upset. You know that Lillie, my sister, never said anything. Went skulking off to Tasmania and had her baby. Gave her away and came back home. Like nothing happened. Who does that?’

‘Lots of people,’ El said with a sigh. ‘In my line of work, people do things, not very nice things. Darn awful things, actually. You know kill people and bury their bodies and then carry on with life, as if nothing ever happened. Happens more than you think.’

On the other end of the phone a pause. Then, ‘Right, well, I better get going.’ Sven ended the call with a click.

El stared at her mobile phone, confused. Why didn’t he suggest Zoe meeting up with his son? she wondered. If Lillie were Zoe’s mother, they’d be cousins, after all.

*[Painting 1: The Lone Seagull © L.M. Kling 2016]


Adelaide Police HQ
Tuesday April 27, 2022
10am

Dan

Detective Dan Hooper leaned back on his chair and grinned at his Crispy Crème donut. Caramel frosting. Mmm! He deserved it. All that hard work collecting evidence from within the dusty bowels of the station archives and frosty interviews with long-forgotten witnesses had paid off.

The boss had approved the reopening of the cold case; the one involving a certain Mr. Percy Edwards and his partner in some dodgy business, Jan von Erikson. The two “mispas”, had to be related.

Dan nodded and took a bite out of the caramel donut. His sugar levels and cholesterol would have to take a back seat—maybe in Mr. E’s blue Ford Fairmont station wagon—while Dan enjoyed this moment of triumph.

After the second bite, he raised a finger and summoned Dee to his desk.

Dee raced over, police issue I-pad in hand, eyes twinkling above her mask while glancing at the remaining three Crispy Crème donuts waiting in the box to be consumed.


*[Photo 2 and feature: Crispy Crème Donuts © L.M. Kling 2024]

Dan noted that Dee paid particular attention to the strawberry iced donut. He spoke, ‘We have permission to proceed, Dee. The new evidence in this cold case of the missing Edwards and von Erikson case has piqued the chief’s interest.’

‘Well, you did come across that body,’ Dee said glancing at the strawberry donut.
Dan picked up the box and held it towards Dee. ‘Take one.’

‘Aw, I know I shouldn’t,’ Dee’s hand, with a mind of its own pounced on the strawberry frosted donut. ‘But you’ve twisted my arm.’

Dee dropped her mask below her chin and the pink donut disappeared into her small mouth.
‘Your first task, Dee, is to contact a fellow by the name of Jim Edwards.’

‘Jim? Jim Edwards?’ Dee, still wearing her mask as a chin-guard, grinned like the cat that had licked all the cream. ‘He’s married to Lillie. Didn’t you know?’

‘Well, Dee, you really are the source of all gossip and information. I would’ve never…’ Dan sat up and drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘That’s one out of the box. The case has just risen to a whole new level.’
‘If you say so, Dan,’ Dee replied, more interested in the second caramel donut beckoning her from the box.

Dan pushed the donut container towards Dee. ‘Go on, I need to watch my weight.’

Dee didn’t need much persuasion. She plucked up the cake and that vanished in three bites.

Dan picked up the last donut and examined its chocolate icing. ‘Dee, would you contact Jim Edwards and arrange an interview, please?’

Dee stood, strapped the mask back over her mouth, and said, ‘I’m onto it, Dan. I have this feeling in my gutters; there’s more to Lillie Edwards than meets the eye.’

Dan frowned. ‘Try to keep an objective view, Dee.’

‘I will,’ Dee replied and hurried off to her desk.

*[Photo 3: Weight Watchers for my Cat © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger)circa 1978]

Dan settled his elbows on his own desk, and while savouring the chocolate donut, scrolled through the “millions” of emails that plagued his computer.

One caught his attention. “File of complaint—harassment”. He read further. He hit the desk. ‘The swine!’
‘What?’ Dee called.

‘Lillie, she’s filed a complaint.’

‘See,’ Dee returned, ‘I told you she’s trouble. Like I said about her; you wouldn’t file a complaint unless you had something to hide.’

‘I’m starting to get that same gut feeling, Dee.’ Dan ground his teeth. ‘She’s hiding something. Definitely hiding something.’

‘Told ya, Dan, I’m not Adelaide’s most famous gossip for nothink. I get these guttural feelings and I have ta run with them. You’ll see, I’m right. I’m always right.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ Dan said with a chuckle.

He spent the rest of the morning printing photos of people related to this cold case and sticking them onto a Perspex storyboard.


© Tessa Trudinger 2024
Feature Photo: Crispy Crème Donuts © L.M. Kling 2024


Sometimes characters spring from real life,
Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.
Sometimes real life is just real life.
Check out my travel memoirs,
And escape in time and space
To Central Australia.


Click on the links:


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


Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or for a greater escape into another world…

Check out my Sci-fi/ dystopian novel,
And click on the link:

The Lost World of the Wends

Friday Crime–The Culvert (20)

Lofty

Anzac Day, Monday April 25, 2022
10am — 3pm
Mt. Lofty

Dan

While old diggers swilled down beer in RSL clubs around the nation, Dan led an intrepid group of friends up the steep steps of Waterfall Gully. A perfect day for a hike, he considered. And to do some snooping for El’s requested cold case being the mystery of the missing men, Jan von Erikson and Percy Edwards.
First, he’d invited El to join him. He was confident that El could sense ghosts and point him in the right direction to find “souvenirs”. But then, El’s partner, Francis Renard asked to join the expedition, followed swiftly with a request that his newly found daughter Zoe Thomas come along too. Sven had then wanted to join the party. But at the last minute, he bowed out as he had a catch-up tutorial for students who had failed their first assignment.

Dan stopped at the viewing stand and, after glancing at the waterfall trickling a meagre offering of water down its cliffs, he watched his troupe of followers crawl up the steps. He chuckled remembering the times he’d taken his family on this same route up to Adelaide’s iconic mountain. While the children would be bounding up the steps and slopes like deer, Kate, his ex would be huffing, wheezing, and complaining. Inevitably, Dan would coax Kate, his wife at that time, saying, “Just five more minutes, and then five more minutes.” Then, just as inevitably, they’d reach the old ruin halfway to the summit, and there Dan and the kids inevitably leave “Mum” to rest and recover there while they completed the mission to the top.


