Kim Ulrick

Navigating the post-publication day blues

In the lead up to the publication of my second novel Bad People on 30 March, I was nervous and excited, but what I wasn’t prepared for was the post-publication day blues.

I was more relaxed and organised this time around, sending out copies of my novel to ARC readers ahead of publication, scheduling book launches in Moruya and Canberra and doing my best to build anticipation for the sequel to Bad Country and second instalment in the Bad crime series.

There was a YouTube author chat with my publisher, Fiona at Contempo Publishing in the days leading up to publication, website banners and updates, social media posts and book teasers to encourage pre-orders. The new novel was covered by a couple of local media outlets providing much needed visibility. On the day, I released a reel on social media sharing my excitement and joking about over-ordering AusPost satchels for the expected avalanche of orders. But like many other significant milestones in life once the big day had come and gone, I felt flat.

I’ve chatted with authors and follow many others on social media and this seems to be a common experience. You give your heart to the process and invest an enormous amount of time and effort, in this case around 18 months’ worth, getting a novel print-ready before releasing it to the world. So, it’s no surprise that afterwards feels like a bit of an anti-climax.

Then I did a market stall at our local club on Easter Sunday with fellow author Tracey Lee and by the end of the day, I had a different mindset – I was feeling grateful and uplifted by the support from my town and region. While Tracey and I both sold books (a definite bonus), it was lovely to chat with our coastal community, with people who have a passion for reading and want to give small, local, indie authors a go. One of my favourite moments was chatting with a woman who had bought my first book at the same market stall last year, who told me she enjoyed it and had hoped I would be at the market again with the sequel. It felt like the universe was giving me a warm hug while also telling me to get over the pity party.

Now I’m rejuvenated and looking forward to the upcoming book launches in Canberra at The Book Cow on Wednesday 22 April and at the Moruya Library on Thursday 30 April. There are still tickets available for both launches. They will be fun and interesting evenings, so if you can, book your free ticket today. I am proud of what I do and have achieved, and for me it is first and foremost about storytelling, creating compelling characters, a pacy plot with storylines that twist and turn and giving readers a great experience. The early feedback from ARC readers has been positive, many commenting that Bad People is better than the first book, and is a gritty page-turner, authentic, at times terrifying, engaging and thoroughly enjoyable.

What’s Next

I have an outline for a third book in the Bad series but for now I am working on creating a novel from my short story, Shame the Stars, which won the Banjo Paterson short story prize in 2024. It is inspired by my grandparent’s love story and their life together. I have a way to go but I am drawing on my father’s notes and his memories of my grandparents and growing up in the bush. It begins in 1936 and follows their lives during some of the most turbulent times in Australian history.

How you can help Aussie indie authors

I know, we are in the midst of a cost-of-living crisis, but if you are planning on buying a book for yourself or as a gift, why not support a local, indie author? April is Aussie Author Month, so if you can spare the dollars, rather than going for a big name overseas best-selling author, give a local a go.

Reviews on Amazon, Goodreads and social media are a lifeline for small indie authors and help us to get noticed. Follow authors on social media, engage with their content and sign up for their newsletters. You can also message an author whose book you’ve read and enjoyed via social media or their website/email. Getting feedback, as I did at the market, is a massive boost and keeps us going.

How to get a copy of Bad People

You can order Bad People through my website at Books – Kim Ulrick or ask for Bad People at any bookstore. If they don’t have it, they can order it in. It is also available on Amazon, Booktopia, Barnes and Noble, Kobo and other online retailers.

If you do nothing else this April, please read an Aussie author and support our home-grown talent.

A woman with long brown hair and glasses smiles while holding up the book 'Bad People' by Kim Ulrick. The book cover features a close-up of a woman's face with striking blue eyes.

Photos (Top L to R): Kim Ulrick holding Bad People on publication day.

The migration

On cue, every year, the migration occurs.

When the last humpback breaches the waves and the final tail slaps the water, it begins.

And the warmer it gets, the more they come.

Hands shade squinting eyes as the adult homo sapiens squeeze out of SUVs carrying surfboards and kayaks. The young are camouflaged behind bulging bags, pillows and doonas.

Bottles of sunscreen, moisturiser, and sunburn treatments line the shelves, while bright blue, yellow, and red plastic buckets and shovels peek through shop windows, ready for the onslaught.

Clustered in groups of two and three, the grey ones eye the arrivals with interest and mutter to each other as they watch parents, crying babies in tow, search for their next meal.

Sniffing the air, the newcomers catch the scent of cooking oil and flock to a small crowd that spills onto the pavement, clutching tiny paper tickets as they wait, jostling to stay out of the sun.

A young male, whose bare chest is adorned with bold tattoos designed to draw attention like coloured feathers, leaps to his feet in response to ‘Number 56’ and returns to his mate, a sun-kissed female in a black bikini top and tiny shorts.

Hungry eyes follow his progress as the woman rushes to his side to protect their precious cargo. Lugging towering bags of fish and chips and juggling milkshakes, the pair stride away, returning to the beach and the rest of the tribe.

Cries of happiness greet the pair, and the group quickly tear open bags and pass around the shakes.

All the while, squawking gulls circle like mini vultures.

The youngest of the humans, an adolescent female, teases the birds before tossing a chip to the sand. One lucky gull swoops in and takes the prize. The tattooed male, the self-appointed chief, rebukes the teenager, but it’s too late. The damage is done.

They have shown their weakness. All they can do is try to withstand the attack.

The gulls move in formation and edge closer to the group, which has huddled together to protect its meal.

With military precision, the birds run a distraction and diversion manoeuvre. Two gulls hop onto a towel beside the chastised teenager. In unison, they advance, heads low, flapping their wings and crying for food.

‘Get out. Go,’ yells the chief’s mate, shooing at the intruders. As the rest of the tribe watches the exchange, four gulls zoom in and escape to the air with half a piece of battered fish and mouthfuls of chips.

The gulls land twenty metres away. In seconds, they are joined by the rest of the flock, and the noise of the battle attracts a golden Labrador running along the water’s edge. Barking and tail wagging, he races into the melee and scatters the birds before scoffing what’s left of the stolen booty.

Ignoring the call of the human chasing it, the dog races along the beach, as angry gulls flee in its wake, and runs toward another tribe before leaping into the air and catching a fluffy missile in its mouth.

‘Howzat?’ is met with boos and cheers as the Labrador returns to its human and drops a wet ball at his feet.

‘Sorry, mate,’ a red-faced middle-aged man pants as he picks up the slobbery tennis ball and tosses it back to the tribe, who are engaged in a traditional game of skill and luck – beach cricket.

‘Anytime your dog wants to be in slips, let us know,’ laughs a muscular male in board shorts and singlet top as another man brandishing a wooden bat argues with a third, older male that he’s still in the game.

‘What do you think, Mags?’ the elder man asks a mother who’s observing the interaction while dragging a crawling baby back to the protection of a small shelter.

‘It was a great catch, but not out. The dog isn’t part of the team,’ she declares as she yanks a piece of seaweed from her offspring’s hand before it eats it.

‘Told ya,’ the man with the bat proclaims before resuming his position in front of three sticks.

The male with the ball steams down the sand and releases it, aiming at the head of the man with the bat. With a resounding crack, the ball sails into the air.

A pair of young adults, dressed in yellow and red, with binoculars in hand and whistles around their necks, follow it as it skids to a stop at their feet.

‘Sorry, mate,’ apologises the muscular male bowler as he reaches down to collect the ball.

‘All good,’ the female replies before returning her gaze to the ocean, where a small crowd is crammed between two flags. Humans are floating in the waves, bobbing up and down like corks or laughing and diving under the water.

