Friday Crime–The Culvert (25)

[Oops! I made a bit of a blue last time when sharing a chapter of The Culvert. A repeat of a previous chapter under the guise of a different chapter heading. How did that happen? It’s a mystery…No, actually, I confess, the chapter repeated itself in the manuscript. All fixed, so here’s the real, fair dinkum “Fallout” Chapter.]

Fallout

Norwood
Saturday, May 1, 2022
5 to 10:00pm

El


El gleaned from the afternoon that currently had turned into dinner and an excursion to an exclusive club restaurant in Kingswood, seated by an open fireplace, red wine in hand, that Lillie had loved her father. To her he was a kind man but had trouble holding down a job. She reckoned he deserted the family because he was ashamed that he couldn’t provide for them.

‘Just before he disappeared,’ Lillie said, showing an antique gold watch, ‘he received this watch and he said, “I’ve lost my job, and this watch is all I have to show for it.”’

‘Can I have a look?’ El asked.

Lillie took the watch from her wrist and handed it to El who studied it, turning it over in her hand. She recalled the watch Zoe was holding the other day after the discovery at Mt. Lofty.

*[Photo 1 and feature: The gold watch © L.M. Kling 2024]

An inscription on the back of the watch read: In appreciation. P.E.

For what? El wondered and said, ‘Interesting. Nice watch. Would be worth a few bob, I’d imagine.’

Lillie shrugged. ‘Yeah, it’s gold.’

‘Golden handshake, I guess,’ El remarked. Then without thinking glanced at Jimmy and asked, ‘Who’s P.E.?’ Lillie had consumed a few glasses of some red wine by then. Lillie’s choice. Madam being a connoisseur of red wine. She particularly recommended drops from the Clare Valley.

Jimmy squirmed in his seat, and mumbled, ‘My dad. His boss.’

‘Golden handshake?’ El said.

‘Hard times, had to lay off people,’ Lillie jumped in and with an edge to her voice. ‘Nothing personal, he reckoned. It broke him, though.’ She then gulped down her glass of red and poured another.

‘Is that why he left?’ El said.

‘You betchya!’ Lillie said followed by another skull of wine. She started to pour more Clare red into her glass.

Jimmy placed hand over the glass. ‘I think that’s enough, dear.’

‘Oh,’ Lillie glared at her husband, ‘I’ve only started, dear.’ She nudged his hand out of the way and completed the task of filling her glass. Then she offered the remainder of the bottle to El. ‘Want one?’

‘Why not?’ El replied. She shouldn’t, she knew she shouldn’t, but with this woman of status and force, resistance seemed pointless.

She watched Lillie fill her glass. I’ll just sip, she thought.

*[Photo 2: Enjoying a wine © L.M. Kling 2023]



Lillie, now slurring her words and swaying, launched into a diatribe; wrongs done to her and her hard life. Her mother, once Dad had gone, worked two jobs to send her to college. But poor Lillie suffered bullying from the rich kids. Did she mention her nemesis? Dee. Dee Berry. Oh, how she hated that Queen of bitches.

Jimmy nodded. ‘Oh, yes, Dee. Oh, my goodness!’ He turned to Lillie and gestured. ‘Tell her about the time she beat you up in the woodwork room.’

El covered her mouth as she tried her best to hide the smirk forming on her mouth. ‘Dee Berry? You went to school with Dee?’

‘Yeah, piece of work she was. Had it in for me from the moment we met eyes back in Year 8. We both liked the same guy—Danny. Danny Hooper.’

A snort escaped from El. Dan? That’s one for the books.

‘Did you know her?’ Jimmy asked.

El in a moment of awareness, cleared her throat. Don’t mention her association with the police force. ‘Ah, small world. Adelaide, you know.’

Jimmy narrowed his eyes at El. ‘What sort of work did you say you did?’

Ah, trick question. ‘Public service in human resources and management,’ El was quick to reply. She’d added the “resources” to give some distance to the management (aka policing part). Now to distract him. She took a sip of wine, then said, ‘Speaking of your father, what ever happened to him?’

Jimmy blanched and turned away. ‘I’d rather not talk about it.’

El bit her lip. ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ From what she had gleaned from Dan’s notes, Percy Edwards was himself a piece of work. ‘I understand.’ She decided not to mention the body in the freezer, even though she knew Percy was most likely the body they’d discovered under the culvert bridge on route up Mt. Lofty. She figured by this time, Dan or Dee had informed Jimmy of the discovery.

Meanwhile, Lillie was on a roll with the alcohol. She poured another drink, lost count of how many, and drawled, ‘Oh, my, Dee hasn’t changed. She’s plaguing me again. What is it with that woman?’

‘Yeah, no stopping that woman.’ Jimmy bobbed his head up and down. ‘She’s a copper now.’

‘Suits her, but why does she have to drag up the past and bother me?’

‘Why?’ El asked. ‘What’s she done?’

‘Aw, my brother hit a kangaroo way back in 1981, and now they think he’s killed somebody,’ Lillie said. ‘Hell, who do they think they are? Sven wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

*[Photo 3: This Kangaroo was not harmed in this episode © L.M. Kling 2021]

Jimmy patted his wife on the hand. ‘They’re just doing their job, Honey.’

