spiritual battle

Friday Crime–The Culvert (28)

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

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

My History on Friday–School Daze

/ lmkling / Leave a comment
Recent events on the world stage and closer to home have reminded me of this little gem I posted way back in 2016. Still relevant today—maybe even more so, as it was back then so many years ago when I was in high school. And it seems, while many of us have matured and have an open mind when it comes to opinions and how we view others, there are some who believe that if you tell a lie often enough, it must be true. The recipients who have no backbone who believe these lies are just as guilty. Need I go into detail with examples? Not here. But I may explore this issue in some of my future novels.

NOW YOU KNOW…


Year Ten at high school, and you could say I went to school each day with a big virtual sign on my back that read, “Kick Me”.

Don’t get me wrong, I had my close friends; friends who valued me for me and who saw through the prevailing attitudes of the crowd towards me. I assumed my lack of popularity was spawned from a rocky start in Year Seven—new kid when all friendship groups had been established in a ridiculously small school. And then there were those who had made it their mission in life to persecute me. I assumed they spread the rumours about me. Or maybe it was my buck teeth, and awkward way of relating to people…When you are told by your peers over and over again that you are ugly, unloved and no one wants you and you do regularly get picked last for the team, I guess you start to believe what people say.
What kept me together, were my real friends, the ones outside of school, and my friends at school. I also belonged to a fantastic youth group that met every Friday night. A close-knit, loving family helped as well.

Most of all my faith in Jesus got me through those difficult early teenage years.

Anyway, at fifteen, my teeth had been almost straightened by orthodontics, and I’d perfected the enemy-avoiding strategy of spending lunchtimes in the library. I loved learning and my best friend, and I spurred each other on in academic excellence. My goal, a scholarship. I had heard rumours that some kids thought I was not so intelligent, a fool, in other words.

[Photo 1: Free range chickens, Gorge Wildlife Park near Lobethal © L.M. Kling 2024]


At my grandmother’s place, after Sunday lunch, I helped Grandma with the dishes. As I scraped away the chicken bones, I discovered the wishbone.

‘Can I make a wish?’ I asked Grandma.

‘Well, why not?’ she replied. Although a godly woman, some superstitions from our Wendish (eastern European) past had filtered down through the generations. So, wishing on wishbones was no big spiritual deal.

Grandma and I hooked our little fingers around each prong of the wishbone. We pulled. The bone snapped in two and I won the larger portion. I closed my eyes and made my wish, a scholarship. Dad had promised that if I studied hard and won a scholarship, he’d buy me a ten-pin bowling ball. So, in truth, my aspirations for academic achievement were less than pure.

*[Photo 2: Dreams of a bowling ball © L.M. Kling 2016]

What was it about socks? I wondered as I dutifully began to pull up my socks. For our summer uniform which we had to wear in first term, we wore blue cotton frocks down to our knees and long white socks.

Woe betide any poor soul who did not pull their socks up to their knees. The length of our uniform dresses was another issue that kept certain teachers occupied. And don’t get me started on hair. I tell you, if all the students had worn their uniforms correctly, I think the teachers would’ve quit out of boredom.

So, with my socks pulled up, I waited in line to troop into the chapel for morning assembly. A tap on my back. One of my friends smiled at me. I remember her simple bob of straight blonde hair; no fancy flicks or curls like many fashion-conscious girls in the 1970’s. Farrah Fawcet flicks were all the rage and drove the teachers to distraction.

‘Good luck,’ my friend said.

‘Why?’ I asked.

Miss Uniform-Obsessed-Teacher glared at us. She had those bulging blue eyes, mean pointy mouth that forced us to slouch into submission, and for me to check my socks again.

One of my foes snaked past and muttered at me, ‘Dumb idiot.’

I shook my head and concentrated on not getting glared at by the teacher. Really, I thought, he’s at the bottom of the class and he’s calling me dumb? What is it with that guy? In his defense, he did come out with a gem once in English class when the students were rioting and so reducing the first-year-out teacher to tears. He said to me, ‘It’s not what you know, it’s who you know.’ So true for my home town.

*[Photo 3: Like sheep they were © C.D. Trudinger circa 1995]


Once inside the hallowed halls of the chapel, we went through the ritual of the school assembly. The principal delivered the talk. There’s a lecture I recall he made, don’t know if it was that particular one—how we were a bunch of jellyfish and we must get some backbone. When he said backbone I thought of the wishbone, and then that guy who said I was dumb and his cohorts. I thought of how people believe unquestioningly what others tell them, even if it’s not true. They go along with the prevailing attitude, even if it’s wrong and harmful to others. In some ways, like at school, I was a victim of these jellyfish, and in other ways, I was a jellyfish too. I had an attitude, an aversion against those who bullied me. Did I have backbone enough to get to know them as people rather than continuing to avoid them as enemies?
The principal began to hand out the awards. Ah, yes, that’s what my friend meant. Today was the day of the awards. I watched as various students marched up the front and collected their scholarships. That won’t be me, I thought.