The flags are the safety zone. The least dangerous place for homo sapiens to swim. Telltale calm sections of the water hide currents ready to trap and drag the unwary out to sea.

‘Any dramas today?’ he asks as he brushes sand off the yellow surface of the ball.

‘Pretty quiet,’ she replies, continuing her watch, ‘that’s how we like it.’

As if to prove her wrong, a child’s cry rips through the air. A mother rushes to her squealing daughter, who’s holding her arms and stumbling from the surf.

The yellow and red watchers motion for the mother to bring the child to them and she carries the squealing youngster to their tent.

‘Mummy, it hurts. Stings,’ she sobs.

Lying the child on a towel, the watchers quickly inspect the young one’s body before squirting a strong-smelling, clear liquid over the child’s legs and arms.

‘It’ll stop in a little while,’ the female watcher reassures the distraught mother.

‘Blue bottles,’ the male watcher concludes. ‘The wind’s picked up, bringing them into shore,’ he tells them. ‘I’ll update the board,’ he says to his partner.

As he leans down to scribble on the blackboard, he gazes over the ocean where dark clouds threaten. A crack of thunder shakes the ground beneath his feet as lightning flashes in the sky.

The female watcher grabs the whistle and blows, the sound drowned out by a longer, louder growl of thunder. Rushing to the shoreline, she calls and waves to the swimmers to get out of the water.

As the humans emerge, the wind gusts and bucks like a wild thing.

Sun shelters collapse on top of squealing families, while others chase runaway umbrellas that soar into the sky like multi-coloured, lumpy balloons.

Further down the beach, the chief with bold tattoos gathers the tribe’s towels as his mate leads the rest of the group to the car park.

Splat! Racing across the sand, he feels something soft and squishy land on his shoulder then drip down his back.

One of the gulls has bombed him. The runny, white excrement adds a dash of colour to the intricate black markings he’s so proud of displaying.

‘Bloody bird,’ he cries, waving his arms in the air as the gull swoops away, spinning and banking on the blustery wind, its mission complete.

Back at the flags, when the storm has passed and as the sun starts to set, the watchers pack their gear away.

But they’ll be back tomorrow to resume their summer vigil once more.

Wavelength

This short story was inspired by Wavelength, an original artwork by Miriam Shilling as part of the 2025 Eurobodalla Literary and Art Salon.

‘People are like water; eventually, they find their level.‘

This is my dad’s advice whenever I vent my frustration about the latest antics of Abby.

My youngest was born a day after my 40th birthday, and there is an age gap of 12 years between her and my other daughter, Chelsea.

At 16, Abby’s taste in music and clothes, her behaviour and even her language are foreign to me. She’s like a creature from another planet.

‘This McFrappe is bussin’,’ she says, slurping from the salted caramel drink as I navigate the busy drive-through exit.

While I attempt to decipher what she just said, Abby ducks down in the passenger seat as a group of three girls and two boys stroll through the car park to the Maccas entrance.

‘Abby, what on earth are you doing?’

‘That’s Rory. I don’t want him to see me,’ Abby whispers as she squeezes herself between the seat and dashboard.

‘But I thought you liked him?’

‘I do. But he’s dating Jess now, and they’re so cringe I can’t stand it.’

A tall boy with blonde surfer hair and his arm slung around the shoulders of a skinny brunette whose buttocks are hanging out of denim shorts so skimpy they should be illegal, crosses in front of us.

Frowning, I reply, ‘Maybe that’s for the best, he looks like a scoundrel to me,’ trying to reassure my daughter that the young man is not worthy of her.

‘A scoundrel? What’s that?’ she asks as she peers up from the floor to check where Rory and Jess are.

‘Scoundrel. You know, a boy who plays around. Has a lot of girlfriends,’ I explain. ‘And put your seatbelt back on,’ I say as we swing onto the main road and head to the pool for training.

‘Well, yeah. I mean, he can have anyone he wants,’ Abby states as she clambers back onto the seat and takes another giant slurp.

As I pull into the car park, Abby chugs the rest of her drink, grabs her bag from the backseat, and mumbles a hurried goodbye as she races to escape a further conversation about boys.

Two frantic hours later, after getting dinner ready and walking the dog, I return to the pool for pick up. Abby is waiting for me at the entrance and has her head down, scrolling on her phone.

Winding the window down, I call out, and Abby glances up before ambling over. Her eyes are red, and she doesn’t speak as she climbs in.

‘Did you forget your goggles today?’

Abby’s fixated on her device.

‘Abby. Can you put your phone away for one minute? I asked you a question.’

Huffing and rolling her eyes, Abby drops the phone to her lap. ‘What?’

‘You mean, pardon.’

‘Huh?’

‘I asked if you forgot your goggles, your eyes are red.’

‘Yeah. Sure.’

Glancing sideways, I see her hands reach for the phone.

‘Abby …’

‘Mum, c’mon, I’ve been doing laps for hours …’

‘And I’d like to have a conversation that lasts more than two seconds,’ I retort.

Abby turns to me, flicking wet hair to one side, ‘Fine, Mum. What do you want to talk about?’

‘How about Rory?’

‘Mum … please, no!’

‘You were embarrassed when you saw him today. Is there anything else you want to tell me?’

Abby stares out the window, muttering, ‘Nup.’

Sighing, I let it go, and by the time we get home, Abby’s phone is once more an extension of her arm. Walking to the door, I try again. ‘Tomorrow’s Saturday. I’m going for an early surf. You haven’t been on the board for a while. Come with me.’

‘Okay, but only if we go to Narooma instead.’

The next morning, it takes the promise of an egg and bacon roll and coffee to prise my daughter out of bed, but finally we are on the water—the one place where we’re on the same wavelength. Catching that first wave is still a buzz for both of us.

In between rides, the tears come. Abby shares the crippling embarrassment of Rory dumping her at school after sharing sexy images he convinced her to send to him with his mates.

I want to rip the little ‘scoundrel’ apart; instead, I reach across the water as we rise and fall with the swell and grasp Abby’s hand. ‘What Rory’s done is illegal and wrong. But we’ll get through this, love. Together. I promise.’

Wavelength, artwork by Eurobodalla artist, Miriam Shilling

Photo: Wavelength by Eurobodalla artist, Miriam Shilling

Embrace spooky this Halloween

I wholeheartedly embrace Halloween, not for its commercial and tacky aspects but because, like many other Western festivals, Halloween has a long and fascinating history and I can’t resist a dark and mysterious story.

Halloween traces its origins back to the ancient Celtic festival known as Samhain – pronounced ‘sow-in’ in Gaelic. Originally, it marked the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter in Ireland, and the following day (1 November) would mark the ancient Celts’ new year.

Later known as All Hallows Eve, the festival was considered to be a time when the boundaries separating the spiritual world and the real world were stripped back, allowing ghosts, spirits and fairies to cross over on that night.

So, to celebrate the spooky season, here are some of my favourite stories by the master of horror, Stephen King.

Salem’s Lot. I’m a sucker for a good vampire story (pun intended😊). Set in the small town of Jerusalem’s (Salem’s) Lot, we follow writer Ben Mears, who has returned to the Lot after 25 years to write a novel about the abandoned and very creepy Marsten House. No one ever sees the new owner of the house, Kurt Barlow, and the death of a 12-year-old boy and disappearance of his brother are the start of a spate of disappearances and malaise to hit Salem’s Lot, which quickly becomes overrun by, you guessed it, vampires.