*[Photo 1: First Falls Waterfall Gully © L.M. Kling 1984]


No huffing, puffing and wheezing with this lot, though. All of them seemed to be at the peak of their fitness, even 65-year-old Renard. Renard boasted that he jogged up and down Mt. Lofty at least once or twice a month. Zoe his daughter as proof of nature over nurture, also boasted of her adventures in Tasmania: Traversing the Central Highlands from Cradle Mountain to Lake St. Clair, climbing Mt. Hartz and Frenchman’s Cap. And of course, El had kept up her fitness running, jogging and bike riding along the track from her home in Brighton to Hallett Cove.


He did think of asking Jemima, but she hadn’t been answering his calls lately. What was the current term of that? Oh, yes, he remembered, “Ghosting”. Rather fitting for today’s walk, he mused with a pang of sadness.


Dan waited and sighed. ‘What’s taking them so long?’


El strode up to Dan. ‘Sorry about that, Zoe has to stop every few minutes to take photos.’


‘What? Of this? We’ve hardly started,’ Dan said, ‘the rate we’re going we’ll be hiking back in the dark.’


El looked at her watch. ‘It’s only ten o’clock, plenty of time.’


Renard and his daughter joined them at the vantage point.

*[Photo 2: View from top of the Falls © L.M. Kling 1986]


Zoe spent precious minutes framing her scenes and snapping shots using her Nikon camera with a formidable zoom lens attached to it. She kept muttering, ‘You said it’s a waterfall, but where’s the water?’


‘It’s been a bit dry over summer,’ El said, ‘it’s the driest state on the driest continent.’


‘Antarctica is actually.’


‘Spoken like a true lawyer,’ El laughed.


‘It’s important to have your facts right,’ Zoe returned while photographing the waterfall with minimal amounts of water dribbling down it.


‘That’s enough, girls,’ Renard said, ‘let’s enjoy the hike. Besides, Dan’s getting a bit toey; he wants to get to the top.’


‘And, how long does it take to get to the above-mentioned top?’ Zoe asked.


‘Erm, takes me only about an hour, on a slow day,’ Renard said, his chest puffed out in pride.


‘Well, then, what’s the rush? We’ll be up ‘n down in no time.’ Zoe looked at El. ‘Oh, unless El’s not up for it.’


‘Oh, I am,’ El snipped, ‘and if Dan is so desperate to summit, why don’t we make it a race? See who can reach the top first?’


Dan slung his backpack over his shoulder and pouted, ‘No need to rush. I was hoping we’d enjoy the hike. Maybe have lunch at the ruins.’


‘Nup, not good enough, mate,’ Renard jogged on the spot, ‘nup, I say race.’


‘We get to the top, and on the way down, we can have lunch,’ Zoe said rubbing her hands together. ‘Come on Dad, let’s do it.’


The foursome bounded up the steps to the Second Falls, but soon after, Zoe and her father disappeared into the scrub leaving Dan and his former crime-fighting partner sauntering behind.


While batting liquorice bushes just past the Second Falls, Dan glanced at El who had kept pace with him. Renard and his daughter had, in their quest to be “first”, become absorbed in the distant heights of the Mt. Lofty trail.


Dan asked, ‘Sense anything?’


El glanced around her taking in the dense grasses near the creek with just a trickle of water. ‘Actually, no. Should I? Is there something about Zoe that we should know?’


Dan shrugged. Perhaps it’s better if such things like ghosts of murder victims haunting the Mt. Lofty trail should come naturally. After all, it was El, who after talking to Fifi suspected that her father met his end here. She did say they found human remains…


*[Photo 3: A stop at the Ruins © C.D. Trudinger circa 1965]


‘Where did Fifi say the remains were, El?’


El sat down on the ruin wall. ‘She didn’t. Just that they found them near a drain or mine entrance.’


Dan placed his hands on hips. ‘Great! No sense of what direction the body could be?’


‘No, but, logically, since they were up here in the height of summer, on a thirty-eight-degree day…after reaching the summit, Fifi was desperate for a drink. Almost fainting. They managed to get a lime cordial from the kiosk. But let’s just say, the lime cordial didn’t stay down her for long. Anyway, after a rest, Fifi reckoned they begin the climb down. She mentioned they had a rest around here at the ruins. She was feeling better and went looking for water. That’s when she came upon the remains. Under some bridge, she reckoned.’


‘Bridge? What bridge? In all my years exploring, hiking around here, I’ve never come across a bridge.’


‘Maybe it looked like a bridge but I s’pose it could have been some sort of drain or mine entrance.’


‘Could be. Perhaps what would be called a culvert. So, on that premise, she’d be looking in a gully where a tributary might be.’ Dan pointed at a nearby dip in the hillside. ‘I reckon if we follow that little gully there, we might find something. Or at least you may sense something.’


‘Worth a try,’ El chuckled, ‘I can imagine Renard and Zoe patting themselves on the back and treating themselves to cappuccinos at the top now.’


*[Photo 4: View from Lofty summit © C.D. Trudinger circa 1965]


‘I wonder when they’ll be looking around and saying, “Where’s Dan and El?”’


‘Renard will probably say that I “piked out” and am out of form since I’m on holidays.’


As they began stepping down into the gully, Dan sighed, ‘Oh, I wish you’d come back, El, I really don’t get on with Dee.’


‘What’s wrong with Dee?’ El laughed.


‘She’s so…so…’


‘Paranoid?’


‘Yes.’


‘Has to do everything by the book?’


‘Yes.’


Boots thumping on the ground made Dan and El stop.


El gasped, ‘I sensed that!’


‘So did I.’


Zoe burst through the wattle bushes. With eyes wide like a cat in fright she exclaimed, ‘You’ll never guess what we found.’


‘What?’ Dan asked.


‘A koala?’ El said with a nervous laugh.


‘No! Come!’ Zoe gestured. ‘Dad’s keeping guard. Says you’ll know exactly…’


‘Who?’


They tramped over the slimy creek bed and slippery rocks. Reeds and acacia bushes whipped their bodies as they thrashed their way through the scrub.


‘What possessed you to go down here?’ Dan asked.


‘I had to pee,’ Zoe said. ‘Then I sort of got lost. Lucky, I had a signal on my phone. Didn’t fancy…But I was wandering down this creek and I got curious…it looked so…familiar.’


‘What?’