‘And for Year Ten,’ the principal said, ‘the scholarship for high achievement…’

I looked up. What? Me?

I walked to the front, shook the principal’s hand, collected the award, then head down and with a tug of my pig tail, I walked back to my seat.

Afterwards, my friend patted me on the shoulder. ‘Congratulations! Well done! Just like you to win an award and then pull at your pig tails.’

I nodded. The whole deal of winning a scholarship seemed unreal. ‘I’ll be able to get my own bowling ball, now.’

That guy slid past me. ‘Ooh, what a surprise—we all thought you were dumb.’

‘Well, now you know I’m not,’ I replied.

*[Photo 4 and Feature: Jellyfish © iStockphoto]


Sometimes we carry our hurt from the persecution from others like a big heavy bag on our backs and the truth is it influences the way we see the world. I realised being a victim had become my narrative, and I didn’t want it to be so. As a jellyfish, I had no backbone to stand against this view of myself and how others viewed me. I feared speaking out and going against the crowd in the cause of truth, justice, mercy and compassion. I kept my opinions to myself. Then just recently, when again the baggage of victimhood crept up on me, I read the following passage from the book of Matthew in the Bible. The words encouraged and gave me the backbone to stand out and for the sake of Jesus Christ make a positive difference in the world.

“Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me (Jesus). Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.”—Matthew 5:11-12

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2016; 2023; 2025
Feature Picture: Huge School of Water Jelly © iStockphoto

Want to explore some more?
Another world? Another place and time?

Escape into some space adventure. Or just delve into some plain dystopian adventure?

Click on the links to my novels below and learn how this war on the alien cockroach Boris began and will continue…

The Hitch-hiker

Mission of the Unwilling

The Lost World of the Wends

Friday Crime–The Culvert (27)

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

Like a Dog with a Bone

Monday May 3, 2022
2pm
Church Hall at Seaside, Art studio session

Fifi

Feeling jangled from a stressful morning, Fifi unpacked her paints and laid them out on the table. She gave El a crooked smile. ‘So, what’s new with you?’

‘Hmm, nothing much.’ El eased into her plastic moulded seat and rested her box of paints on her knee.

Zoe’s staying with us for a while. She landed a job in Adelaide, you know. Reckons she’s on track for passing the bar and becoming a judge.’

‘Ooh, ladida!’ Fifi sniffed and then snorted. ‘What d’ya reckon ol’ Lillie’ll change her tune if she had an up-and-coming judge as a daughter.’

‘Didn’t know she had a tune.’

‘Oh, yes, she’s been dead against DNA and all that stuff since it’s become a thing.’

‘Pretty sure we know why that is, don’t we.’

‘Yeah,’ Fifi sighed and then started to paint. ‘Not like me; everyone back then when I had my Jacob, said I’d trapped Sven into marrying me. Some even went as far as to say that I wouldn’t ever get married otherwise.’

*[Photo 1: The Scarecrow Wedding © L.M. Kling 2017]

‘That’s not a nice thing to say.’

‘Yeah, I remember this one girl, Dee—Dee? I think. She said with my looks and red hair it’s a wonder anyone would marry me.’

El chuckled.

Fifi stopped painting and glared at El. ‘And, what’s that about? That laugh? Are you implying…?’

‘No!’ El locked eyes with Fifi. ‘Not at all. I think you mean, Dee Berry. I know her, she’s a police officer, actually, a detective now. As far as I know, she’s never been married, nor had any kids. I was laughing because she is the one who desperate and dateless. What’s more, pretty sure she’s got her heart set on my former partner in fighting crime, Dan.’

‘Not Detective Dan Hooper?’

‘Oh, yes, that Dan.’

‘Gawd, it’s a small world.’ Fifi placed her hand over her mouth and whispered, ‘I went to youth group with Dan. He was older, of course. All us girls swooned over him, but he went off and married some posh Swiss bird.’

‘Unfortunately, that didn’t end well.’ El lifted her paint set to the table. ‘Poor Dan just couldn’t compete with the obscene amount of money some of that set have. Last I heard his ex had taken a shine to Ivan T Rumf’s charms.’

‘Who?’

‘Just one of the richest and most powerful men in the world.’ El shrugged. ‘I mean, how can a Detective Inspector who is all about justice and not much money to show for it compete against such corruption? I ask you?’

‘Well rid of that one if she’s only interested in money.’