Pet Sematary. As someone who has buried some of our beloved family pets in the backyard, this story literally gave me the creeps. Dr Louis Creed moves to the town of Ludlow with his wife Rachel and two young children, Ellie and Gage along with Ellie’s cat. He becomes friends with his elderly neighbour, who shows him a pet cemetery in the woods maintained by local children. When Ellie’s cat is run over, he buries it in the cemetery, but the cat returns from the dead. Then his young son is also killed on the busy highway, and against the advice of his neighbour, Louis buries his son in the pet cemetery. You can see where this is going …

IT. My husband suffers from Coulrophobia, or a fear of clowns, so it’s probably a good thing he’s never read King’s novel, IT. In 1958, a group of young friends, known as the Losers, searched for an evil creature, preying on children, in the sewers beneath the city of Derry. Twenty-eight years on, children are once again being murdered and the seven adults reunite to do battle with the monster in the sewers once more, resurfacing memories they’ve suppressed for almost thirty years.

On my To Be Read pile for this Halloween is local, Aussie author Camille Booker’s gothic mermaid tale, The Woman in the Waves. Keep following my Facebook and Instagram pages for an upcoming review.

And don’t forget my own Australian gothic novel, Bad Country, which explores the haunting connection between people and place. Bad Country is available from my website, select indie bookshops and online – go to the link on my Books page for more. The sequel, Bad People, is getting close, and I’ll be sharing some exciting news soon.

I’d love to know what stories give you goosebumps. Happy Halloween everyone.

The Self-Saucing Cookbook

The low hum of conversation greets me as I push open the door. Then I’m hit with the unmistakable scent of lemon.

‘Good morning, ladies,’ I call to five women perched on battered armchairs and crammed side by side on a faded couch. Dragging a hot-pink shopping trolley, I navigate past walking frames and overflowing handbags to an empty armchair. A cup of tea and a piece of lemon meringue tart are deposited in front of me. I wink at Shirley as I take a bite, ‘Delicious as always, Shirl.’

‘Thank you, Eleanor,’ Shirley smiles as she shuffles back to her seat. Swallowing the rest of the slice, I call our Community Women’s Association meeting to order.

‘Alright, let’s get started. Beryl, how did we go with fundraising for the hall?’

A tiny woman who resembles an owl with wispy grey hair and large, round glasses that engulf her face responds. ‘So far, we’ve raised $250. I’ve secured a spot at the hardware store in two weeks for another bake sale. I’ve printed flyers and posters to advertise it,’ Beryl reports.

‘That’s a fabulous start, Beryl. Encourage your friends and neighbours to get behind this. The hall is important to our community.’

A manicured hand shoots into the air. I wistfully wonder if there’s any of Shirley’s cake left.

I turn to a woman with coiffed hair wearing a tailored pale blue pantsuit and navy heels. Channel No. 5 floats across the air as she wiggles jewelled fingers. ‘Did you have something to add, Dianne?’

‘We can do better. I contacted Katy, you know, the mayor, and she’s willing to be a keynote speaker at a fundraising dinner or auction at the hall,’ Dianne says, flicking her hair to one side, the plumb in her voice more pronounced than ever.

Dianne was the senior office manager for her husband’s accounting firm in Sydney before they opted for a sea change and moved to the coast. Keeping secrets in small towns is like trying to hold back the tide; it’s a futile exercise. Most people believe, whether it’s true or not, that her husband was the victim of an elaborate financial fraud and they had to sell their harbourside home in Sydney to pay their debts. There was a time I felt sorry for the former big city socialite, but her ingratiating manner makes it hard to remain empathetic.

‘I’m the events manager, Dianne; you should have spoken to me before talking to the mayor. Our constitution states …’

Dianne cuts Beryl off, ‘Yes, but you were so busy with posters and baking and I have the relationship with Katy.’ Beryl pushes her glasses up her nose and pats down her hair, ready for battle.

‘It’s an admirable idea, Dianne, but let’s keep politicians out of this.’

After tossing around fundraising ideas, Beryl comes up with a pearler. ‘Around here everyone treats their pets like their kids. One of my friends even had her pup’s DNA done. What if we created a Pets of the South Coast Calendar? Offer advertising space in exchange for sponsorship and sell them at local businesses. I think they’d be more popular than Shirley’s lemon tart!’

Apart from Shirley’s raised eyebrows, we agree the idea is a good one and Beryl will pull a proposal together for us to discuss next month. ‘Unless there’s any other business, I call our meeting to a close, and you know what that means. Ladies, I hope you remembered your books. Shirley, can you please close the curtains and light the candles, and can someone give Beryl a hand with the wine, glasses and cheeseboard?’

I dig out a small novel with a striking red spine. On the cover is a dark-haired man in an unbuttoned white shirt that shows off his muscular chest. In his arms is a blonde woman in a black dress with a plunging neckline that reveals ample cleavage.

When everyone is settled with a glass of wine and a book in their hands I turn to the last chapter and read it aloud.

*****

Ronaldo sweeps her into his arms and carries her away, using his body to shield her from the heat of the flames engulfing the remote beach shack she’d called home.

Laying her on the sand, he kisses her eyelids and the tip of her nose before moving to her lips.

Moaning, Olivia’s body responds to his touch, as her mind swims through the darkness, back to the present. Back to him. Her lips lock on his as her nails rake his broad back.

‘My love, my life,’ he breathes.

‘And you’re mine,’ Olivia rasps.

He gazes into her eyes. ‘I was wrong. For twenty years, I believed your father destroyed Papa’s business and left my family destitute. I believed the stress killed Mama. When I found out who you were, I thought leading you on, humiliating and breaking your heart was a perfect way to get revenge. But tonight, I found a letter Mama left for me before she died. For years, I believed Papa’s lies. When I confronted him, he fled. I never thought he was capable of this,’ Ronaldo waves his hands toward the spire of smoke that was her cabin. ‘I can’t deny what I feel any longer. I love you. Please forgive me. Say you’ll be mine,’ he begs.

Olivia nods, and Ronaldo cups her face in his hands. ‘I saw the fire and I thought I’d lost you forever. I need you. I have to have you. I can’t wait,’ he growls.

‘Don’t wait,’ Olivia pants, ripping off his jeans and shirt as he tears at her dress and underwear. He pulls her onto his lap, and they move as one.

Olivia’s cry of exquisite release is matched by Ronaldo’s low moan and they come together, crashing and swirling like the waves that pummel the beach.

‘Say you’ll marry me,’ Ronaldo demands, stroking her hair.

‘Yes,’ Olivia whispers in his ear.

Ronaldo swings her over him and onto the sand. Straddling her, they move in time to the rhythm of the ocean.

*****

‘Well, ladies. What did you think?’ I ask, looking at this diverse group of women in their twilight years who decided they needed more than cake sales and boring agenda items in their lives. Together, we created our version of Goodreads, rating sexy romance novels. And so emerged the Secret Women’s Book Club.

‘I thought it was a great old romp. Ronaldo was spicy. He stoked my fire,’ exclaims Joy, a tall woman with a cheeky smile in her mid-70s who used to be a physical education teacher.

‘Of course, you liked it, Joy. All you care about is how many times they get into bed,’ Dianne scoffs. Red and green flags are dotted throughout her book—many red and green flags.

‘At least I’m honest, Dianne,’ Joy retorts, colour flushing her cheeks.

Before I can step in, a fourth voice joins the debate.

‘But where will Olivia live now?’ asks Bernadette, her voice edged with confusion and concern. At 89, she’s the oldest member of the SWBC and sometimes loses the plot, literally.

Dianne opens her mouth, but I get there first. ‘Good point, Bernie, but the shack is a secondary consideration. Ronaldo and Olivia put aside their family’s decades-long feud for love. To be together.’

‘Very Romeo and Juliet of them,’ Shirley quips.