‘Who would’ve thought I’d be on a hike with Detective Dan and just like those murder mystery shows, I’d come across…how strange!’


Renard met them as they approached a wattle bush. ‘It’s this way,’ he said pointing to a clump of blackberry bushes.


After navigating the prickles of those particularly thorny scourges that had invaded the native bushland, the group stood around a slimy puddle. What appeared to be a leathery cowhide draped the entrance to a drain as if it were a welcome mat. In the mouth of the cave, an upturned skull sprouted a sprig of native lilies.


Dan squatted by the leather. ‘It’s a ribcage,’ he said.


El hunched over and stepped into the cave.


‘Don’t go too far, love,’ Renard said, ‘it could be a disused mine.’


‘It’s not,’ El sang in return, ‘it’s a drain. See all the water trickling out of it?’


Zoe looked on and with arms folded, said, ‘This place is giving me the creeps.’


‘Now, that’s the sort of thing that El would normally say,’ Dan said, then poked his head into the drain. ‘Sense anything El?’


‘Like what?’ El snorted. ‘A ghost?’

*[Photo 5 and Feature: Kangaroo Carcass, Brachina Gorge © L.M. Kling 1999]


Something shiny caught Dan’s attention. He reached over to a tuft of grass by the drain’s edge and parted the leaves to reveal a silver chain. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pair of gloves, then a plastic bag.


El looked around at Dan. ‘You came prepared?’


‘You never know,’ Dan replied and bagged the chain with a cross pendant. He then smiled at Zoe. ‘Now, I was going to use my phone, but as you have such a quality camera, Zoe, would you mind taking some photos for me?’


Zoe stared at the “evidence”. She turned pale. Then she patted her camera bag and shook her head. ‘Sorry, I-I can’t…this is creeping me out.’


She backed away from the remains, then turned and ran, disappearing through the bushes.


‘Wait…Zoe…don’t…’ Renard called as he chased her.


Dan sighed, ‘Too much for the aspiring lawyer, I guess.’


‘And we are too used to scenes such as this,’ El said.


Dan lifted the phone to his ear and called in the forensic team, then the coroner. He hoped that there was enough DNA on the remains to identify the victim.

*[Photo 6: Boat on Macquarie Harbour, Strahan, Tasmania © L.M. Kling 2016

Zoe


As the lawyer scrambled down the slope, her mind raced to a disturbing conversation she’d had at the hotel in Strahan four months ago. The week before Christmas, and one of the old locals had approached her. A fisherman who owned a fancy yacht and by her estimation had imbibed way too much.
He sidled up to her at the bar and talked to her as if he knew her. Kept calling her Lillie.


“I dare you!” he repeated in his drunken drawl. “I dare you to hike up Mt. Lofty and find that geezer. He’s up there under the bridge, ya know. I dare you to find ‘im, Lilly.”


“It’s his fault, ya know. Ya ol’ man. He made me do it.” The fisherman then patted Zoe’s arm. “Nah, you’re a good girl, Lilly. You’d never rat on ya ol’ man.”


Zoe massaged the mud-encrusted watch in her pocket. Up until that moment, she had thought the fisherman’s words were the ravings of a drunk man.

© Tessa Trudinger 2024
Feature Photo: Kangaroo Carcass Brachina Gorge ©L.M. Kling 1999


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Second Friday Crime–Under the Bridge (6)

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

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 Fiction–Under the Bridge (5)

The Thin Blue Semblance of Control

Monday, January 17, 2022, 1:00pm

Adelaide CBD Police HQ

Dan Hooper

That same Monday, also in the afternoon, DCI Dan Hooper had the option of working from home. However, being conscientious, once his little two-bedroom abode in Morphettville, became too hot, he drove the quiet roads of January in Adelaide to his office in the CBD.

He parked in his allotted government-granted car space in the adjacent carparking station and made the brief walk past the pathology department to the Adelaide Police Station.

[Photo 1: Sea Mist Adelaide city © L.M. Kling 2020]

After adjusting his mask, QR coding, and rubbing disinfectant on his hands, Dan took the downward steps into the open-space office area. He stopped and breathed in the refrigerated air. So good to be working in air-conditioned comfort while the rest of the city broiled through a rare day for this summer’s heat. A heat that for Adelaide, was disturbingly humid.

Somehow, the city itself seemed to be the epicentre of heat, only rivalled by Dan’s townhouse near Morphettville racecourse. His air con system blew only warm air from the outside, more of a heater than an evaporative cooler. Despite Dan’s efforts to secure an air conditioner repairer, the dearth of tradesmen at the time made the dream melt into the distant future.

‘I could see if I could fit you in, May, perhaps?’ said one such well-advertised repairer.

Dan strode to his desk and slid down into ergonomic office chair. He chuckled. Still, nothing like the heat up north in the Territory. He flicked through files on his computer. Assignments piling up and less bodies to do the work.

He missed Eloise Delany, his partner. The increasing workload had taken its toll.

Dan sighed, stretched, stood and strolled over to the coffee vending machine. ‘Right, a coffee before a slow day wading through the emails, files, maybe some follow-up phone calls…’

A computer printout over the machine announced, “COFFEE MACHINE TEMPORARILY OUT OF ORDER.”

[Photo 2: The joys of Robot service, Halls Gap, Victoria © L.M. Kling 2023]

Dan rolled his eyes and shook his head. ‘Temporary? It’s been like this since Christmas. What’s this? Can’t get a coffee machine repairer either, I guess. January’s like that; everyone, except me, is on holidays.’ Dan had toyed with the idea of visiting his grown-up daughters in Switzerland over Christmas but decided against the venture. Apart from the expense of overseas travel at this time, he preferred the stinking heat to the cold and snow. The novelty of snow had worn off years ago. The girls had promised to visit next year when things settled down.

[Photo 3: Snow in Switzerland on the Santis—even in summer! © L.M. Kling 2014]

After resolving to later in the day brave the cloying heat and buy a takeaway coffee from the little café across the road, Dan once more settled in his chair. He shifted the mouse on the pad to wake up his computer. Only gone a few minutes, and already it had gone to sleep. ‘Like the rest of this town,’ Dan muttered.

After a brief flicker of the windows screen, the monitor turned an ominous shade of black. No explanation. Just black. Not ominous really. Just annoying.