‘True.’

For a time, El and Fifi concentrated on their works. Fifi used a fine brush to define her bouquet of roses, while El made bold strokes blocking in a famous face for portraiture. Fifi raised her eyebrows at the choice of El’s subject. She didn’t make any comment about El’s muse, just mentally noting that El had nailed the fake tan, though.

*[Photo 2: Portrait of my muse, Leopold Lavert (original by Degas) © L.M. Kling 2024]

After this pause in conversation, Fifi said, ‘Anyway, I heard that you had an interesting conversation with my sister-in-law the other night.’

‘How?’

‘My brother, Jimmy,’ Fifi’s voice dropped, ‘the police have been in touch about the body found near Mt. Lofty. We met with them this morning. Big news. It’s our dad. Gawd! Would you believe it? After all these years.’

El took in a quick breath. ‘Oh, that’s good. Isn’t it?’

Fifi covered her mouth, then wiped a stray tear from her cheek, then nodded. ‘Guess so. Still has to be confirmed with DNA ‘n stuff.’’

‘I’m sorry,’ El placed her arm around Fifi, ‘I guess it’s still a shock. And so final.’

‘Dan,’ her friend cleared her voice and straightened her back, ‘I mean Detective Inspector Hooper gave us the results of the autopsy. Broken neck—that doesn’t just happen. Plus, he had been moved after. He’s been lying in that disused mine, under that bridge all those years.’ She trembled and then sighed, ‘Poor Dad.’

‘Oh, that’s just awful,’ El said. ‘Do they have any leads?’

Fifi shrugged and swayed her head. She knew El was just being kind and empathetic, but she also knew that if she shared any further information, she’d fall into a heap and be a blubbering mess.

*[Photo 3: Bones, but not human ones in this case. Brachina gorge © L.M. Kling 1999]

Once more steeling herself, Fifi said, ‘I hope they catch the low-life who did this. Maybe your virtual daughter, Zoe can give them a well-deserved kick up the pants and life in prison.’

‘I’m sure she’s more than capable if she ends up presiding over the case or somehow involved.’

‘Anyway, enough of that,’ Fifi forced a brave smile, ‘in answer to your question, Jimmy told me all about Lillie’s performance at the club the other night.’

‘Yeah, it was awkward,’ El replied. ‘I was glad to escape, thanks to Zoe coming to the rescue.’

‘Speaking of which—Jimmy mentioned how alike Lillie and Zoe are. More confirmation.’ Fifi had a vague recollection of the night of Milo’s demise at Sellicks Beach and Lillie coming out of Renard’s van in the morning. She had always wondered if there was more to her once best friend’s vanishing act to Tasmania than merely apple picking.

El cleared her throat and mumbled something Fifi didn’t quite catch, but it had something to do with Lillie’s response.

‘You know, do you think it’s wise to have Zoe living with you, so soon?’

‘No, why?’

‘Just…’ Fifi sighed. She couldn’t help herself giving advice, fixing things. ‘Seems to me she might be mooching.’

‘Mooching?’ El frowned at her. ‘Why?’

‘That’s what some people do. Just saying, be careful.’

‘Zoe’s not like that,’ El snapped. ‘I wish you wouldn’t be so judgemental. She’s a lovely lady, very intelligent and level-headed. Actually, I enjoy having her around.’

‘Sorry,’ Fifi said and looked down at her pink roses. ‘I’ve over-stepped the mark again, haven’t I?’

‘No need to be sorry, you have a lot going on.’ El leaned back and examined her work. The tanned face glared back at her from the canvas, his beady eyes narrowed. ‘Tell me about Jimmy, what’s he like as a brother?’

Fifi paused and prepared to give some pat answer that she hoped would satisfy her former detective friend’s curiosity.

Her mobile rang the tune of “Scotland the Brave”. She dove into her bag, fished the device out before it stopped and entered the merry-go-round of phone tag.

*[Photo 4: In the theme Celtic, Bagpipe player © L.M. Kling 1995]

‘Hello?’ Fifi answered.

‘Hi Fifi, Dee Berry here from police investigations. I have some follow up questions, just a couple. Have you some time?’

‘Yes,’ Fifi said while standing up and moving out to the foyer. It was quieter there.

‘Do you remember when Lillie, your friend at the time, left Adelaide for Tasmania?’

‘Ummm,’ Fifi grimaced trying to force the memory cells to perform, ‘we went on a hike where we found…’ no, not sure if I should reveal that, ‘Lillie got lost and we found her near some cute little cottage. That was in January…sometime…it was so long…’

‘When did she go to Tasmania?’

‘Er, after January, I think…February?’

‘You’re not sure.’