‘I’d hardly compare this to Shakespeare,’ Dianne drawls and Shirley sniffs, her nostrils flaring. ‘It worked for me,’ Beryl says. ‘Isn’t that the point? To figure out if it got us old girls hot and bothered? Just ask Bob. The poor man is still recovering. He even asked me if it was our anniversary. God bless him.’

This comment is met with laughter and an animated discussion ensues about whether Ronaldo’s Revenge rates as highly as Devil in Disguise, a ripping yarn about Joel, who was wrongly accused of murdering his ex-wife, and Dana, the defence lawyer who wins the case … and the man. The steamy sex scene in the prison cell has been hard to top.

I call for the club to decide if this romance novel is as saucy as Devil in Disguise. It comes a close second and Shirley records our agreed position on a card. It includes three and a half chillies, and comments that resemble recipe notes:

The beef sausages should be seared on low to medium heat for 5 minutes. Add three and half chopped Habanero chillies with the seeds in, a sliced onion and cover with mushroom gravy before placing the beef in the oven at 180 degrees for 20 minutes. Serve hot to achieve best results.

A bottle of wine later we agree our next novel will be Male Territory, a tale about a hot Australian jackeroo working on a cattle station in the Northern Territory and an uptight governess.

‘Oh, I do like a cowboy,’ Joy giggles. ‘I’m looking forward to this one.’

I am woman hear me roar

On 8 March we celebrate International Women’s Day and in a few weeks Australians will head to the polls to elect local representatives and our next federal government. In this month’s blog I reflect on the trailblazing women who campaigned for the right to vote in Australia and the legacy they’ve left behind.

A good education, a commitment to social reform and equality and resilience in the face of adversity are traits shared by Australia’s leading suffragettes. In 1894, South Australia became the first state in Australia to grant women the right to vote and to stand for state parliament and the first place in the world to give equal political rights to both men and women. Western Australia gave women voting rights in 1899 but excluded First Nations Women. In June 1902, after months of divisive debate, the new Commonwealth Parliament gave women 21 and over the right to vote in elections and stand for Australian Parliament. So, who are the women who shaped our future?

**Julia Gillard, image courtesy of SBS.com.au**

Mary Lee was a well-educated woman with a keen sense of social justice. She was a member of several social reform groups and successfully campaigned for legislation to raise the age of consent from 12 to 16 years in 1885. Mary argued that women’s suffrage was essential to raise the legal status of women in Australia and was a driving force behind the establishment of the Women’s Suffrage League. While she was often ridiculed and abused, Mary spoke fearlessly for the vote. After six attempts to introduce suffrage bills, South Australia passed the bill in December 1894. Mary was also a unionist, helping to form the Working Women’s Trade Union. Mary declined several offers to stand for Parliament and a bronze bust stands in Prince Henry Gardens on North Terrace, Adelaide in her honour.

Born in Victoria, Vida Goldstein is one of the most well-known Australian suffragettes. Vida took up her mother’s passion for social reform, getting involved in many social welfare causes. She was well-educated, read widely and attended state parliament to better understand procedures which she used to campaign for legislative reform. An impressive speaker, Vida addressed the International Suffrage Conference in the USA, was elected Secretary and presented evidence to the US congress. In 1902, Vida was one of only four women in the British Empire, to be nominated to stand for election to a national parliament. Vida believed in equal rights and pay, appointment of women to official posts, opposed the White Australia Policy, and lobbied for reform such as birth control and disarmament.

**Vida Goldstein, State Library of Victoria Image**

In 1921, Edith Cowan became the first woman member of an Australian parliament when she was elected to the Western Australian Legislative Assembly. Edith was a social reformer, women’s rights activist and focused on helping women and children. This was shaped by her own traumatic childhood, losing her mother, being separated from her siblings and seeing her father tried and hung for killing his second wife. Edith joined volunteer organisations supporting children and women and helped to found Australia’s first women’s club providing a place for women to learn about community issues, practice public speaking and support women’s suffrage. Edith was a staunch supporter of state education and during World War I, she worked with the Red Cross and established an institute to provide meals to soldiers. She was made an Officer of the Order of the British Empire in 1920 for her contribution to the war effort. She was instrumental in helping to pass legislation allowing women in Western Australia to become lawyers or to practice any other profession. Edith Cowan University was named in her honour and her image appears on the Australian $50 banknote.

Since 1902, only one woman has held the office of Prime Minister in Australia, Julia Gillard. Whatever your political beliefs, most people agree that while in power Julia was treated appallingly by her male counterparts and commentators like Alan Jones. Julia led a minority government and despite ongoing political turmoil 570 bills were passed by the Senate, with key achievements including the National Disability Insurance Scheme, the child abuse royal commission, a carbon price, education funding and paid parental leave. One moment defines Julia’s time as Australia’s first female Prime Minister. Her speech in Parliament where she called out Tony Abbott, the leader of the Opposition for his misogynistic comments and behaviour. This speech resonated with women around the world and is as powerful today as it was in 2012. We can only hope that Julia has paved the way for better treatment of women in our parliament and one day for another woman to hold the office of Prime Minister.

Photos (L to R): 1902 Women Vote Photo National Library of Australia, Women Protesting for Suffrage SA-1916, Australian Suffragettes ver_1

Memories

‘You know Larry the lawn mower man saw a shark bite a seal in half out there,’ Kate hears as she emerges from the surf.

‘You love telling me that, don’t you Gordon,’ Kate laughs as she strides up the beach, sand squeaking under her feet.

Barking and tail wagging, her cocker spaniel Charlie, rushes forward to greet Gordon’s dog Susie as Kate dries off.

‘That shark cruises the coast. This is its turf you know,’ Gordon replies, a mischievous grin visible beneath his grey beard.

‘Sure’ Kate chuckles, ‘Yet I swim here every day and haven’t seen it yet.’

‘Luck!’ Gordon declares before tossing a treat to the dogs. ‘Where’s your hubby?’

‘Visiting the kids,’ Kate mumbles as she buries her head in her towel, the coarse fabric rough on her skin.

‘Tell him I said hello. It feels like a long time since I’ve seen him.’

Kate nods as Gordon blows her a kiss.

Sitting on the back deck, Kate cradles a chipped cup and stares at the ocean. The familiar aromas of peppermint and salty sea air stir painful memories. Picking up the square photo frame beside her, Kate traces her finger over the smooth glass to his lips.

‘Wow, that was a big one. Out there,’ Scott points to a splash on the horizon. As she searches for the whale a slice of toast vanishes from her plate.

‘Hey, no fair.’

Taking a huge bite, he mumbles, ‘Want it back?’

At 60 Scott was still a naughty boy; it was one of the things Kate loved about him. Over the last six months, she’s learned that grief and laughter are strange companions.

A crimson rosella swoops past, landing on the Grevillea below. Closing her eyes Kate pictures the flashing lights of the police car the evening they asked her to come with them to identify “the body”.

They told her a young man had fallen asleep and crossed to the wrong side of the road. He was badly hurt but survived. His fatigue was the reason her husband was no longer with her.

The friendships she forged have kept her going and her thoughts drift to Gordon. He was one of the first people she and Scott made friends with.

She picks up her phone and taps out a message.

Hi Cathy. He forgot again. I didn’t say anything. Didn’t want to ruin his good mood.

I’m sorry, Kate. He’s in the garden now. I can call.

Kate chokes back the lump forming in her throat. No need. I’m fine. I just wanted you to know.

Gordon’s shared the shark story countless times but still she laughs with him. It’s a silly habit she can’t break. What she can’t do is keep telling him about Scott. The flicker of recognition on Gordon’s face that somehow he knew tears her apart.