‘I don’t believe it!’ Dan mumbled. ‘Worse than…’

‘Glad I’m not the only one; it was getting lonely in here with so many away and working at home,’ a voice above him spoke.

Dan swung his chair around and looked up. ‘Oh, Rory, g’day.’

 ‘I have a job for you, Dan.’ His boss, Rory Roberts hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. ‘Cold case. Some added information, just come through.’

Great! As if I haven’t got enough on my plate, Dan thought and then said, ‘Which one?’ he knew his reputation for solving mysterious cases preceded him. ‘Missing persons? Alien abductions?’

‘Why don’t we nip over to the café for a coffee, and I can tell you what I have in mind.’

‘Why not? I can do with a coffee.’

[Photo 4: Coffee time © L.M. Kling 2023]

In the cool climes of a café just on Mill Street behind the Supreme Court, Dan and his boss sat at a booth facing each other.

Dan sipped his cappuccino. ‘So, Rory, what have you got for me?’

‘Well, Dan, I don’t know if it will amount to anything, but I had a call from the public. I think they’ve been holding onto this information for more than forty years.’

‘Death-bed confession?’

‘Something like that.’ Rory spooned froth from his cup and licked his teaspoon. ‘You remember a certain Walter Katz? I was checking the files, and your name came up. As a young constable you attended the scene.’

‘Ah, I remember. My first call out.’ Dan laughed. ‘The chubby guy wrapped around the Stobie pole. I’ll never forget that. And losing my breakfast.’

‘Yep, that’s the one.’

‘I thought it was a case of misadventure. Motorbike, showing off, riding too fast with all that gravel down there on the Esplanade at Sellicks…’

[Photo 5: Sellicks Beach © L.M. Kling 1984]

‘There’s been a development,’ Rory said. ‘A panel beater who was working at Lonsdale at the time, had some religious experience. Converted, or whatever they do these days in the church, and he felt that he needed to get this thing off his chest.’

‘Right. Hardly a challenge if he did it.’

‘He did the panel beating. On a red Ford Falcon XB 1976 model.’

‘Cool. Go on.’

‘What’s remarkable is that he kept the details of the job. He was meticulous in that way. And what troubled him was the blood he found on the driver’s side headlight.’

‘And he never came forward with that information?’ Dan said and took another sip of his coffee.

‘Until today. At the time, the lad whose car he was fixing said he’d hit a roo and of course, you know how often lads hit animals out in the country, he believed him. End of story.’ Rory took a slurp of his coffee and continued. ‘The thing was, it was only when his wife managed to hit a few roos writing off her car on a trip back from Queensland, that he began to re-visit his repairs on the Ford. You see, this guy was meticulous. He even took photographs, before and after, which back then was rare, considering how expensive film was. So, when he found the file and compared the damage, he also noticed a streak of black paint on the car’s right side. And of course, he examined the photo of the car damage and said he was sure that the Ford had hit another car, or a motorbike, not a roo.’

‘Interesting, I’ll look into it.’ Dan rubbed his hands. ‘I wonder if the Ford Falcon still exists. They go for quite a bit nowadays.’

‘Good, I’ll email the details of the accident to you.’ Rory smiled. ‘I’ve teamed you up with Dee. Hope you don’t mind. I know she can be difficult.’

Dan sighed, and said with a tone of sarcasm, ‘Rory, you’ve made my day.’

[Photo 6: Happy Kangaroo, Aldinga Scrub © L.M. Kling 2023]

Back in the office, having “borrowed” his absent neighbour’s desk and computer, Dan drank a second coffee in a foam takeaway cup. He gleaned mechanic Warick Wilke’s statement. He peered at the address given. ‘Kapunda,’ he sighed. ‘A long drive, but it should be worth it.’

Dan felt slightly awkward at the thought. He and Dee had history…

His mobile vibrated. He stared at the time displayed, five o’clock and swiped to accept call.

‘Hi Dan, it’s Eloise.’

‘Hi Eloise, how are you enjoying your holiday?’

‘Painting,’ Eloise said, ‘I love it.’

‘But you miss the excitement of the force?’

‘No. Actually, this is not a social call.’

‘Oh.’

‘You see, while painting with my friend, Fifi, she shared with me some troubling information. I just wondered if you could investigate it.’

Dan inhaled. ‘Let it go, Eloise.’

[Photo 7: Autumn vineyard, Barossa Valley © L.M. Kling 2017]

‘No, I’m serious. The story she told me has been bothering me. I know I can’t do much now. But I just thought, you could put some feelers out. I’m sorry, I know you are busy and all that. But…’

‘You just want to help.’

‘Yes, you see my friend Fi’s father went missing forty-four years ago. 1978, to be exact. She said, that a few years later, in 1980 her and her friends came upon a corpse. Fi was sure it was her father and her friend Lillie said she’d reported the finding to the police. But, Dan, what worries me, is that nothing was ever done. Nobody ever contacted her, nor the family,’ Eloise explained.

‘Well, it was the ‘80’s.’

‘I know, explains how so many people could go missing and never a result. But, still, I feel for my friend and want resolution for her. You understand, don’t you?’

Dan exhaled. He wanted to say, Why don’t you just come back, Eloise? But he refrained. He knew she needed this time to rest and heal from burnout. ‘Look, Eloise, you understand that I’m terribly busy, just got another cold case to handle today. Oh, and I’m working with Dee. But I’ll see what I can do.’

‘I pity you, but anyway, thank you.’ Eloise breathed. ‘The MISPA’s name is Percy Wilbur Edwards born 1925. Went missing January 1978.’

Eloise proceeded to give the details of Percy’s beachside suburb address at the time and what Fifi recalled of his movements the day he disappeared. She also conveyed Fifi’s vague directions where they had seen the corpse and the date that had occurred.

Dan nodded and concluded the call with the words, ‘I’ll look into it.’

Intending to call this Warick Wilke, Dan picked up the phone, the landline. Then he placed the receiver down. ‘Darn! I must go with Dee.’

© Tessa Trudinger 2024

*Feature Photo: Proud Owner of a red Charger © courtesy of L.M. Kling 1989

***

Sometimes characters spring from real life,

Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.

Sometimes real life is just real life.

Check out my travel memoirs,

And escape in time and space

To Central Australia.