‘It’s 40 years ago.’ Fifi gnawed at another nail. That Zoe, she doesn’t look forty. Crumbs! Jacob is 40. Where did that time go? Her mind wandered around the possibility of matching the two up. Then she realised they were most likely first cousins and dismissed the possibility.

‘How long did she stay there?’

‘I don’t know, six months, maybe? A lot was going on in my life. Jeepers! I got married and was having her brother’s baby. Lillie was not happy about that. She wanted nothing to do with me. With her, it was all about her career. I wasn’t good enough for her. Cripes! She didn’t even come back for my wedding. Her brother’s wedding.’

She didn’t mean to spill all her sordid details of her former life to this detective, but it just all slid out, like it wanted to be out. As if the detective, silent on the other end was some sort of therapist.

‘Interesting, don’t you think there was a reason she didn’t come back for such an important occasion,’ Dee said. ‘Is there any reason that you can think of that caused her to miss the wedding?’

‘Not sure, but I always wondered if she had been pregnant…’ Fifi hadn’t intended to share her speculation, but that just sort of slipped out too. ‘On that night when Milo, you know…in the morning I saw her come out of Renard’s van.’

A chuckle on the other end. ‘Well, I’ll be.’

*[Photo 5 and feature: Memories of Tasmania, Huon River © L.M. Kling 2016]

‘I was really worried for her. Lillie was such an innocent back then,’ Fifi huffed. ‘But then after her working holiday in Tasmania, she came back without any baby in tow. So, I thought she must’ve been lucky…but…’
‘Thank you, Ms. Edwards, you’ve been most helpful,’ Dee said, her voice sounding chipper. ‘I’ll let you get back to your…’

‘Painting.’

The phone clicked off. Fifi sat for a moment and reflected. Probably best I didn’t mention El’s news about Zoe. Not my place to tell. Let the cops figure out that one themselves. Why is it relevant? Gives Francis Renard an alibi, I suppose.


© 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 (21)

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

The Boots


Tuesday April 26, 2022
10am

El

Before picking up her phone to arrange another portrait session with Lillie, El, paused. She reflected on the previous day.

*[Photo 1: First Falls Waterfall Gully © L.M. Kling 1996]

After the discovery, Dan had instructed her to make her way back to the car park.


‘I’ve called Renard and asked them to wait for you,’ he said.


‘What about you? We all came together, so, how will you get home?’ El asked.


‘Don’t worry about me. We’ll be here for hours yet—maybe all night,’ Dan replied. ‘I’ll get one of the team to give me a lift.’


El nodded and then trekked down the hill, then the steep steps of the gully. From the first lookout, the vehicles in the car park appeared so small, like toys. People like ants crawled around them.


I wonder how many of those “ants” know of the body? she thought. I hope no journalists got wind of the situation and are lurking down there with their lumpy film equipment and hundreds of onlookers.
One thing she had learnt from her years on the force was that news like this, the finding of human remains, seemed to bring journalists out from behind their computers. As if they could sniff out a breaking story. Or was there a leak? Someone on the force mentioning it on Titter or Myface?


‘Wouldn’t put it past Dee,’ El said.


She had caught Dee out, mobile in the palm of her hand, scrolling. Then there were the Dee-spamming episodes. El had made the mistake of joining Myface, for a start, and then in a moment of insanity, accepting Dee as a friend. In a blink of a screenshot, inane and blatantly silly posts flooded her email and Myface page. Dee, of course. “Find out what sort of lover you are—do this survey”, “Upload your selfie and find out what you’d look like when 80”, “Stop pigs being persecuted—copy and paste this article and send to 10 friends” … And the list, the scrolling was endless. All Dee. Only Dee.

*[Photo 2: Spam! Spam! Spam! And more Spam © Readers Digest circa 2017]

‘Doesn’t Dee have a life?’ El said shaking her head at the bottom of the steps.


El passed the kiosk, still shaking her head while mulling over her mistake with Myface. She’d ceased using social media. She had a life, even while on leave. When some suspect character stole her profile and pretended to be her, El erased all her social media platforms.


‘Hey! El!’ Renard called.


El spotted the father and daughter pair on the alfresco deck of the kiosk.


Renard waved his hand which clutched a mint-with-choc-chips-flavoured gelato. ‘Up here, El. Come join us and have an ice cream.’


El trotted up the steps to the kiosk and after purchasing a latte-flavoured gelato, joined Renard and Zoe.
By this time Renard and Zoe had devoured their treat and sat with El at the metal dining suite, watching her lick her ice cream.