‘Yeah but takes Dee to start bugging me again.’ A cloud fell over Lillie’s expression. ‘I tell you, if that Constable Berry calls me again, I’m going to sue for harassment.’

From there the conversation meandered from current trends in politics, bitcoin (and the Edwards’ massive profits) to conspiracy theories and Lillie’s passion for pro-life. No mention of her early travels to Tasmania and adopting out her baby there.

She smiled and considered the extended time with the couple, a most productive time. She checked her watch. My goodness! 10pm!

Lillie slapped her on the back. A friendly pat that with her level of inebriation had been a slap rather than a pat. ‘I really l-l-like you, El. I feel l-l-like I’ve known you forever.’

‘Yeah, likewise,’ El replied. She realised that, although she’d warned Francis she’d be out on reconnaissance with team Edwards this night, he’d be starting to get worried. She also realised she, herself had too much to drink to drive home.

El glanced at her phone to phone for a taxi.

‘Hey, El, dear, come tomorrow and we’ll get some serious painting done.’

El nodded. ‘Sounds like a plan, but um, I need to…’

Her phone pinged. A message from Francis. Where are you?

At the “Fireside” in Kingswood. Pick me up? Over the limit. El returned.

Francis: Ok, be there soon.

El assumed that Francis would text her from the car when he arrived, and she would make her escape. She would learn never to make assumptions.

*[Photo 4: Time is ticking, German Cake Shop Hahndorf © L.M. Kling 2023]


Twenty minutes later, with Lillie praising the glory of not-so-local celebrity politician, Ivan T Rumf, a slim blonde in a grey jogging suit, stepped through entrance door to the lounge.

Jimmy jumped up. ‘Zoe! Fancy meeting you here.’

Lillie continued extolling the wonders of Ivan T Rumf’s financial wizardry. Barely noticed Zoe’s presence, until…

Zoe refused the offer to join them for a glass of the good stuff and being converted to the cult of Ivan T Rumf. El assessed from Zoe’s sour expression as she waited, that she was not a fan of the money mogul.

That sour expression and lack of enthusiasm for Lillie’s current pet topic, got Lillie’s attention. She looked Zoe up and down. And narrowed her eyes. She rose with hands on hips and snapped, ‘Who do you think you are, Madam?’

Zoe stepped back and holding up her hand, tried to diffuse the situation. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve just come to collect my friend.’

‘Come now, Honey, it’s okay to have a different opinion.’ Jimmy tapped Lillie’s knee. Then to El and Zoe, ‘It’s the alcohol talking; she won’t remember a thing in the morning.’

Zoe and El glanced at each other. El rose, shrugged on her coat, lifted her handbag, and prepared to leave.

‘Hey, El, my friend, what do you think?’ Lillie tugged El’s coat sleeve.

Jimmy leaned back and smiled. ‘Hey, you know, just looking at you two. I mean, Zoe my Tassie friend, and Lillie, and I could swear you two are sisters.’

To say Lillie made a scene would be a gross understatement. Foot stamping. Fury flying. Abuse hurling. Colourful language not befitting of a prestigious college principal.


After making a hasty retreat out the establishment and into Renard’s car, El said breathlessly, ‘Sorry about that.’

‘What happened?’ Francis Renard asked.

‘She-she exploded,’ Zoe said. ‘What was all that about?’

‘Well, I’m glad I didn’t go in,’ Renard said. ‘How embarrassing for you.’

El sighed. ‘I think we have our answer, amongst other things.’

‘What do you mean?’ Zoe said.

‘If there’s any doubt, her over-reaction said it all,’ El replied.

Zoe scratched her forehead. ‘I don’t get it. You’re speaking in riddles.’

Renard huffed. ‘What the detective is trying to say, is that that crazy woman was your mother. Geez, I never knew she had a crazy side.’

El chuckled, ‘Ah, repression, does that to a person. Comes out sideways.’

‘Her?’ Zoe glanced behind her through the rear car window. ‘That woman who made a scene? Glad she gave me up…I can see the headlines now, “Judge’s birth mother is a nutcase.”’\

El raised her eyebrows. ‘Judge? You want to be a judge?’

‘Why, yeah. It’s all in my five-year plan; I was just taking leave after my mother died.’

*[Photo 5: Brighton Jetty Sunset © L.M. Kling 2025]

On the drive back to Brighton, Francis Renard sat in the driver’s seat, tall, his chest puffed out. A grin split his face, and he said, ‘My daughter, a judge. My daughter a judge.’

And El contemplated. Perhaps I could return to work as a detective. Despite the fallout, she had enjoyed her foray into covert investigation. For her, Lillie’s outburst had been the highlight.

However, she was a tad concerned how she’d manage retrieving her car from the Norwood address the next day.