Yet, she knows Cathy is dealing with so much worse. Not a sudden loss but the slow torture of watching someone you love, slip away.

11 11

Artwork: Tea for One by Eraine McArthur

The following short story was created for the Eurobodolla Writers 2024 Literary Salon and was inspired by the artwork Tea for One by south coast artist, Eraine McArthur.

11 11

Numbers. They mark significant milestones like birthdays, marriages, anniversaries and even death. Numbers represent wealth and some people believe they have an important spiritual meaning.

I never thought about numbers in that way. Not until mum passed.

She died at 11:11 am on 10 October 2020. For over 30 years Trish Walton served as a nurse with the Australian Army. She rose to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel, trained countless nurses, and the way she told it, a few doctors.

Mum loved being an Army Corps Nurse but the job took its toll. She could patch people up, heal their physical wounds but it was the invisible injuries, what she called the ‘black dog,’ that she often couldn’t fix. By the time mum left the Army her marriage had dissolved. My parents wed young and slowly grew apart. Thankfully, the breakup was not bitter. For both of them it was like closing a chapter and starting a new one.

Mum had plans. She wanted to travel, read, write and paint … at least she got to paint.

The tick-tock of the clock echoes through the empty kitchen as the small hand bounces to 11. Today will be 365 days or 8,760 hours or 525,600 minutes since she left us.

Sunlight streams in through the window promising a beautiful day and I can hear the waves 500 metres away. John has taken the kids to the beach to give me some space.

The kettle whistles and I pour hot water into mum’s favourite teapot. Placing the pot on the dining table, I return to the kitchen for the matching teacup.

As I wait for the leaves to steep, my eyes are automatically drawn to it.

It’s time.

I pour myself a steaming cup of Irish Breakfast – mum’s favourite. The familiar aroma is powerful, stirring up memories of tearful chats about boyfriends and strategic career discussions.

I stare at the artwork. The cup I hold and the teapot in front of me are positioned on a small side table, with a vase of flowers and slouch hat in the background. She called it Tea for One.

Mum started painting as a way of expressing her emotions and dealing with the trauma she’d witnessed over three decades. She discovered that she loved painting, and to her surprise, was good at it and was chuffed when three of her pieces were chosen for an exhibition. I was too. I went to the opening, sipped champagne and mingled with other artists, their family and friends. Tea for One was centre stage. Mum was offered a great price for it but declined. I told her she was crazy and should take it. She shook her head. I didn’t know that Mum painted it for me or that it had a sister. It’s sibling was similar but had a different perspective. Mum painted that one for Jules, my twin.

11:09.

I place my phone on the table and my finger hovers over Jules’ number. Taped to the back of each painting was a letter. Mum told us that she would always love us, and was proud of us and our children, but she couldn’t stay. She said couldn’t bear to slip away, to not recognise her own family.

Mum was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s but never told us. If we’d been more attentive we would have seen the signs but Jules and I were busy with our own lives.

Mum painted Tea for One and One for Tea when she learned about her illness. In her note, she said the paintings represented feelings of abandonment after leaving the Army and what she saw as a bleak and lonely future trapped in her own mind. She told us she chose that time, 11:11, because it symbolised spiritual awakening and remembrance, and she liked the cadence of the repetition of numbers 11 11, 10 10, 20 20.

11:11.

I punch the video icon and Jules appears on screen. It’s like looking at a mirror image of myself, the mole on her neck is on the left, not the right, and her hair is slightly darker, although we’re both going grey.

‘Hey sis,’ I start. ‘How’s the tea?’

‘I just poured it. Oh Jen. I’m so glad we could do this.’

‘Me too. Are you looking at it?’

‘I am,’ my sister replies.

‘Here’s to you mum. We miss you,’ I toast the painting as tears slide down my face.

‘To mum,’ Jules replies, doing the same.

Can I have noodles with that?

I’m not sure what it is about crime scenes but I always get hungry at the most inappropriate moments.

The growling emanating from my stomach is so loud it breaks down the frosty exterior of the middle-aged, gruff forensics officer taking photos of a discarded red stiletto, half empty bottle of white wine and blood stains at the back of Tastes of Asia.

‘Bit peckish Maddie? The dumplings look good and you could always wash them down with that Chardy,’ he laughs at his own wit as he gestures to the menu tacked to the back door and the forlorn-looking bottle of wine.

Rolling my eyes to the sky I retort, ‘Actually George, I’d like some noodles with my side order of murder. And for the record it’s a Riesling, not a Chardonnay.’

George shrugs and returns to his job, ignoring my sarcasm.

The smell emanating from overflowing garbage bags jammed into the green hopper mere metres from the back door mixes with the ever-present odour of fried food and the stench of urine. If it were a fragrance it’d be called something like Back Alley Breeze. My eyes lock on a soft rustling coming from one of the bulging plastic sacks and I tap George on the shoulder.

‘Probably just a rat,’ he grunts and I shuffle sideways. I hate vermin. I’ve had a phobia about them ever since playing in a grain silo on my parent’s farm when I was five. There were hundreds of the devils running through that stuff. They even crawled through my hair. Thankfully, I don’t have to go through the rubbish. That’s the job of George and his team.

The Twin Peaks theme music echoes through the narrow space. The boss is calling. This time George rolls his eyes and I ignore him.

‘What’s the story?’ he starts as soon as I pick up.

‘I’m fabulous and how are you on this fine Sunday morning?’ I sass before moving into report mode. ‘No bodies. No victims. Not yet. But there’s enough blood to indicate a struggle. The owners are Kiara and Jimmy Chen. I’ve spoken to the head waiter who said the last customers left around 11:00 pm. They were a large group celebrating a birthday who spent big on drinks but were friendly. No arguments about the cost, number of spring rolls, lack of MSG or anything. Adam, the waiter, who is also Jimmy’s nephew, left the premises after cleaning and re-setting the tables at 11:45 pm. Kiara and Jimmy were still checking supplies for the next day. Adam called the police after he arrived at 6:45 am with the fish market delivery and noticed the blood and discarded shoe at the back door. Neither Jimmy nor Kiara is answering their phone and I left my number with the nephew. Told Adam to call me if he hears from them or thinks of anything else that may help our investigation.’

Before I can continue, Senior Detective Tom Gardiner interrupts.

‘Footage? Phones?’

‘The owners installed cameras a couple of years ago but they haven’t worked for months. I’ve got Josh checking neighbouring businesses and the local council to see if we can access anything but it’s a dark and dingy spot. I’m not hopeful of getting anything. The GPS on both phones is not responding. Their last known location was here, at the restaurant.’

‘Do Kiara and Jimmy have kids?’ the head of the Homicide Squad pushes.

‘Jimmy did. Kiara’s his second wife. He has three kids with his first wife, Lily – twin girls aged 16 and a 13-year-old son. They live with their mum. The nephew, Adam, said it was a bitter divorce. Kiara’s 20 years younger than Jimmy. She was a server at the restaurant and Lily’s best friend when she and Jimmy started having an affair.’

‘Have you talked to the ex-wife yet? The kids?’ Senior Detective Tom Gardiner asks.

‘No. I’m heading there shortly. I want to see what theories George and his team have before I visit them. Boss, there’s a half bottle of wine in the alley as well. George is taking DNA swabs. The nephew said the Chens often took unfinished bottles of wine home and the red shoe is definitely Kiara’s. She always wore red stilettos – it’s her thing. Personally, I couldn’t think of anything worse than wearing high heels and being on your feet serving crappy customers all day and night.’

I hear a muffled sigh at the other end and picture his nostrils flaring. He’s not in a good mood.