‘Well,’ Renard said, ‘that was a turn up for the books. Fancy finding a body…’


‘Shh!’ El said, ‘you don’t know who’s listening.’ She observed Zoe play with a watch, and then slip it into her pocket. Just the way she held the watch caused El to assume that the watch didn’t belong to her. Besides the watch looked old and rusty.


She was about to ask Zoe about her “find” when a van with a television logo crawled along the road below.


Instead, El nudged Renard. ‘We better get going before they start snooping around.’


El, Renard and Zoe made a quiet and unobserved exit from Waterfall Gully before the journalists became aware of their presence and connection to the “Breaking News”.

*[Photo 3: An Old Watch © L.M. Kling 2024]

Next morning, as the news chimed triumphant, “Human remains have been found…” El dialled Lillie’s number. While waiting for Lillie to answer, El registered that the exact location of the human remains was still a mystery to the public.

Tuesday April 26, 2022
10am

Dan

In the informal interview room, Dan gestured to a comfortable chair to the side of the low coffee table. Fifi perched herself on the edge of the seat offered and kneaded a ball of tissues in her palm. Every so often, she dabbed her eyes with the tissues.

*[Photo 4: Old Boots © L.M. Kling 2024]

‘Now, Fifi,’ Dan placed on the table a plastic bag that held the mud-caked leather boots, ‘do these look familiar?’


Fifi nodded. ‘My father had a pair like those. He wore them when he went camping…and hiking.’
Dan looked at his voice recorder and said, ‘Fifi Edwards confirms that the boots possibly belong to her father, Percy Edwards.’


‘Why did it take you people so long to find the body?’ Fifi glared at Dan. ‘We told you guys forty years ago that he was down there. And you did nothing.’


‘Forty-two,’ Dan said with a brief cough. ‘I’m sorry for the pain and hardship you and your family have been through, not knowing what happened to your father. I can’t make judgements, but as you can imagine, it was a different time and policing…’


‘But we told you!’ Fifi thumped the table. ‘How hard would it have been for a detective back then to just listen and take us seriously?’

We have no record of anyone coming in and making a statement.’


‘Probably thought we were just kids and were just wasting their time.’


‘So, you and your friends came into the station and spoke to someone?’


Fifi sighed. ‘Well, actually, we got my friend Lillie to come in and make a statement. She said she did, and I believed her; she was that sort of girl. Solid. Trustworthy. I mean, now, look at her. She’s a principal of one of the most prestigious colleges in Adelaide.’


‘And your sister-in-law.’


‘Who would know better?’ Fifi continued, ‘I’ve known her since we were kids. We were neighbours. Best friends since kindy.’


‘Best friends, eh?’


‘Oh, well, these days not so much, I must admit,’ Fifi said. ‘She’s always busy with her work. No life outside of teaching, and now she’s a principal, the task is all-consuming.’


‘Hmm,’ Dan uttered, but thought, Just the sort of person not to be trustworthy. After all, if Zoe is her daughter, then Lillie would have been in the initial stages of pregnancy. Perhaps she had other things on her mind when her friends instructed her to go and report their finding. Did she get distracted and forget? Did she turn up at the police station and have to wait too long? Was she afraid her secret would become known if she reported the discovery of remains? What was her secret? Pregnancy? Or something more sinister?

*[Photo 5: Hiking Buddies © C.D. Trudinger circa 1970]


Detective Hooper leaned back, laced his hands and rested them on his taut belly. ‘What can you tell me about the day your father went missing, Fifi?’


Fifi shrugged. ‘He went to work and never came home.’


‘Then, how come he was wearing hiking boots?’


‘I don’t know, I was just a kid. ‘sides, Mum ‘n I went to town that day. Had to get a new pair of school shoes. I remember ‘cos I was angry. Really peed off. My friend Lillie and her brother, Sven and my brother Jimmy, were going for a hike up in the hills and Mum said I couldn’t go. Not fair!’


‘And your dad, as far as you know, went to work.’ Dan leaned forward. ‘And what sort of work did your dad do?’


‘He was a businessman.’


‘What sort of business?’


Fifi shrugged. ‘I dunno. Cars, I think. Holdens up at Elizabeth, I think.’


‘I see…’ Dan mused. Always remember him into Fords.


‘So, on that particular day, January 1978, your dad drove off in his…’ Dan looked up from notetaking.

‘What car did your family own?’


‘Um…a station wagon…blue…’


‘What make and model?’


‘Gawd! I can’t remember. Those cars, they’re all the same. And Dad had so many of them. I mean, we’re talking fifty years ago.’