© Tessa Trudinger 2025
*Feature Photo: The gold antique watch © 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

Travelling on Friday–Standley Chasm

[Twelve years ago, the T-Team, next generation embarked on their pilgrimage to Central Australia. Purpose: to scatter Dad’s ashes in his beloved Central Australia, in Ormiston Gorge.
One Friday every month, I will take you on a virtual trip to the Centre and memories of that unforgettable holiday in 2013, with my brother and his family; the T-Team Next Generation.
This time, the T-Team part ways for the day, and two of us set off to explore Standley Chasm.]

Bonus! An all-you-can-eat breakfast greeted us at the Chifley the morning after. The same can’t be said about the T-Team. Richard had slept in and not much was happening in my brother’s “camp”. Meanwhile, we had made the most of the morning, walking to the town centre.

[Photo 1: Chifley Resort © L.M. Kling 2013]

‘Gotta get tyres for the trailer, ‘n nothing’s open yet,’ Richard mumbled on the other end of my mobile phone.

‘Having a quiet day, then,’ I replied gazing around the near-empty local Big-W department store. Anthony held up a pair of cargo pants and indicated that he’d try those on. Then he began rifling through the bargain rack for more pairs to try.

‘Not exactly,’ Richard sniffed, ‘gotta get tyres.’

‘Oh, well, we’re thinking of going to Standley Chasm. Maybe we can all go together in the afternoon if your tyres get sorted.’

‘Hmm, will let you know.’

‘Okay, will hear from you then.’ I clicked off the phone and said to Anthony, ‘He doesn’t sound optimistic on the tyre-issue. Might be busy all morning.’

[Photo 2: Remember the tyre carnage? © L.M. Kling 2013]

By noon, the T-Team still weren’t ready; Richard still had to take the car to get the new tyres.
‘At least I’ve found a place that can do our tyres,’ my brother mumbled to me on the phone before he left on his tyre-mission.

[Photo 3: Ranges surrounding Alice Springs, Olive Pink Botanic Garden © M.E. Trudinger 2010]

So, Anthony and I travelled alone on our quest to explore Standley Chasm. Actually, we’d barely left the outskirts of Alice Springs travelling west on Larapinta Drive to the MacDonnell Ranges before Anthony piped up, ‘How far is it to Standley Chasm?’

‘Not far,’ I replied, then retrieving the map from the glove box, I hunted for the chasm’s location and then calculated the distance from Alice Springs. ‘It’s 50km, so about half an hour’s drive.’

‘Oh, you sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Cos, if it’s further, we’ll miss the red cliffs, or getting in, or we’ll be home after dark.’

[Photo 4: Spectacular view of Stanley Chasm we wish to see © S.O Gross circa 1950]

‘Already have,’ I sighed. ‘But I’m sure the chasm will still be spectacular. And the hike there will be good exercise.’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’

‘Anyway, it’s not far. Besides, there’s plenty of other gorges to explore.’

Before Anthony could voice any further misgivings or regrets that we should’ve left earlier and not waited for the T-Team, the sign for Standley Chasm appeared to our right. We parked in the carpark shaded by a gathering of majestic eucalypt trees and then followed the path to the kiosk.

While waiting in line to pay the entry fee, we read the sign which assured us that we had plenty of time before the park closed at 5pm.

I nodded at the notice board and remarked, ‘All that worry for nothing.’

‘Depends how long the walk takes,’ Anthony said while nibbling a nail.

‘Doesn’t take long,’ I said. ‘I’ve been here before. Takes less than an hour.’

‘I hope so.’

I shook my head. ‘Look, we’ll walk for an hour and then turn back, okay?’

Just to be sure, when we paid for our entry tickets, I asked pleasant Irish man who ran the kiosk, how long the walk should take. He explained that it was mostly easy and would take the average hiker about half an hour.

[Photo 5: Along the way © L.M. Kling 2013]

So, rather than waste precious Anthony-time having lunch first, we set out on the adventure to the chasm. Anthony raced ahead. I wandered along the meandering path taking note of various scenes I would snap on our return. Who knows, we may make it in time for the spectacular red cliffs on both sides. Although the lack of tourists hiking either way, made me suspect that, that time had passed.

[Photo 6: Billabong © L.M. Kling 2013]
[Photo 7: Just beyond, tempting us © L.M. Kling 2013]

Twenty minutes later, Anthony and I beheld the awesome cliffs of the chasm; one side glowed golden orange, while the other side was a dark sienna. We sensed the peace and serenity of the place.

[Photo 8: The Chasm at last © L.M. Kling 2013]
[Photo 9: Perfection of Light © L.M. Kling 2013]


I scrambled over the tumble of boulders in the chasm and made my way to the pool. Beyond the rockpool, a sign prohibited us from venturing further. The deep water caught a perfect reflection of the boulders and cliffs.

[Photo 10: Pool’s reflection © L.M. Kling 2013]

In memory of my Dad, I photographed Anthony by the same tree where I had captured Dad in all his grumpiness some 36-years prior.

[Photo 11: Anthony by tree near Chasm © L.M. Kling 2013]
[Photo 12: Grumpy Dad by tree © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1977]

Upon our return to the entrance, we munched on our sandwiches and observed a group of aspiring hikers pitch their tents and then pull them down again. What’s that about? we wondered.