I grab a much-needed double-shot coffee and toasted sandwich from a nearby service station while George and his team search the garbage. When I return, he confirms the hopper contained nothing but general restaurant rubbish and … rats. George confides it looks like the hopper has moved from its usual position and there’s fresh blood on the outside. It may have been bumped during the fight or scuffle. The team will test the blood stains on the footpath and on the hopper for matches to the Chens. Jimmy Chen’s car is still parked on the street nearby and forensics officers are already trawling through it. There are no weapons, unless you count the stiletto and bottle, but there’s nothing to indicate they’ve been used in an attack. They’ll run tests on them too, but unlike the CSI dramas on TV, forensic tests take time. George concludes its likely the Chen’s were attacked and taken from the scene after leaving the restaurant last night. The first question is why? The second is, are they still alive?

I put in a call to the boss and request our best financial analyst investigate the Chen’s bank accounts. I want to know if they were in financial trouble or owed money to any unsavoury people.

As I pull up in front of Lily Chen’s neat two-storey townhouse at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac in Springvale my phone pings. It’s a message from a private, unknown number. I’m greeted by a photo of a note. The letters, cut from a magazine, have been pasted on a blank, white piece of A4 paper. It looks amateurish and the lack of punctuation irritates me. It’s like something you’d see in a B-grade movie but I immediately forward it to the boss.

Our murder investigation has now become a kidnapping and ransom operation. After a quick conversation with Senior Detective Gardiner ˗ I once called him Tom and got a roasting ˗ I gather my phone and notebook and stroll past a pretty garden. Bright coloured flowers border a gravel path that weaves past a large pond where fat carp swim under lily pads. Dotted through the garden are statues of dragons and mini pagodas, and I can’t help but smile when a Hello Kitty perched by the water’s edge waves at me in the late morning sunshine.

Before I can ring the doorbell, the front door swings open. A petite woman with a dark bob, greying at the temples, and wearing faded designer jeans with a white Country Road t-shirt stands behind a screen door. It’s hard to be sure, but I guess she’s in her late 40s. The only thing out of place are the fluffy pink slippers on her feet.

‘You took your time,’ she states as she unlocks the screen door. Her eyes rake over my messy blonde ponytail and the navy pant suit and pale blue blouse ˗ recent Target purchases.

‘Lily Chen?’ I show her my ID and hold out my hand but she leaves me hanging. ‘I’m Detective Maddison James. May I come in?’

‘Yes, yes,’ Lily replies as she bangs the front door closed and waves me through to a small loungeroom where a teenage boy is playing Call of Duty. Lily orders him to leave and do homework and he scuttles away.

I perch on the edge of a large, white leather couch as Lily lowers herself onto a plush armchair opposite me. I randomly wonder how she keeps the leather looking so pristine when she has three teenagers in the house.

‘Do you mind if I record our conversation Mrs Chen …’

‘Wu. I changed my name. After the divorce. Lily Wu, and yes you can record our conversation. I have nothing to hide.’

I push the button to start the voice recording app on my phone and begin.

‘Ms Wu. You’re aware that Jimmy and Kiara Chen have not been seen or been in contact with anyone since around 11:45 pm last night. When was the last time you saw or spoke to either of them?’

Lily pulls her phone from her pocket and hands it to me.

‘So, you’re not going to ask me about this?’

It’s the message. The ransom note. ‘When did you get this? Do you know the number?’

‘Ten minutes ago, and no, it’s a private and unknown number. What does it mean?’ her voice is sharp as she snatches the phone from my grasp.

‘We don’t know yet. Ms Wu, when did you last speak to Jimmy or Kiara?’

‘I don’t speak to Jimmy. We message each other, that’s it and I never talk to her. The homewrecker,’ she spits. ‘The last time Jimmy and I messaged each other was yesterday at 10:30 am. He pays for the twins tutoring but the company called me. He’s behind in his payments. I messaged him demanding he pay the outstanding bills. Li and Min’s marks have been very disappointing, ever since Jimmy cheated on me,’ Lily bellows and I wonder if her children are listening in. Poor kids.

‘How did Jimmy respond?’ I ask as I take notes.

‘He said he’d take care of it but he still hasn’t paid them,’ Lily scoffs. ‘I know it’s her. She’ll be in his ear telling him not to waste money … on his own children! She has champagne tastes. Jimmy spends every cent he can to make her happy. To keep her. Have you seen where they live? Top floor penthouse apartment a couple of blocks from the MCG. And did you know he bought her a new BMW? Not to mention all the jewellery and designer shoes. Meanwhile I live in our old, modest home in suburbia and he can’t be bothered to pay for his kids education!’ Lily’s face goes red as her voice goes up another notch.

‘Did you argue a lot?’ It seems an absurd question, considering her rants.

‘Argue? Ha! That’s a good one. Jimmy’s weak. She’s walking all over him. I demand and he usually delivers but lately he’s pushed back. I know she’s behind it.’

Here’s the opening I was looking for, ‘How was Jimmy’s finances? You said they live in a penthouse and Kiara has an expensive car. The restaurant must be doing well?’

Lily laughs. The sound ricochets around the room. ‘You obviously know nothing about the restaurant business. When Jimmy and I ran it, we worked hard every day and made enough for a comfortable lifestyle, but that’s all. We almost went broke during COVID. Cut back staff to just to us, Kiara and Adam. Home deliveries kept us afloat. That was when the two of them got together, during the pandemic. I caught them, doing it in the restaurant kitchen. At it like dogs on heat. I kicked him out that night and haven’t stepped foot in the place again. We built it together, but now I want nothing to do with it. Since then, Kiara’s changed the menu. Made it modern and trendier. She calls it a fusion of Asian flavours. No more Beef and Black Bean. Oh no, it’s Spicy Singapore Noodles these days. Our loyal customers left so they rebuilt their client base and went for a younger demographic.’

I pause as I digest all Lily has divulged. ‘So, how’s it doing now? Do you know?’

‘Adam, Jimmy’s nephew, told me they’re making more money than before COVID but they’d have to. To keep up with all Jimmy’s extra expenses.’

‘Do you know if they owed money to anyone? Did Jimmy have silent partners or associates that might not be happy with the new direction?’

Lily snorts, the sound so loud the kids must have heard it. ‘What are you asking Detective? Do you think because we’re Chinese Australians we do dodgy stuff? Because our restaurant is in Chinatown that we have criminal connections? The Triad maybe? Is that what you’re asking?’

Keeping my voice calm I push on, ‘Well, do you? Does Jimmy?’

‘Please. Spare me. Haven’t you listened to anything I said? Jimmy’s an amazing cook but he’s a push over. He’d never get messed up with that crowd, his ulcer couldn’t cope,’ Lily chortles.

Crunch time. ‘Ms Wu, where were you between the hours of 11:00 pm last night and 6:45 am this morning?’

Lily leans forward and speaks directly to the voice recorder, all the time staring me down. ‘I was home, except for my regular gym class at 5.45 this morning. I was here, looking after my children. You can ask them if you want to.’

‘Okay, thank you Ms Wu. I would like to talk to your children but as they are under 18 you should sit in on the interviews.’

Lily stands to get the kids but turns to me first. ‘Do you really think they’ve been kidnapped? Who would do something like that?’ her voice is soft and it’s the first time she exhibited any real concern for her ex-husband and former best friend.

‘It’s early days Ms Wu but we are treating this seriously.’ Lily takes a deep breath before exiting the room. Quick, firm footsteps echo on the stairs. I hear muted voices and doors opening and closing and then lighter footsteps approaching. I’ve stopped the recording and my phone now sits on a coffee table in the middle of the room.