‘Forty-four, Fifi,’ Dan said, remembering that at the time, the family had a Ford Falcon, XA Fairmont station wagon. And she was correct, it was blue. He mused how the family looked a sight all piled into the wagon rolling up the church driveway to swell the numbers of the congregation on Sundays. Mr. E (Edwards) big noting himself after the service, Sunday best brown suit—look at me! I’m from Somerton. Look at me! The latest model car! Look at me! Look at what a good father I am! All these children I have! I’m a good Christian. I’m fruitful and multiplying. Look at my wife! She’s the most beautiful lady here! Dan’s dad called her a “trophy wife”.


‘Yeah, you’re right.’ Fifi lifted her bag from the floor and rose from her chair. ‘I don’t think there’s much more I can tell you, sir.’


‘Thank you, for your help, Fifi.’ Dan also stood. ‘If there are any developments, we’ll be in touch. And if you can remember anything else, let us know.’

[Photo 6: The Opposition to Ford: Proud owner of a Holden Monaro reborn © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) circa 1982]

When Fifi had gone, Dan reflected. His mum had once said when Mr. Edwards had gone, Mrs. Edwards came to life, became her own vibrant person. Before, she had no personality, she really was just a “thing”, a trophy. But once her husband had left, she was filled with verve and energy. Then there was no stopping Mrs. Edwards.


He thought about Lillie. At college, a pretty, but dull kind of girl; the sort who melted into the background. Studious, he reckoned. And now, according to Dee, all class and power, running a fancy-wancy college in the Eastern suburbs.


Dan chuckled, ‘It’s like Lillie took over where Mr. Edwards left off.’

© Tessa Trudinger 2024
*Feature Photo: Boots © L.M. Kling 2024

***

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


Click on the links:


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


Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or for a greater escape into another world…
Check out my Sci-fi/ dystopian novel,


And click on the link:


The Lost World of the Wends

Friday Crime–The Culvert (18b)

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

Another Life
Part 2

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

Dee

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

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


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


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


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


‘That’s okay.’


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


‘Significant? How? Any hints?’

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



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


‘If you say so.’ Was he mocking her?


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


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


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


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

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



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


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


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

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



‘You mean, Fifi Edwards.’


‘Yes, you know her?’


‘Yes.’


‘You interviewed her, I s’pose.’


‘Yes.’


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


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


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


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


‘Are you implying something?’


‘No, but…’


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


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


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


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


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

© L.M. Kling 2024

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


Click on the links:

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


Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or for a greater escape into another world…
Check out my Sci-fi/ dystopian novel,

And click on the link:

The Lost World of the Wends

Family History Friday–Off with My Head

/ lmkling / 2 Comments

Off the Top of My Head

Random Thoughts about Family History

Friday has rolled around and once again, the well-researched, edited and polished article on some nascent topic of family history has failed to materialize. Too busy researching and chasing promising leads down rabbit holes. Plus making a concerted effort to finish the first draft of “Under the Bridge”, now titled The Culvert.

Hence, I am blatantly and unashamedly going to ramble and keeping to the theme of rabbits, rabbit on.

A fellow writer has the penchant to invite the reader to get comfortable in their favourite armchair with a cuppa and a bikkie, and then travel along with her in her latest story. So, I’m doing something similar today. Imagine we are in your café of choice, I’m having my decaf cappuccino with almond milk and you’re having your beverage of choice, and we are having a chat about family history. Admittedly, I’m the one doing all the talking—for a start. You can have your say at the end in the comment section.

[Photo 1: Coffee anyone? © L.M. Kling 2021]

Anyway, as I sip on my drink, I tell you…

I’ll start with the food. Early on in My Heritage forays, the computer offered some guidance with AI (artificial intelligence) in finding those relatives who would prefer to remain hidden in the distant past.

I took the AI up on the offer, to my regret.

After many questions that became more ridiculous as time went on, the robot which I might prefer to call a “bubble-headed booby”, asked the ultimate in absurdity. ‘What did your ancestor like to eat for breakfast?’

You need to understand that AI was asking about an ancestor who lived three hundred years in the past. If I knew the answer to the breakfast question, I wouldn’t be asking AI, would I?

I decided then to avoid researching with the AI after that interaction.

It got me thinking, though. What did my ancestors eat for breakfast? Too late for most of them to tell me. Even the famous ones don’t include a breakfast menu.

So, for future generations, here’s my offering for the few of my immediate family of whom I know their breakfast preferences.

*[Photo 2: Sunday Brunch Spread © C.D. Trudinger circa 1955]

My dad, Clement David Trudinger grew up during the depression and Second World War times. He loved bread with dripping. I’m not sure if this was a breakfast go-to, but he did say. Just saying.

My mum has to have her cup of coffee first thing in the morning. Coffee gets her going.

A few nuts and a cup of Caro does me for breakfast.

I’m not sure what my maternal grandma, Elsa Gross liked for breakfast, but she didn’t eat meat. I remember her having toast with butter and jam.