Then, a group of tour guides sat to eat their lunch on a picnic bench below us on the other side of the creek. Anthony had to comment, ‘There’s seven of them and only one of them is Indigenous.’

[Photo 13: Standley Chasm admired by tourist group © L.M. Kling 2013]

On our return to Alice Springs, we stopped by the caravan park where I booked our sons in. We had already booked ourselves into a cabin at the caravan park and had originally thought they could stay with us. And Mum, all concerned about missing out, had her cabin organised months ago. Even so, we had no problem arranging a separate cabin for our grown-up sons who we felt would be happy with more space.

[Photo 14: Vision of near Future at the Alice Springs Tourist Park © L.M. Kling 2013]

With late afternoon casting the long shadows of the approaching night, we made our way to where the T-Team were staying. We had been in touch with Mrs. T and had arranged to meet there. When we arrived at the appointed time, no T-Team. Calling Mrs. T on her mobile phone yielded no joy, nor answer.

‘’Not again!’ Anthony groaned.

‘Let’s go to the shops and buy some meat for a BBQ. Then we can find a picnic area and cook up our meat.’

My suggestion sounded reasonable to Anthony, so, off we drove to the local IGA supermarket. Just around the corner. Won’t be long. Maybe the T-Team will be back by the time we return.

‘That’s funny,’ I pointed at some bushes on the traffic island, ‘there’s a cop car hiding.’

‘I didn’t see anything,’ said he who was concentrating on driving.

I ducked into the shops to by some lamb chops and bread. Not much choice; I wanted to snag some sausages but couldn’t see any around. So, armed with the purchased, at some expense, meat and bread, I hopped back in the car.

[Photo 15: Ye good ol’ Aussie Barbeque © L.M. Kling 2020]

Anthony laughed.

‘What’s so funny?’ I asked.

‘While you were in the shops, a bikie guy was arrested right next door in front of the bottle shop.’ Anthony fired up the engine with the characteristic roar of the Ford. ‘I wonder what he was up to?’

Just then, Mrs. T rang back. ‘Sorry we weren’t there when you came. We was down the street and bought tea for all of us.’

So, with the chops saved in the ice box for camping at Glen Helen, we joined the T-Team for dinner, followed by a raucous game of “Chook Chook”, an educational card game trading poultry.

[Photo 16: Chook Chook © L.M. Kling 2017]

Afterwards, Mrs. T joined her friends on the back deck for a drink or two, the T-Lings continued with another round of card-playing with their father, while Anthony and I returned to another night of luxury at the Chifley Hotel.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2020

*Feature Painting: Standley Chasm Men © L.M. Kling 2018


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 1981

Friday Crime–The Culvert (24a)

Fallout

Norwood
Saturday, May 1, 2022
1:00 to 10:00pm

El

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

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

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

*[Painting 1: Somerton Beach Sunset (watercolour) © L.M. Kling 2017]

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

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

That conversation happened on Tuesday.

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

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

‘But why?’

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

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

‘And her paranoia, no doubt.’ El snipped. ‘Look, it’s people like her that make the job an issue for me.’

‘But what about the challenge, the thrill of solving a case?’

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

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

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

‘Oh…but…’

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

‘But we need more…’ Dan sounded sad.

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

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

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

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

*[Painting 2: Mt. Giles Through Ormiston Gorge (acrylic) © L.M. Kling 2016]

‘Is it personal, Dan?’

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

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

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

‘Sounds like a rabbit hole, Dan.’

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

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

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

‘No, Dan.’

‘Please, can’t you just find some time to do some digging. In an unofficial capacity, perhaps? Please?’

Renard swayed his head while filling in a crossword clue. ‘He’s desperate.’

‘You know that’s not…’

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

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

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

*[Painting 3 and Feature: Desert Park, Alice Springs (pastel) © L.M. Kling 2025]

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

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

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

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

‘Sorry about the clutter, El,’ Lillie waved a hand at the stacks of books and piles of papers, tableaus ready to dance on what was intended to be a ballroom floor. ‘Every holidays, I intend to tackle that lot, but…’
While skirting the newspaper piles at the edge of the open hallway, Lillie led El to the spare bedroom come art studio. Freshly brewed coffee percolated its aroma, filling the room. Lillie glided over to the table holding the coffee and a silver standing tray with a pyramid of cupcakes laden with icing. El mused, pink icing with cupcake. Would she scrape off the icing and eat the cake? Risk offending her portrait muse and host who had gone to all that trouble, slaving the whole morning buying those cupcakes from the local bakery?

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

El politely smiled and said, ‘I’ll have some coffee, but, um, I’ll need to pass on the cake. My sugar levels were a bit up, so I need to…’

‘But they are gluten-free.’

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

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

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

*[Painting 4: One Day in the Barossa (acrylic) © L.M. Kling 2018]

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


© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 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

Fifth Friday Flashback

School’s back this week. And all the parents of school-aged children breathe a sigh of relief as their little and not-so-little treasures return to the classroom. So glad that for me, that season has passed.