Click on the links:

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or for a greater escape into another world…

Check out my Sci-fi/ dystopian novel,

And click on the link:

The Lost World of the Wends

Friday Crime Fiction–Under the Bridge (4)

Chapter 3

Painting Pals

Monday, January 17, 2022

Church Hall in a Seaside Suburb of Adelaide

Eloise

The sun’s rays filtered through the dust motes of the church hall near the seaside. The air conditioner thrummed pumping out the sticky 40-degree Celsius heat that Monday afternoon in January.

Eloise Delaney unloaded her motley collection of watercolour palettes, colour-splattered former honey jars and 300-gsm paper framed with masking tape. She then arranged her brushes. Thick sable, round and soft, like the tip of her tabby cat, Spike’s tail. Great for that initial wash of sky, sea and sand.

She had lined up the thinner brushes in order of detail as the painting progressed. She stroked the finest brush, the one used for her flourish of a signature; the one more than 70-years old from her maternal grandfather’s collection salvaged after the bombing of his home in Nördlingen, Bavaria 1945. It was premium quality being made in Germany.

She sighed, ‘Must do this so nothing is lost.’

‘Talking to yourself already?’ a voice sang. ‘Sign of madness, ya know.’

‘Consequences of early retirement, I guess.’ Eloise laughed. ‘Least I had a social life when I was working.’

‘What do you call this?’ Eloise’s pear-shaped friend flicked a wiry lock of henna tinted hair from her freckled face. ‘Is this seat taken?’

‘Nah, go ahead. I could do with the company, Fi.’

Fifi settled herself on the plastic chair diagonally opposite Eloise, and after fumbling in her tote-bag, produced a mini flask. The thin mauve cannister wobbled on the newspaper that covered the trestle table. ‘I’m economising today; made my own brew.’

‘I’m celebrating,’ Eloise said and held up her takeaway cappuccino from the café down the road. ‘The “Rabbit hole” beareth fruit.’

Fifi pulled out her sketch pad, set of Derwent pencils and three scrunched up tissues. Then she leaned forward ‘What? Oh, your family history. Any noble? Kings and queens? Or, let me guess, some royal fruit from the other side of the royal bed?’

‘Well, actually, sort of…’ Eloise dipped her brush in the former honey pot full of water. ‘France, actually. And a bed of his ancestor’s made long, long ago.’

[Photo 1: Eiffel Tower, Paris © L.M. Kling 2014]

‘Well, I could have told you that, him being French, I mean.’ Fifi wiggled her generous behind on the chair, and then smoothed a fresh page of her sketchbook. ‘Do tell.’

El opened her mouth to spill forth all the juicy gossip about tracing her husband’s tree, a royal line stretching way back beyond Charlemagne and to Julius Caesar—all done without the help of DNA, but hours of research—when the leader stood and welcomed the small art group back from the holiday break.

Plus, there was that strange woman sitting behind them who was listening to every word El spoke. That woman, Sharon Katz, nicknamed Shatz, with the mouse-brown hair and the poisonous mushrooms (picked from the forest and dried) she foisted on El just before Christmas—insisted she take them. Lucky for El, her husband, Francis Renard, as a keen gardener and scientist, warned her of the dangers and she threw the suspect fungi into the bin. The next week, Shatz made a point of asking how El how she was feeling. All holidays El puzzled over Shatz. Had she had a run-in with this Shatz in times past while doing her duty as a police officer? Or was Shatz one of Francis’s former lovers?

‘Tell you another time,’ El whispered. ‘Probably should get Francis’ permission first.’

‘Oh, okay, then.’ Fifi sighed. ‘So, how was your Christmas?’

‘Meh! Glad it’s over for another year, Fi.’ Eloise smiled. ‘Francis and I had a quiet one on the actual day, then we all went to my cousin’s in Flagstaff Hill on Boxing Day. It was a disaster. You know, in the middle of Christmas lunch, which I might add, was leftovers from their Christmas day, someone, not mentioning any names, just had to bring up the latest controversy circulating on Fox News. Next thing, arguments all round. Renard and I left early and walked around the newly opened Happy Valley Reservoir. At least that part of Boxing Day was enjoyable.’

[Photo 2: Happy Valley Reservoir © L.M. Kling 2022]

‘Well, my Christmas Day, thanks for asking, Eloise,’ Fifi’s lips tightened for a moment, ‘I don’t know why we bother and make such a fuss about the whole thing.’

‘Yeah, I know, the novelty wore off years ago. I just wish we could get back to the basics, the real meaning of Christmas and celebrate that.’

Fifi nodded. ‘Yeah, who needs another voucher? All we do is exchange money and vouchers these days. Where did the love go? Although, in my family, even with all those kids my parents had, there wasn’t much love.’

‘Really? I always envied your big family.’

Fifi sniffed. ‘If you really knew my family and what went on behind closed doors, you wouldn’t be envious.’

‘Why?’ Eloise may have been taking time out from her job as a detective, but she had not lost her inquisitive nature. ‘What went on behind closed doors?’

‘My dad, when he was around, was a pompous twat.’

‘How so?’ Eloise asked. She noticed Shatz, lifting her head, looking at them and listening again. Her curiosity annoyed El and she turned around and glared at the woman. Shatz dropped her eyes down to her sheet of paper and pretended to work on her pastel rendition of a bullfrog.

Shatz’s eavesdropping didn’t bother Fifi who continued, ‘He was hard on us kids. If we did the slightest thing wrong, he’d thrash us. Typical of his generation and background, European, you see. He thought you hit kids into submission. And, as for girls, they were to be seen, but not heard. He treated us girls like slaves.’ Fifi thumped the table. ‘I hated him.’

Fifi’s cannister of coffee toppled from the table and rolled on the floor.

Shatz picked up the cannister and handed it back to Fifi. ‘My dad was the same,’ she said before El’s frown drove her back to her seat to resume painting.

El then said, ‘He didn’t mellow in his old age?’

‘He left and…’ Fifi paused, ‘…and I was glad. Life improved after he was gone.’

Eloise studied Fifi and the freckles that danced on her face as her eyes blinked and her mouth twitched. ‘I sense that your father did more than just leave, Fi.’

Fifi’s eyes widened. ‘How did you know that?’

‘Part of the job, Fi. So, what did he really do?’