As for my maternal grandpa, Sam Gross, and my paternal grandma and grandpa, Ron and Lina Trudinger, I have no idea. And that’s only going back two generations.

All I can say for AI is good luck with that one going back three hundred years.

Digging back further, I discovered that one of my ancestors and an ancestor of my friend, and Indie Scriptorium teammate, Mary McDee’s, were shipmates travelling over to England from Normandy way back when England was invaded by William the Conqueror. I wondered whether they were friends and what their conversation was like. Mary was adamant that her ancestor probably wouldn’t have had much to do with mine as they were likely different ranks. But hey, ships back then weren’t that big, so I wonder…One thing for sure, they probably weren’t discussing their latest books and giving feedback to each other on how to improve their manuscripts.

*[Photo 3: Ship in Amsterdam © L.M. Kling 2014]

Continuing on my research voyage, Mary did ask me, “What’s a good Christian girl like you writing such content of bloodshed and gore. How did you come up with such an evil character like Boris?’

As I’m exploring those murky depths of my ancestral past, I’m beginning to understand. A relative of mine once read The Hitchhiker and was so shocked she gave it a poor rating. “This is not the person I knew,” she wrote as a comment. Little did she know that my ancestors and her husband’s were not the “Sarah Janes”, “Pollyannas” or “Saint Whoever” of the past. Quite the opposite. Think of Game of Thrones which is based on the War of the Roses, and you get the picture. One was likely a bishop, though, sorry to say…

[Photo 4: The Hitch-hiker © L.M. Kling 2015]

And no, the dreams that formulated my Sci-Fi novels were seemingly not from ancestral memories from the mercenary soldier, Balthas Trudinger that the family was so ashamed of.

I looked into that and discovered that Balthas who lived at Lierheim which is a castle near Nördlingen, Bavaria, most probably belonged to the Teutonic Order. The Teutonic Order at the time of Balthas’ coming of age, had bought the castle there and were renovating it. Hitler gave the Teutonic Order a reputation as the exemplar of the all-German, all-Aryan fighting force. But once he won power, he ditched the Teutonic order­—banned them. Actually, the order from what I can glean did much good over the centuries. They started around the end of the 12th Century as guards protecting pilgrims to Jerusalem. I bet Hitler kept that fact quiet. Although it was an army that did fighting and stuff in the past, these days it’s a charitable organisation.

I could go on rabbiting, but I think that’s enough random thoughts for one day. hubby has come home and we’re off to dinner for our 37th Wedding Anniversary.

Happy Friday and hope you enjoyed your cuppa and bikkie.

If you have a Family History comment or story, I’d love you to drop a line in the comment section below.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2024

*Feature Photo: Goats on mountain near Saas Fee, Switzerland © L.M. Kling 2014

References:

Teutonic Order – Wikipedia

 Nördlingen, 1580-1700: society, government and impact of war

***

Virtual Travel Opportunity

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

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

Experience Historic Australian outback adventure with Mr. B

in

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

Or come on a trek with the T-Team in

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981.

Second Friday Crime–Under the Bridge (16)

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

`

Wood from Tasmania

Tuesday, April 19, 2022,10am —1pm

Norwood, home of Lillie and Jimmy Edwards

Lillie

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

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

*[Photo 1: Echidna © L.M. Kling 2017]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Yeah, right, so you say.’

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

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

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

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

Tuesday 19 April 2022, 6pm

Tower Hotel, Magill

Eloise

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

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

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

Still Renard fidgeted.

Sohan 61-0412545557

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Wine?’

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

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

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

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

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

‘What?’

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

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

With hands covering his face, Sven nodded.

Eloise mouthed, “Oh my God!”

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

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

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

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

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

Neither Eloise nor Sven replied.

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

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

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

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

Fifi and Eloise glanced at each other.

‘What was that about?’ Eloise asked.

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

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

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

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

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

Eloise rose her voice. ‘Sven?’

‘Yes, Sven.’

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

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

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

© Tessa Trudinger 2024

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

***

Sometimes characters spring from real life,

Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.

Sometimes real life is just real life.

Check out my travel memoirs,

And escape in time and space

To Central Australia.

Click on the links:

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or for a greater escape into another world…

Check out my Sci-fi/ dystopian novel,

And click on the link:

The Lost World of the Wends

Second Friday Crime–Under the Bridge (15)

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

The Indiscretions of Overtime

Tuesday April 12, 2022, 6pm

Adelaide CBD Police HQ

Dan

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Hello Dee,’ Dan spoke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘You have them?’

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

‘Great!’ Dee replied. ‘Bye.’

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

© Tessa Trudinger 2024

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

***

Sometimes characters spring from real life,

Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.