Even so, a fitting tribute to the time I once was a teacher…

Feature Photo: Classroom, Hermannsburg © C.D. Trudinger circa 1955

Friday Crime–The Culvert 23b

The Boy Next Door

Lillie

My first memory of the verboten was the kitchen floor. Every Saturday afternoon, the kitchen floor took on the status of holy floor. Floor that has been washed with the sacred waters of floor cleaner and left untrodden to dry.

‘Don’t walk over the floor!’ Mum would yell after she had cleansed the linoleum floor. I looked with longing at the floor red with the gold and silver flecks in it. Inevitably I committed the sin of trespass on the holy floor of the kitchen and tracked a trail of my tell-tale footprints.

‘I told you not to walk on the floor!’ Mum would growl and smack me on the bottom.
But I had a good reason to walk on the sacred wet linoleum. It’s because Mum would excommunicate me into the backyard of boredom, so that she could get the cleaning done. And it’s because after she had shrouded the floor with water and soap, I would have to pee. The only way to the toilet of relief, was through the kitchen over the sacred floor.

[Photo 1: One solution; toilets in the backyard repurposed © L.M. Kling 2020]

As I grew up, the kitchen was barricaded during floor-cleaning sessions. Out of desperation, curiosity and loneliness in the backyard on Saturday afternoons, I became acquainted with the family next door. More particularly, the verboten made a gradual shift from kitchen floor to the boy and girl next door. I mean, really, Mum with her sacred floor business, brought the grief upon herself. If she had washed the floor during the week and not made such an issue of it on Saturday afternoons, I may never ventured next door. Their loo was available because their Mum washed the floor during the week, if she washed the floor at all under all the rubble of clothing from a large and uncontrollable rabble of children.

Jimmy proved attractive to me because of my parent’s opposition. Fifi, his sister, Jimmy and I were childhood friends. According to my parents, especially Mum, they were not good enough. I was told not to play with them. So, play with Fifi and Jimmy I did, and their multitude of brothers and sisters. We would romp through the jungle of their backyard of unmown lawn. The weeds were as high as us children. The family were working class and faking their Christian faith, my father would say. He still accepted a position at Mr. Edwards’s factory, but…And later, once Dad was gone, she was only too happy to accept Percy Edwards’s help.

My mother had her eye on the well-to do family, the Hoopers, around the corner whose two sons were progressing towards careers into law and medicine.

Mum would say, “The kids next door will never amount to anything.”

When Jimmy took me for a dinky ride on his bike and we returned home after dark, I was grounded. I hated being grounded. By the end of the week, I vowed not to play with Jimmy again. He was a bad influence. However, Saturday and the sacred floor rolled around again, and so did Jimmy on his Dragstar bike.

[Photo 2: Riding at sunset in Darlington © L.M. Kling 1998]

‘Come on! No one’s goin’ to know! Just one ride!’ he said.

The sun shone, the sky blue and my parents were out. We were off, pedalling down the gravel driveway where we nearly collided with my returning parents in their FJ Holden.

I had a choice, I could suffer another week’s grounding or have the indignity of a smack of the ruler across my hand. I took the ruler option and learnt to be more devious in the future. There are many ways to cross a wet kitchen floor without being caught. There were means and ways of continuing my friendship with Jimmy and Fifi without catching the ire of my parents. But then after their father deserted them, the enormous family moved.

I wonder what ever happened to that man.

Perhaps life would have been different if he’d hung around. Not that they missed old Mr. Edwards. Life seemed to improve for Jimmy and his family after he’d gone.

And despite, or should I say, in spite of my mother’s protestations, I ended up marrying Jimmy Edwards. I guess in my mother’s estimation, Jimmy being a musician didn’t amount to much, but me, I’m successful. Principal of a prestigious school, how good is that.

Shame mum’s not around to see that. Although, she would definitely be turning in her grave if she knew I’m still married Jim.

Now, those Hooper boys from around the corner…one of them was Dan, I remember. I wonder what happened to him. Did he become the lawyer my mother always said he was going to grow up to be?

[Photo 3: Sparkling, anyone? © L.M. Kling 2023]

El

El paused; painting brush poised in above the canvas. ‘Oh, Dan? Dan Hooper?’

Lillie raised an eyebrow. ‘You know him?’

El cleared her throat. Better not say too much or she’ll start to suspect. Change the subject. ‘Actually, I knew his brother, Al.’

‘Oh, yes, Al, the younger one. Bit weedy and pimply as I remember. So, did he become a doctor?’

El nodded. ‘He did…a psychiatrist, I think. But it was a long time ago and I think he had some crisis in his life and had a career change.’

Lillie snorted. ‘A mid-life crisis?’

‘You could say that.’

‘So, what career did he change to?’

‘Um…’ El bit her lip and dabbed the nose of Lillie’s painted image. ‘Teaching, I think.’
‘Haven’t heard of any Al Hooper in my domain.’

El smudged Lillie’s painted mouth. Oops! ‘I think he didn’t stay that long in teaching before he went into working for the secret service, ASIO, or something like that…’ El mumbled.

‘I’ll have to look him up,’ Lillie said breezily.

‘Good luck,’ El muttered.

‘What did you say?’

‘Nothing, but, um, I don’t think he’s got a digital profile, being in the secret service or whatever it is.’
‘Oh, you really don’t know; do you dear?’