 ‘It was the strangest thing, Eloise.’ Fifi took a deep breath. ‘One day, my friend Lillie, and Jimmy my brother and I went for a hike up to Mount Lofty. On the way down, we did a bit of exploring. I can’t remember whose idea it was. Anyway, I go looking at this culvert. I had in mind that this hole in the side of the hill could be some disused mine and that I could find gold there. But, when I go down there, I see this body. Just bones and leathery skin over the bones like…but I recognised the boots. Those boots. I had lost count of the times those boots had kicked me…I knew it was my dad. But at the same time, I didn’t want it to be true. I just hoped they, whoever they were, were somebody else with the same type of boots.’

[Photo 3: Mt. Lofty Botanical Gardens © L.M. Kling 2014]

‘Oh, right, when was that?’ Eloise had turned over her paper and had begun to take notes with a piece of charcoal. ‘How long ago, did you say?’

‘Over forty years.’ Fifi replied softly. ‘He’s been gone since January 1978.’

‘Forty-four—exactly.’

‘How did he end up in a ditch? Near an old mine?’

Fifi shrugged. ‘Not sure, but he had enemies.’

‘I see.’

‘You see, we did report it to the police. But nothing happened. Forty years, and nothing. I mean, I know he was a creep and often rubbed people up the wrong way, but he was still my dad. And I just wanted to…you know, find out why he ended up there. Why anyone would. Dead. And no one seems to care.’

Silence for a few minutes. Fifi sipped her coffee while Eloise studied her notes. The happy chatter from fellow artists provided background noise. The air conditioner continued to thrum.

‘Mm,’ Shatz began in a soft voice, ‘my brother was killed in a motorbike…’

El turned and narrowed her eyes at Shatz. Was this woman trying to get attention? she thought.

‘Sorry,’ Shatz said. ‘But I knew Mr. Edwards, he was a real…’

‘Well, of course you did,’ Fifi huffed, ‘we went to the same church, remember?’

‘Never mind, sorry,’ Shatz mumbled.

Another pause.

After the pause, Eloise looked up. ‘Would you like me to follow this up?’

‘I don’t know.’ Fifi wiped her eye. ‘I guess. But isn’t it a bit awkward for you now that you’re…?’

‘No trouble. I can call Dan, my partner, or should I say, my ex, or whatever he is now that I’m on leave. I can still use the phone.’

‘Thanks.’

‘I’ll see what I can do. No promises. But it’s worth a try, don’t you think?’

[Painting 2: Late Summer Sunset Kingston Park, Brighton in Watercolour © L.M. Kling 2023]

The rest of the afternoon, Eloise and Fifi occupied their thoughts with painting and sketching. The cheerful chatter of the other artists continued, none the wiser of Fifi’s loss and childhood trauma. Except for Shatz. El wished that woman who attempted to poison her wouldn’t be so nosey and would mind her own business.

The air conditioner kept on thrumming until the rush for pack up and departure. Then as the last person locked up the building, they turned off the infernal humming machine and the heat of late afternoon in Adelaide seeped into the empty hall.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2024

Feature Painting: Seacliff Beach Sunset in pastel © L.M. Kling 2021

***

Sometimes characters spring from real life,

Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.

Sometimes real life is just real life.

Check out my travel memoirs,

And escape in time and space

To Central Australia.

Click on the links:

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

***

Or for a greater escape into another world…

Check out my Sci-fi/ dystopian novel,

And click on the link:

The Lost World of the Wends

Friday Crime Fiction–Under the Bridge (3)

[In this bite-sized chapter, we meet Zoe Thomas who makes a discovery that will change her life and unbeknown to her at the time, unearth a more than 40-year-old mystery. This will ultimately open the proverbial pandora’s box and cause chaos to a number of now-settled individuals and their families. In future episodes, this revelation, for our Detective Inspector Dan Hooper, will add to his workload as the chief investigating officer, and force his partner in crime-fighting, Eloise Delaney to cut short her long-service leave and return to work.]

Who do ya think ya woz?

Monday January 17, 2022, 10:00 hours

Huon Valley, Tasmania

Zoe Thomas

While the mourners and well-meaning well-wishers and the like gathered in the church hall, loading their plates with condolences and their mouths with egg sandwiches, Zoe Thomas slipped out. Unnoticed, she slid around the corner away from the toilets and then leant up against the whitewashed wall warmed by the summer sun.

‘Oy!’ her dad called. ‘Y’ all right?’

She sighed. ‘Yeah, fine for a girl who’s just lost her mother, if you could call her that.’

‘What do ya mean by that?’ Dad rolled out a cigarette, flicked his lighter to flame, then cupped his hands to gently start the smoking ritual. Then with the cigarette hanging from his mouth said, ‘Don’t speak ill of the dead.’

‘You’re not my father, so how do I know that she’s my mother?’

‘Oh, what makes you think that I’m not ya pa?’

Zoe pulled a folded piece of paper, a computer printout, from her little black handbag. She opened it up and while he puffed away, she held it in front of him. ‘This says that a Francis Renard is my closest relative, my father, most probably. How do you explain that, Dad? I mean Greg.’

Greg blanched. ‘Oh, yes, well.’

‘Well? Did mum have a fling with this Francis Renard forty years ago? In 1981?’

Her father looked away before taking another drag on his cigarette. ‘She said neva to tell ya this. Ova ‘er dead body, she did. Well, now the bosses gone, I need to get somethink off me chest.’

‘What?’

‘Ya mutha woz not ya mutha.’ Greg coughed, a hacking cough.

‘What are you saying, Dad?’ She punched Greg softly on the arm. ‘You need to quit smoking before it…I don’t want to be staring down at you in a coffin or organising your funeral so soon after mum’s.’

Her dad cleared his throat. ‘Yeah, I know. Must give up.’ Then in a husky voice. ‘You woz adopted, luv.’

‘Oh, that explains it. You don’t mind if I chase up my birth parents, then? Which adoption agency did you go through?’

‘We didn’t. You came out of the apple orchard, ‘n paid for like.’

‘Huh? Come again?’

 ‘The truth woz, you wozn’t exactly a legal adoption.’ Greg sighed. ‘More like an arrangement between friends. Well, what I mean to say is that we ‘elped a girl who got ‘erself into trouble, out of ‘er trouble.’

‘For her financial benefit,’ Zoe said.

‘Yeah, but please don’t tell anyone. The missus, your mum didn’t want any trouble for us or the girl. She had a sad life and we just wanted to make sure she got off on the right foot and could make a go of it. And well, we couldn’t ‘ave children, so it was well, an arrangement that suited both parties.’