I rise as the twins, who are almost identical in appearance, enter the loungeroom, their younger brother trailing behind. I introduce myself and ask their brother to wait outside while I speak to his sisters first. Min and Li sit close together at the end of the couch and Lily resumes her position. The way her hands rest on the arms of the chair remind me of Morticia in old The Adams Family TV show. Like Morticia Adams, Lily commands the room. The twins glance at their mother before agreeing to the recording. I ask when they last saw Lily at home, and Min, who is the spokesperson for the pair, says they had dinner around 7:30 pm before the girls went to their bedroom to study. They snuck to the kitchen for a snack around 10:00 pm and saw their mother in the loungeroom watching television. They stayed up until after midnight working on an assignment together and both heard their mother take a shower and go to bed around 11:30 pm. They heard their mum leave the house at 5:30 this morning, explaining she’s an early riser and goes to the gym before returning home to get the family ready for the day. I ask Li if this is correct and she squeaks out a yes for the recording.

‘So, the last time you both physically saw your mother was around 10:00 pm last night but you heard her have a shower at 11:30 pm and leave the house to go the gym at 5:30 am. The front door is downstairs. That’s a long way from your bedroom. Do you normally hear it from up there?’

Min steals another peek at her mother before responding. ‘Well mum isn’t that quiet; you know what I mean? We know her footsteps and she’s pretty noisy when she moves around the house. The front door jams, so you have to pull it open and slam it shut. So, yeah, we did hear her.’ Li nods along to this revelation.

Next, I talk to their brother Xin. He says he went to his room after dinner to do homework but admits with some trepidation and sideways looks at his mother that he played games online with friends before falling asleep around 10:00 pm. He had his gaming headphones on so he didn’t hear his mother moving around the house but did hear her leave to go to the gym this morning.

I thank the family for their cooperation and let Lily know we’ll be in touch. I reach the front door first. Min is right, it does stick. I yank it open and the last thing I see as Lily slams it shut is her smug expression.

As I walk to the car I call my offsider Josh and ask him to contact the gym, ask for proof that Lily is a member and was there this morning. He tells me he’s had no luck with CCTV footage of the back alley but has requested footage from a bank across the road that may provide an angle to the front door of the restaurant. I hop in the car and punch in directions to the gym. The GPS says it’s a 10-minute drive and I figure you could shave a couple of minutes off that early in the morning. I drive to the gym and take note of the limited parking out the front and the large car park at the rear of the building.

When I arrive at the command centre on St Kilda Road, the boss ushers me into his office. ‘How did it go? Is she clean?’

I plonk onto the chair opposite him before recounting my interviews with the family. ‘In short, Lily has no love for her ex and particularly her former friend. She’s still very bitter about the breakup but I’ll put money on the table she was at home last night and went to the gym this morning. If not, then she’s one hell of an actor.’

Josh knocks on the door. ‘I’ve scanned the footage from yesterday through to this morning from the bank across the road. Nadda. Nothing. Customers going into the restaurant, customers coming out. The large group leave just after 11:00 pm last night like Adam Chen said and then he leaves at 11:45. The lights go off in the restaurant at approximately 12:10 am and then nothing until Adam returns at 6:45 am.’

I sigh in disappointment but Josh grins. ‘Okay,’ I say, ‘I’ll bite. What else do you know?’

Josh says he got confirmation from the gym that Lily is a member and she attended a spin class at 5:45 this morning. She left the gym around 6:50. In their eagerness to help, the gym sent Josh not only Lily’s membership details but their complete membership list. Adam Chen is on it.

‘Lily Wu and Adam Chen go to the same gym. Interesting but not damming,’ the boss replies.

‘True,’ Josh answers as his grin expands, ‘but they also gave me their footage from this morning, from the street and the back car park. As they’re a 24-hour gym they’ve had car break-ins while members are working out. The company put a camera out there six weeks ago. Kept it quiet and the camera is well hidden.’ Josh places a series of photos on the table and we all lean in. They show Lily pulling into the carpark then getting into Adam’s car, the two of them talking before they kiss and she exits the vehicle.

‘Well. Well. Ms Wu and Mr Chen have some explaining to do,’ the boss says. ‘Good work Josh.’

My phone pings. It’s another message. Another note. This time demanding $1.5 million within 24 hours or pieces of Jimmy and Kiara will be delivered to headquarters.

‘Get onto the tech team. See if they’ve had any luck tracing that number. Ask George if he has any results yet and if Matt has anything on their financial situation. I’ll get the approval to seize and examine Ms Wu and Adam Chen’s phones and put them under surveillance,’ barks the boss.

I’m half out the door when he calls me back. ‘Wait. Give Ms Wu a call first. See if she got this latest note and ask her to send it to us. Tell her we’d like her to come in. Let her know we’d like to clarify points from her statement and need to discuss where we go with the investigation. Let’s see how she reacts and what she does.’

Lily Wu sends me the message. She asks me how the investigation is going and who will pay the ransom before telling me she doesn’t have the money and asking if the police will cough up the cash. I tell her there’s a lot to discuss and ask her to come to the station. Lily says she will be there at 4:00 pm, after the kids soccer. She sounds cool, calm and in control and all I can think of is how I’d hate to play this woman in poker.

George informs me they’ve identified three different blood types on the pavement and the hopper, indicating that the attacker, or at least one of them, may have been injured in the fight. His team are currently collecting DNA samples from the Chen’s apartment and we should know soon if there’s a match.

From Matt’s investigation so far, Jimmy has a separate account he’s been siphoning money into from the restaurant but it’s not clear why and there’s been no transfers for over a month. The account is almost dry. Jimmy and Kiara rent the penthouse and the lease for the BMW is in Kiara’s name but the restaurant is his. Jimmy took out a loan to buy out Lily’s share 18 months ago. He owes the bank more than $500,000 for the business. There’s been significant extra expenses for clothing, shoes and jewellery and Jimmy’s credit card is maxed out. He’s skint. Matt will keep digging and call me when has more to share.

The tech team are not getting anywhere with the phone number. It looks like it’s a burner phone. Untraceable. Josh and I look into Adam Chen. He’s 21 and doing IT at university. The kid is smart, top marks at school and great marks at uni. He’s been working at the restaurant since he was 16 and deferred his studies for a year to help Jimmy and Lily during COVID. Adam is also a fitness fanatic, enters triathlons for fun and rides mountain bikes on weekends. He’s young, clever, fit and strong.

At 10 minutes past four, Josh and I escort Lily to a small interview room that’s always a couple of degrees warmer than the rest of the building. The boss is watching and listening in the room next door. What Lily doesn’t know is that Adam is already there. We picked him up a short while ago and confiscated his phone. We’ve let him sit and stew.

As the door opens, Adam jumps up. Lily’s eyes narrow when she sees him and he quickly returns to his seat.

Josh and I pull up chairs opposite the couple and I start, ‘Thank you for coming in Ms Wu, Mr Chen. There are key points we’d like to clarify regarding the statements you’ve made.’

‘Why are you wasting time talking to us. You should be out there, finding Jimmy! Didn’t you read the note? The clock’s ticking. I don’t care what happens to her but Jimmy was once my husband. He’s the father of my children …’

‘And your regular paycheck,’ I interrupt.

‘How dare you?’ Lily shouts. ‘He has obligations. To his family. To me!’

I pull Lily’s statement from that morning from a small folder and place it on the table between us. ‘You said the last time you messaged Jimmy was yesterday at 10:30 am when you demanded that he pay the outstanding bill for Min and Li’s tutor. Correct?’

‘Yes.’

‘Ms Wu, what else did your ex-husband cover? School fees? Piano lessons? Soccer gear? The townhouse? Your rates?’