Sometimes real life is just real life.

Check out my travel memoirs,

And escape in time and space

To Central Australia.

Click on the links:

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or for a greater escape into another world…

Check out my Sci-fi/ dystopian novel,

And click on the link:

The Lost World of the Wends

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

Travelling Friday…with some Family History

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

T-Team, Next Generation: Uluru (1)

Central Australian Convoy 2013

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

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

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

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

Uluru—The Sign Not to Climb

Monday, July 8, 2013

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Where do we go?’

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

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

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

‘What’s happening?’ Anthony asked.

‘Read the notice,’ I answered.

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

‘The one behind it,’ I sighed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kata Tjuta

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Valley of Winds

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

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

The Mystery of the Missing Boots

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

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

‘Boots? Why do you need my boots?’

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

‘Not going to climb,’ I muttered.

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

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

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

Son 1 assured me that he would.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2020; updated 2024

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

***

Virtual Travel Opportunity

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

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

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

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

Second Friday Crime–Under the Bridge (13)

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

Dee Does Some Digging

Monday, April 11, 2022, 4pm

Adelaide Police HQ

Dee

Dee adjusted her mask. Deep in the bowels of the records office, layers of disturbed dust and mould spores conspired to afflict her sensitive sinuses. Dee wasn’t about to give these enemies of her overactive immune system the pleasure of making her life miserable, so on with the filtering mask.

She wiped her foggy reading glasses and peered at the details from the 1980 file of Mr. Katz’s unfortunate accident.

10pm on Saturday, November 29, 1980, Mr. Rex Ackers finds Mr. Milo Katz (17). Katz slumped near a Stobie pole, on the Esplanade, Sellicks Beach. The motorbike found some thirty meters distance from the victim, landing in Ackers’ front garden. Ackers was not impressed that his freshly planted petunias had been destroyed by the motorbike. He complained that he was quote, “sick and tired” of the thoughtless hoons who roared up and down the Esplanade like it was a speedway and kept him up at night with all their shenanigans”.

Although he had a motive, Mr. Ackers and his 1966 Ford Cortina Mark 1 were ruled out as suspects to having collided with Katz and his motorbike. The Ford Cortina was a pastel green colour whereas the scrape marks on the motorbike were from red paint. Red paint from a red car, Dee concluded.

Dee leafed through the crash report. Motorbike was estimated to be travelling in a northerly direction along the Esplanade at 60km/h, the red car clipped the front wheel of the bike sending it spiralling out of control. The rider was flung from the bike and into the Stobie Pole while the bike careered to a stop thirty metres away in the front yard belonging to Mr. Ackers.

Dee rubbed her itchy nose through the mask. The date bothered her. Why did it seem so familiar? November 29, 1980…What was so special about that particular Saturday night? Sure, it’s forty-two years ago. Dee tried to think. Remember…

1980, the year Dee matriculated. Yes, that’s what graduating from high school was called back then. Dee relived that feeling of her last exam. Once it was over and she stepped out of the school grounds. Relief. Freedom. Liberty. The weight of nose to the grindstone, endless study, cramming all that information into her skull…over. No more books, no more teachers with dirty looks. No more performing.

She walked with a skip in her step down the driveway, past the chapel that looked like rocket ready to launch. No more religion forced down our throats, she thought. I’m free to do as I want.

‘I’m going to have an end of school party,’ she told a friend who was walking with her. Can’t remember who. ‘I’m going to invite everyone in our year.’

Then she spotted the slim blonde, the brainy blonde wheeling her bike out from the bike racks.

‘But I won’t be inviting her,’ she said. ‘Not Lillie. No drips allowed.’

She remembered another time when she and that same friend — darn, what was her name? And why, oh why do names escape her who was almost 60? — laughed at Lillie. “Swatvac”, and somehow, the blonde brainiac was swanning past them. Dee remembered being particularly annoyed by the fact that her nemesis had both intelligence and beauty. So, as Lillie brushed past their desk, Dee remarked, ‘Bet Lillie’s still a virgin; how sad!’

Her friend, who she remembered was quite “loose” with her love with the fellas, joined in. ‘Heh, no one wants poor Lillie.’

Dee watched and laughed with her friend as Lillie walked away hurt and confused.

© Tessa Trudinger 2024

Feature Photo: Sunset at Sellicks Beach © L.M. Kling 2017

***

Sometimes characters spring from real life,

Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.

Sometimes real life is just real life.

Check out my travel memoirs,

And escape in time and space

To Central Australia.

Click on the links:

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or for a greater escape into another world…

Check out my Sci-fi/ dystopian novel,

And click on the link:

The Lost World of the Wends