El shrugged and wiped her mistake with her thumb. ‘So, tell me more about this Old Mr. Edwards. What was he like?’

At that moment, Jimmy reappeared in the studio. He held a tray with three flutes of sparkling wine.

‘Sparkling, anyone?’ he said.

© Tessa Trudinger 2025
*Feature Photo: Backyard © 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

Remembering Dad–100-Word Challenge

Games days, Central Australian pilgrimmages, his garden, golf, table tennis…always having to win. These are the things that spring to mind when I remember my dad. Last Monday, he would’ve turned 97 if he hadn’t left this Earth for a more perfect life in heaven in 2012.

Another defining memory of Dad was his cars, except for his first one, a Gogo mobile, the rest were cheap, second-hand and the “that’ll do for the time being variety”.

This week I look back at the memory of one of these cars in the 100-word challenge.

[Driving around Adelaide these days, I see many classic cars. Brings back memories of our family cars from my childhood…]


Bathsheba

After 50 years, I have discovered the significance of our Holden FC’s name.
My dad was called David. In the Bible, there’s a King David who has an illicit affair with a woman he spies in a bath on a roof top. Her name, Bathsheba. Bath-she-ba; an apt name considering the circumstances of their meeting.
Did Mum think that when Dad bought this car, this silver-pointed beauty was his “mistress’?
Similarities: Both Davids were master of their realms. Both Bathshebas, not new, used, yet beautiful. And both Bathshebas became parked in their David’s palace, in a harem, their love shared.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2019; updated 2022
Feature Photo: Bathsheba in our Backyard © L.M. Kling nee Trudinger) 1969

***

Join the Journey into Central Australia with the T-team, led by my Dad, Mr. T.

Click on the links below:

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Friday Crime–The Culvert (23a)

Cupcakes

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

El

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

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

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

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

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


That conversation happened on Tuesday.

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

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


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

‘But why?’

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

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

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

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

‘Nah, I’m done.’

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

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

‘Oh…but…’

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

‘But we need more…’ Dan sounded sad.

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

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

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

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

‘Is it personal, Dan?’

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

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

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

‘Sounds like a rabbit hole, Dan.’

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

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

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

‘No, Dan.’

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

‘You know that’s not…’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

‘But they are gluten-free.’

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

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

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

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

Something about Jimmy Edwards caused disquiet in El.

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

© Tessa Trudinger 2025

Feature Photo: Cupcakes from Tealicious, Willunga © L.M. Kling 2024

***

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

Click on the links:


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


Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

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


The Lost World of the Wends

Travelling on Friday–Road to Alice

T-Team Next Generation—Road to Alice

Comfort and Luxury

[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.

Over the next few months, once a month, I will take you on a virtual trip to the Centre and memories of that unforgettable holiday in 2013, with my brother and his family; the T-Team Next Generation. This time, the T-Team arrive, and again for us, rather precariously, in Alice Springs.]

The remaining 160km to Alice Springs progressed through sundown and twilight uneventfully…

Except for the car towing a camel trailer who decided to overtake us. An oncoming truck caused it to swerve back into our lane; the camels’ heads struggling to catch up with their necks at the force of the turn.

‘Missed the truck by that much,’ I remarked holding my fingers in pincer mode.

‘What the —! How do you get the thing to record?’ Hubby fiddled with the video camera. ‘Too late. Missed it.’

We watched the camel trailer disappear around a bend. ‘Bet that’s another event the T-Lings missed being too absorbed on their phones.’

Hubby pouted. ‘I should’ve been driving, then you could’ve caught it on video.’

*[Video: Hungry Camel © L.M. Kling 2024]

6:30pm and a thick blanket of darkness had set in by the time we reached Alice Springs. By some miracle we’d managed to stay in convoy with the T-Team and had followed them through Heavitree Gap and into streets of the town. The blackness of night seemed to suck the glow out of the streetlights.

It was not long before, the T-Team too, were absorbed into the darkness after we missed the first set of traffic lights.

‘We’re stuffed now,’ Hubby grizzled. ‘Where’s the map?’ He turned and groped around the baggage on the back seat. A fruitless search.

‘There’s Richard.’ I flashed the car’s lights and he remained parked as I overtook the van.

‘Why didn’t you stop?’ Hubby started to panic. ‘You can’t stop now. You’re embarrassing everyone.’ This all said on the quiet and empty streets of Alice Springs. ‘Hey! Where are you going?’

‘There’s nowhere to park,’ I finally managed a word in edgewise as my hubby took a breath in between his hysteria and panic. I then stopped near the entrance to the Chifley Hotel. I glanced at the enticing amber lights leading to luxury and comfort. ‘You did mention staying at a hotel.’

[Photo 1: Entrance to Chifley Hotel © L.M. Kling 2013]


‘Oh, you’ve lost them!’ Hubby snapped. ‘I’ll take over. You have no idea!’

I allowed Hubby to take control of the car. We wandered around the hotel resort carpark, and then out onto the road. We meandered around some more streets until we ended up on a dead-end road near a backpacker’s hotel.