Zoe looked at Greg. ‘Do I know my birth mother? Did you stay connected with her?’

Greg shook his head. ‘It’s a long time ago, pet. Mum thought it best we didn’t. We didn’t want the townsfolk asking too many questions or the cops getting involved. And losing you.’

‘What was her name?’

Greg shrugged.

‘Do you know where she came from, at least?’

‘From the mainland, I think.’ Greg threw the spent stub on the pavement and ground it with his foot. ‘Came here for the apple picking season when we ‘ad the orchard in the Huon Valley. Stayed on in a caravan in the paddock till you woz born.’

‘You must’ve got to know where on the mainland?’

Greg rolled another cigarette. ‘All I know woz, she had a posh accent, like from England. It was a long time ago, luv. A long time…all under the bridge, now.’

[…continued next Friday fortnight]

© Tessa Trudinger 2024

Feature Photo: Sleeping Beauty over Huon River © 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

Friday Crime Fiction–Under the Bridge (2)

[A continuation of my foray into crime writing]

Chapter 1

Part 2

UNDER THE BRIDGE

The Guilt of Omission (part 2)

Saturday June 27, 1980

2pm

Hiking Trail enroute to Mt. Lofty

Lillie

Raindrops stung the frozen tips of Lillie’s fingers. ‘There’s no way I’m staying it’s raining, now,’ she said rubbing her numb digits then taking a few steps along the path. The further she could get from her guilt the better. No one need know. But what if they found out? What if Fifi showed the necklace and the detectives linked her to the man’s death?  Lillie trembled. She’d never get a job, a boyfriend; she’d lose everything—possibly even her freedom.

Fifi blocked her. ‘There’s a cave. You can shelter in that.’

‘What?’ Lillie recoiled. ‘With the body?’

‘It’s dead – just bones, it can’t harm you,’ Fifi said.

‘I’ve got a bad vibe, man! Bad vibes.’ Jimmy paced back and forth, swaying his flowing locks. ‘I’m not staying.’

‘I won’t be long, just thirty minutes at the most.’ Fifi stomped further up the track. The rain intensified, drops pummeling their parkas. She whipped around and pointed at Lillie and Jimmy. ‘You two stay here!’

‘No!’ Jimmy strode a few steps towards her and stopped. ‘Look, I really have a bad feeling about this.’ He looked back at Lillie.

[Photo 1: Ice-Sculpture, Hokkaido © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger 1985]

Lillie froze to the spot like an ice-sculpture. A flock of black parrots shrieked above in the violet clouds. The birds dipped and whirled on the wind currents. Fifi’s words rang in her head. You have to tell. She knew deep in the emotion curdled base of her stomach, no one would miss that man, that horrible man. Wasn’t my fault, he deserved it. She reasoned and focussed on Jimmy shaking his pink fist at Fifi. The parrots circled above their heads, and as if bored with the rain, darted in formation south. With a dull throb of resignation, Lillie made her decision. ‘I’ll go,’ she said. ‘Fifi, Jimmy, you stay here.’

‘I’ll come with you, Lillie,’ Jimmy offered.

‘No, it’s alright. Fifi looks brave, but she needs company,’ Lillie said.

Lillie forced her stiff legs to move, one foot in front of the other, each step she believed closer to a life with no future; her living death. She paced through the driving rain, down the path by the falls leading to the carpark below.

Lillie hopped in the car and hurtled down the winding road to Greenhill Road and then home. She had no intention of reporting to police. What if they suspected her?

[Photo 2: Home in a beachside suburb of Adelaide © L.M. Kling 2006]

7 Months later…

Mum was out cold, stone asleep on whiskey and an afternoon of television serials. Good, Lillie thought as she rushed to her room, pulled her sports-bag from under the bed, collected two drop-waist dresses, a pair of jeans and large tee-shirt from her wardrobe and stuffed them in the bag.

‘Bad timing,’ she muttered.

Winter had rolled into spring, exams, end of school celebrations and choices made that she had begun to regret. Like the body of that man, her friends’ father, who festered just beneath the surface of her conscience, another secret silently grew…

But she didn’t want to spoil Christmas, then New Year and plans for travel and seasonal work in Tasmania. She’d missed three periods.

*[Photo 3: Christmas Tree © L.M. Kling 2023]

 She fobbed off her friends telling them, ‘Yes, I did go to the police, but…you know, they have to keep it under wraps so as to not scare off the killer.’

However, she knew they’d figure it out and her image would be ruined. Francis Renard, the man involved in her bad choices and situation, wouldn’t want her in that condition. And she wouldn’t want him till death do us part—he was too much like her dead-beat father who abandoned the family long ago. She had to get away.

She moved the bed and pushed her fist through a hole in the wall; a hole hidden by an old Sherbert, the band, poster. She fished around before latching onto a small tin and pulled it out. Lillie opened the tin and then scraped out the notes and coins. ‘I have a ferry to catch,’ she said as she inserted the money into her purse. ‘All I wanted to do was have a quiet life with my friends. How dare that creep rear his bony head.’

*[Photo 4 and feature: The crimson rose © L.M. Kling 2006]

She sat down at her desk, picked out a pale pink sheet of paper. She wrote, taking care to avoid the crimson rose in the corner:

‘Dear Fifi and Jimmy,

I have to go away for a while. I have a job in Tasmania. None in Adelaide, ha-ha.

I went to the police station again and reminded them of the bones under the bridge. The nice policeman took down my details—AGAIN! and accepted my statement and said he’d deal with it. So don’t worry, it’s in the hands of the police. They are going to keep it quiet because they already have their suspicions who did it, and they don’t want to scare them off. They reckon they’re getting close. So don’t tell anyone, promise, please.

Take care of yourselves. And look after my brother, Sven while I’m away. I will miss you, my friends.

Love,

Lillie.’

*[Photo 5: My black cat, Storm standing in for the fictional Moe © L.M. Kling 2024]

Lillie sealed the letter in the envelope and pressed the stamp of the queen in the top right-hand corner.

Moe, her black cat scuttled under the table as Lillie raced past and out the door. She headed for the cream and red Kombi parked around the corner at the end of her street. A man with dark curls and a pair of square, black-rimmed glasses, opened the passenger door. ‘Are you ready for a road-trip to Melbourne?’