‘The house is mine. I paid the bank what was left when Jimmy gave me money for my half of the restaurant and yes he pays half the school fees and for the kids extra-curricular activities. It’s the least he can do after tearing our family apart.’

‘From what I can see he hasn’t been doing his ‘part’ for several months. The outstanding tutoring is just one of many bills he’s failed to cover recently. Is that right?’

‘I told you, she’s behind it. Stopping him from doing what’s right,’ Lily thumps the table as her face goes crimson.

‘So, you and Mr Chen came up with a plan to get back what he owes you, didn’t you?’ I lean forward, my face so close to Lily’s I can see the expertly applied false lashes that frame her eyes. Through all this Adam has stayed quiet but now squirms on the chair as if he’s desperate to go to the toilet.

‘Me? Adam? That’s ridiculous. Adam is my nephew, or was my nephew,’ Lily states with absolute authority.

I spread the photos from the gym’s CCTV camera on the table. Adam gulps and beads of sweat shine on his forehead. Lily remains defiant. ‘Adam was worried about me. He wanted to make sure I was okay. That kiss is nothing more than a concerned peck.’

There’s a knock on the door. The boss enters holding Adam’s phone. He introduces himself and pulls up a chair to the table. ‘We have evidence that you and Mr Chen have been having a relationship, an intimate relationship, for six months. Would you like me to share the photos and videos? Some are, well, quite explicit,’ Senior Detective Gardiner says as he waves Adam’s phone in front of them.

Lily punches Adam in the arm and he recoils.

‘Your phone has been quite the treasure trove,’ the boss continues, speaking to Adam. ‘You’re clever Mr Chen. All the messages between you are encrypted and you jammed your GPS so we can’t see where you’ve been. But what we’ve accessed so far confirms your relationship and that together you plotted the kidnapping and ransom. What we’d like to know is where you put them. Are they still alive? Don’t worry we have a crack team and they’ll get there eventually but if you tell us now. If you cooperate, it may lessen your sentence.’

Adam shifts in his chair as Lily’s eyes bore into his. ‘Don’t say anything Adam. Not until we get a lawyer.’

‘Sure. You can play that card but like I said, help us and it will be better for you,’ the boss pushes as he continues to speak only to Adam.

‘Alright. It’s true but you don’t understand. We’re in love,’ Adam starts. Lily places her head in her hands as Adam spills the beans on their plans. He tells us where Jimmy and Kiara are and when we get to the tin shed on a pig farm that belongs to one of Adam’s university friends, the couple are bound together and heavily sedated. We pick up Adam’s friend and discover the plan was to chop them up and feed them to the pigs. Apparently, pigs will eat anything. You learn something new every day!

Three months later I’ve just finished interviewing witnesses at a gruesome murder scene and, as usual, I’m starving. Before I realise it, I’ve pulled up outside Tastes of Asia. A young woman greets me at the door and escorts me to a cosy table by the window. Kiara’s serving other customers but recognises me immediately and totters over in her killer red stilettos. After almost suffocating me in an enormous hug, she tells me I can order whatever I’d like from the menu. It’s on the house. Kiara recommends the dumplings as a starter and the Kung Pao Chicken for the main. When she asks if I’d like rice to go with the chicken I reply, ‘Actually, can I have noodles with that?’

Cool climate wine experiences

Rutherglen in Victoria and Orange in New South Wales have two things in common, both are home to beautiful farming country and superb cool climate wines. Orange has an elevation of around 860 metres, making it one of the highest regional towns in Australia and Rutherglen is just a two-hour drive from Mount Buller in the Victorian Alps.

When you arrive at Rutherglen you are greeted with a sign that cheekily claims, “Sydney may have a nice harbour, but Rutherglen has a great port” and I have to agree that their ports and fortified wines are some of the best I’ve tasted. One of my favourite spots is Cofield Wines and their Topaque is delicious, as are their reds with the Shiraz and Durif my picks. Cofield has a relaxed, family and pet-friendly vibe. Large chess sets and games dot the lawns, along with ample seating for small or large groups. The restaurant serves up fantastic, French-inspired meals and I heartily recommend the beef cheeks while my husband loved the duck.

The Buller family have been a wine-making force in Rutherglen for more than a hundred years and there are several Buller vineyards to visit including the newcomer, Dinah Wines. Operated by Richard Buller the cellar door has only been open for a few months, but the wine is already making an impact. I’ve said before that tasting wine is just one part of the experience, the other is the conversations you have with the winemakers and staff. We love going to small and new wineries and chatting with them about their journey, family history and passion for viticulture. When we visited Dinah it was a freezing day and we were welcomed into the cellar door to warm up by the fire while sampling the wine and chatting with Richard and his team. Dinah is named after Richard’s grandfather, Reginald’s favourite draft horse, Dinah. A photo of Reginald ploughing the land with Dinah adorns the wall in the big green shed that overlooks picturesque paddocks and vines. My favourite drops were the Prosecco, the Estate grown Shiraz, Clio 2013 Reisling and the Caldwell Tawny. We also ventured to Buller Wines, All Saints Winery and Pfeiffer Wines but ran out of time to return to other favourites – Chambers, Scion and Campbells. Every year Rutherglen hosts special events such as the Taste of Rutherglen in mid-March, the Roam Rutherglen Winery Walkabout held over the June long weekend and a new event, the Dark Side of Wine in August. These events are very popular so book tickets and accommodation well in advance. As we had our fur baby with us, we stayed at a lovely dog friendly AirBnB within walking distance of pubs, restaurants and shops.

Like Rutherglen, Orange is a favourite regional weekend get-away for my husband and me and we spent some time at wineries ahead of attending the Orange Readers and Writers Festival which is part of the Orange Fire Festival that runs through August. Only a few hours from Canberra and Sydney, there has been an explosion in Orange wineries in recent years. Our favourite is Word of Mouth, where Peter and Deb will happily chat about their wine, their community and life in general and they have a reputation for excellence amongst their peers. Dog friendly, this small cellar door punches above its weight and we always have a fabulous experience. Peter shared his newly bottled 1k 2023 Rose with us, and while he suggested it would taste even better after some time on the shelf, I loved it. I also enjoyed their 2023 Reisling, and the 2022 Chardonnay, Shiraz and Manseng.

We also visited Phillip Shaw Wines, a pretty vineyard that is a popular venue for weddings and events. To celebrate winning the Banjo Paterson Writing prize, my husband booked dinner at the beautiful Borrodell Vineyard restaurant, Sisters Rock. The views are spectacular, with the restaurant and cellar door overlooking the city of Orange and the surrounding countryside. Borrodell also offers boutique accommodation or take your pick from several AirBnBs, Turner’s Vineyard or you can stay at the historic Hotel Canobolas.

While the cost of living crisis is forcing many of us to stay at home and prioritise our spending, if you can afford a weekend away why not explore some of our beautiful regional areas like Rutherglen and Orange? You won’t regret it.

Photos (Top L to R): Rutherglen, Victoria – Cofield’s cellar door, Pfeiffer Wines and with Richard Buller at Dinah Wines. All Saints vineyard and exterior cellar door and lunch at Cofield. Dessert at Cofield, Ki our kelpie enjoying the grounds at Buller Wines and the cellar door at Buller Wines. All Saints cellar door and Bad Country out and about at Phillip Shaw Winery, Orange.

Orange, NSW – Phillip Shaw winery and welcome to Wiradjuri Country. Dinner at Sister’s Rock restaurant, Borrodell Vineyard and the cellar door at Word of Mouth Wines. The grounds at Word of Mouth Wines and the chocolate and licorice cake at Sister’s Rock was divine.