I rang my brother, Richard and he instructed us to drive to a road with a name and stay put. We were to tell Richard the name of the road, and with the help of his Sat-Nav, he’d find us.

More driving round, and round…until we chanced upon a road with an actual name attached to it. Stott Street. There we parked. And waited. And waited…and waited.

‘You better get out that road map for a list of motels,’ Hubby said. ‘Can’t wait around here all night.’

I hunted in the dark for my bag, then finding that little treasure, I fumbled around its clutter for the road map. Under the dim glow of the streetlight, I scanned the pages. You would think that such a brochure would have a handy list of hotels and motels…but no. ‘There’s no list of accommodation I can see.’

‘Oh, that’s just great!’ Hubby sniffed.

‘I’m sorry, I made a mistake. I should’ve stopped near Richard, even if it had been an illegal park,’ I said. ‘Would you forgive me?’

‘Oh, all right,’ he sighed. ‘Sorry for snapping.’

Just at that moment, the T-Team van appeared, and we followed them, very slowly and carefully to their friend’s home.

[Photo 2: T-Ling relaxing with cat after intrepid drive to Alice © L.M. Kling 2013]


Although their house was huge, by this time Hubby and I were not sure about setting our tent up in the dark, in their back yard. We had been warned of visiting or possibly resident wildlife, namely dingoes.

While drinking a most welcome cup of tea, we discussed and scanned the phone book for hotel accommodation. Our hostess was fine about us staying in a hotel as she wasn’t sure about the wildlife in her backyard either, or whether we’d be able to secure our tent as the ground was quite hard. She suggested a couple of hotels, but they had already closed their bookings for the night.

[Photo 3 and Feature: Backyard where we would’ve pitched our tent © L.M. Kling 2013]


By this time, it was about 7.30pm, and our stomachs were rumbling. The T-Lings insisted on Hungry Jacks as our nephew had accrued some vouchers. So, Richard drove us all in the van to this venue for burgers.

The line-up was long, and the service was, to say the least, slow; partly because a certain T-Ling was very particular about getting value for his voucher. By the time my nephew had finished his order, I had eaten my chips. I think the African girl who was serving looked relieved after such voucher discussions with my nephew. Making the discussions and our orders understood were not helped by the fact that both girls serving struggled to comprehend what we said, as English was not their first language.

Then, as we waited for our nieces to receive their orders, a group of Indigenous people piled out of a bus and walked in. I noticed that they wore T-shirts with Areyonga written on them. I smiled at them and silently remembered the special time we, as the T-Team, had there in 1981; the oasis, the beautiful singing of the Indigenous who lived there and the hospitality shown to us.

When we left the burger shop and had piled into our van, my older niece said, ‘Now I know what it feels like to be a minority.’

[Photo 4: Garden in peace without us camping there © L.M. Kling 2013]

Hubby and I managed to book a room at the Chifley Hotel. The receptionist apologised to Hubby that they only had a standard room available. But for us, the standard room was most acceptable; it even had a print of Mt. Hermannsburg on the wall.

We flopped down on the bed and relished in our comfort and luxury.

*[Photo 5: Our room at the Chifley Hotel © L.M. Kling 2013]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2020; updated 2025
Feature Photo: Chifley Hotel Grounds © L.M. Kling 2013


VIRTUAL TRAVEL OPPORTUNITY

FOR THE PRICE OF A CUP OF COFFEE (TAKEAWAY, THESE DAYS),
SIT BACK AND RELAX WITH THAT CUPPA, AND A HOLIDAY BIKKIE AND ENJOY…

CLICK ON THE LINK AND DOWNLOAD YOUR KINDLE COPY OF MY TRAVEL MEMOIRS,

THE T-TEAM WITH MR. B: CENTRAL AUSTRALIAN SAFARI 1977

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari

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

Nostalgia–Christmas

Christmas Day With the T-Team 1978

[Why 1978? Nostalgia for one. Some snapshot of the past for future generations. And, well…I do wish I could share the shenanigans of current family, but I think that would leave me Christmas card less and spending the next 40 years on my own at Christmas sipping some sort of spirits to drown my sorrows, forget my regrets and missing all the entertainment Christmas in Australia brings. So, what harm would be done to reminisce about one warm Christmas Day when life was simple, and the stars of this show are now twinkling in the sky of remembrance. Needless to say, like Mr B, I will not use their real names to protect the not-so innocent, and the little bit affected.]

Christmas to a T

The sun filtered through the dusty window golden and warm. I flung off my sheet and raced to the Christmas tree; a real one that filled the lounge room with the scent of pine.


Mum, still in her nightie, watched me as I opened my presents: two skirts and a pair of scuffs.


I hugged her. ‘Thank you, Mummy.’


‘You’re welcome.’


‘So, what church do you think we should go to, today?’


‘I was thinking Maughan Church in the city.’


‘Excellent, I like that church.’


‘Well, then,’ Mum glanced down the passage way, ‘you better get ready.’


I hurried to my room and changed into my new Christmas skirt, relishing the T-female tradition of new clothes for Christmas. Even better, home sewn by mum, so no one would have the same dress as me. I pulled on a white lace shirt to match the simple V-cut skirt of fine red and white plaid.