Lillie panted and then caught her breath. ‘Yes, Francis,’ she said as she scrambled in. ‘Just need to drop by the letter box.’ She stared at the letter addressed to Fifi and Jimmy Edwards. She had another one for Francis Renard. And her mum and Sven, of course. She left that note on the kitchen table.

She planned to travel on the ferry from Melbourne, Victoria to Devonport, Tasmania, alone.

[…continued in a fortnight]

© Tess Trudinger 2024

*Feature Photo: The Crimson Rose © L.M. Kling 2006

***

Check out my other writing project, a speculative novel, Diamonds in the Cave on Wattpad.

The Wends, they were such a gentle group of people…until someone put it in their heads that there were witches amongst them…

Want to find out more? Click on the link to my story on Wattpad,

Diamonds in the Cave.

Friday Fiction–Under the Bridge

[Hey, I had planned a profile of an ancestor, but somehow time got away and it never happened. Still more digging and researching must be done. So, in the meantime, here’s the beginning of my attempt at Crime fiction. (I stress that the following tale is fiction, the characters are fiction, and I’m writing under the name of my alter-ego/crime-fighting name, Tessa Trudinger). I’d love to know what you think as I tackle this challenge to develop my Detective Dan series.]

Chapter 1

Part 1

The Guilt of Omission

Saturday June 27, 1981

2pm

Hiking Trail enroute to Mt. Lofty

Lillie

Fifi’s voice echoed through the steep gully, ‘Hey, what’s this? Some cow carcass!’ The blackberry bushes around her rustled in the icy breeze. ‘Come on, Lillie! Have a look! It’s gross! I nearly slid right into it.’

Lillie brushed past the liquorice plants and tottered down the slippery clay of the embankment. ‘I really don’t want to see a dead cow.’ She held out the billy while hunting for clear running water from the storm water pipe. ‘I hope the water’s not diseased.’

‘Nah, you’ll be right.’ Fifi poked her auburn curls above the bush and beckoned. ‘Looks like it’s been there for years – it’s just bones.’ Her russet crown disappeared. ‘Just wait.’

Lillie stepped forward. The clattering of the stream over stone was louder here. She stood still and drew in the sweet, scented blend of rain-soaked eucalypt, liquorice and mud. The aroma awakened a memory. I’ve been here before. She thought. The sun’s golden rays parted a curtain of thick cumulous clouds, causing the droplets on the leaves to sparkle like a million diamonds.

‘Hey, Lillie! A chain.’ Fifi held up a blackened necklace, a tear-drop pendant with a quartz stone shimmering in the light. The hand and chain vanished behind the tangle of mint-coloured leaves and thorny branches. ‘Just a minute.’

Lillie’s heart galloped, slamming against her rib cage as if in a desperate attempt to escape. She wanted to run, straight up the hill back to the campsite, back to the comfort of the fire and Jimmy Edward’s, arms. No, that wouldn’t be proper. He’s just a friend. Fifi’s brother. Her legs turned to jelly and froze. ‘What?’ She squeaked through a constricted throat. She had been here before. Summer, five years ago when she was twelve. The landscape dusted in tan and yellow. The moist green of mid-winter had lulled her into a false sense of ignorance.

[Photo 1: Resting enroute to Mt. Lofty © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1983]

A scream pierced the winter silence. ‘Oh, my God!’ Fifi ripped through the tangled bush, her freckly face flushed and green eyes wide as saucers. ‘It’s not a cow! It’s – It’s…’

‘What?’ Lillie rasped puffing out plumes of breath into the frigid air. Blood rushed through her head, roaring, while remembering the hike she preferred to forget.

January 1975: She’d only gone to the creek to fill her canteen. On a 38-degree Celsius day, hiking with her friends, the same friends plus her brother Sven, she was thirsty and needed water; they all needed water. That day Fifi had already fainted from dehydration. What was the harm in getting water from the storm water drain? What was his problem? That man?

[Photo 2: Hiking with school friends up to the summit of Mt. Lofty © C.D. Trudinger 1969]

‘Human!’ Fifi announced.

At that single word, the ball of anxiety swirling into Lillie’s chest converged in the sickening centre and dropped, thudding to the base of her stomach. ‘Oh, dear!’ she said as a blizzard of shock swept over her mind blanking out any thought.

Fifi scrambled up to Lillie and grabbed her hand ordering her to see the skull, commanding her to check out the leather coat, demanding she follow her to under the drain bridge to view the grisly find. Her best friend pulled her down to the creek, to the cavity under the bridge, her body meekly following like a frightened lamb to the slaughtered, her mind viewing the sequence of events as if from above in the clouds.

At first the sight before her resembled a side of beef at the abattoir, except the remains of him lay half sheltered at the base of the sand-stone bridge, and melted into years of silt, moss and sour-sobs. The leather hide of dry skin had sunk into the ribcage, and a disjointed hand of bones reached into the subterranean cave.

That time, when she was twelve, Lillie intended to explore up the creek in search of water. She thought she heard the water rushing. She was sure she did. The creek proved disappointing. Just a trickle. The hot northerly breeze had gypped her. She listened. A faint mewing. A kitten? A poor little kitten mewing from further up. Tracking through the dry creek bed crowded with brittle sticks of shrivelled saplings and prickle bushes laden with green unripe berries, she discovered the man-sized drainpipe. Water dribbled out into a stinky puddle surrounded by a cracked clay pan and rocks, broken tree branches and salt bushes caked in white like plaster of Paris. The kitten’s cries echoed in the black hole that penetrated deep into the hillside.

‘There you are! Ripe for the picking.’ A man’s hot breath stung the back of her neck. Cold hard metal gouged into her shoulder-blade. She turned and caught the look in his eyes, glazed, pupils dilated. He looked like a hungry wolf.

Lillie pushed him away and ran, scampering up the slope like a frightened rabbit.

[Photo 3: Calmer times resting by the creek at Waterfall Gully © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1986]

‘We have to tell the police.’ Fifi stared at the coat of membrane and bones.

‘Why?’ Lillie patted her straight blonde hair. She remembered his boots thumping after her.

‘Cos it’s the right thing to do.’

[to be continued…Friday fortnight]

© Tessa Trudinger

Feature Photo: Waterfall Gully © L.M. Kling 1996

***

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