*[Photo 1: Another Christmas, matching outfits © C.D. Trudinger 1975]


Mum called out from the kitchen, ‘Hurry, we have to get there by half-past nine.’


‘Alright.’ Easy for her to say, but the challenge was my Dad and brother, Rick. How to wake the men who lay in their bed-tombs asleep?


Mum had an idea. ‘Why don’t you put the radio on? Make it loud. Really loud.’


I followed Mum’s suggestion and tuned the radio to 5KA and turned up the volume dial until it would turn no more.


Boney-Em blasted out a Christmas carol causing Mum to jump. ‘Not that loud,’ she cried through a mouth full of milk and Weeties cereal mixed with her ever-faithful All-Bran.


An unimpressed and bleary-eyed Rick and Dad joined us on our jaunt into the city to celebrate Christmas Uniting Church style, not much different from the Lutheran Church service. Rick nodded off during the sermon all the same.


Then, the highlight of our year, Christmas at Grandma’s. Always a spread, but as it was simmering around 35-degrees Celsius, cold chicken and ham, for meat, and potato salad, coleslaw, tomato and onion salad, cucumber and beans from Dad’s garden swimming in mayonnaise, and for our serve of greens a bowl of iceberg lettuce.


The food was only second to the company. Grandma, with her G (she wasn’t a T) gifting of hospitality, had invited some friends from church. My uncle and aunty from the inner suburbs of Adelaide also came to complete the gathering around the old oak extendable table. That year, the numbers being not large, I sat with the adults. Other years children were relegated out in the passageway or exiled to the back garden to sit at the “kindertisch”. Anyway, at 15, I was almost an adult.

*[Photo 2: All decked up for Christmas dinner © L.M. Kling 2006]


After lunch, we lingered at Grandma’s all afternoon, waiting for the second wave of visitors to arrive. I flicked through Grandma’s photo albums and then read some of her books from the bookshelf in the spare room. Actually, that’s what I did, after helping Grandma and mum wash and wipe the dishes while the others lazed around chatting and playing cards.


I’d started on The Coles Funny Picture Book when called to bid one of Grandma’s friends, my uncle and aunty goodbye. Within minutes, the next influx of relatives rolled up the gravel drive. Aunt Wilma and her husband Jack stepped from their yellow Volkswagen Passat. The couple impressed me; so striking with Aunt Wilma’s elegance, matching her husband’s movie star looks and Scottish wit.


Sidling up to Mum, I asked, ‘Why didn’t the others stay?’


Mum mumbled something I didn’t quite catch before rushing up to her sister and hugging her. I followed mum with the greeting rituals of hug and kiss my aunt and uncle. Then, while the adults engaged in honey biscuits, tea and banter, I resumed my perusal of The Coles Funny Picture Book.

[Photo 3: Ah, the joys of Coles Funny Picture book © L.M. Kling 2018]


Dinner was left-overs from lunch. Sorry Wilma and Jack, but that’s the tradition. Waste not, want not, my Grandma used to say. She was a parson’s daughter and married a parson, not just any old parson, but a missionary one, during the Depression. And she and her missionary husband moved up to Hermannsburg at the start of World War 2. I was convinced that she still had rusty tins of food mouldering at the back of her cupboard from the “Dark Ages”.


Uncle Jack was in fine form—they’d obviously had a merry time at the last Christmas appointment. True to form, he kept us entertained with his brogue accent and humour, repeating variations of the Wattle ditty. Here’s how it goes with his accent:


“This ‘ere is a wat’le,
The emblem of our land,
You can stick it in a bot’le,
Or ‘old it in your ‘and.’

Jack performed this with variations, and some subtle actions that at fifteen, I was a tad too innocent to “get”, but we all laughed anyway.

*[Photo 4: This here, is a wattle…Life of the party Uncle Jack © C.D. Trudinger 1978]


As the night progressed, the bolder Uncle Jack’s jokes grew and the more most of us laughed. Perhaps not Grandma’s friends who had dared to stay on; they kept glancing at Grandma, the expression on their faces reading, “Pull your son-in-law into line, dear.”


My dad sat on the piano stool, hands under his bottom, his lips doing the bird-in-mouth thing and a snort escaping with every new and daring quip from Jack. Dad hoped to play the piano as we sang some Christmas carols, but as each joke escalated in levels of risqué, clever though they were, the likelihood of carol singing became less likely.


One of Grandma’s friends suggested we should sing some carols. Ah, the innocence of good Christian folk in the 1970’s.


Rick and I commenced our own rendition of We Three Kings…


Grandma picked up a present and quietly said, ‘I don’t think we will sing this year. Let’s open our presents. Lee-Anne, you’re the youngest, you can start.’


So, here’s how I scored in 1978: Cosmetic mask from Aunt Wilma and Uncle Jack, hairdryer from Mum and Dad, photo album and book from Grandma and a cassette tape from my country cousins.
Grandma’s present, a book, interested me the most and I stayed up to 2am reading it.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2018
*Feature Photo: Christmas Tree Admirers © C.D. Trudinger 1978

***

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

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981