Talloola is the little town I created, and have set my Cosy Murder Mystery series in. At the moment I have the first book in the series, “Winds of Death At Talloola”, partially written, and I have book titles of story ideas for many more. I have characters, plots, I’m just having a bit of trouble getting enthused enough in the idea of actually writing this first book, to sit down and do it.
The image is of what the road from Talloola to Rabbaba may look like …
Maybe my problem is I’m worried I’m not able to write a good murder mystery. Maybe I’m not organised enough, inspired enough, or who knows. But if I am to become known as both a poet, and a writer of Cosy Murder Mysteries, which I definitely do want, well, I have to get those Cosy little Murder Mysteries written.
Yesterday, to try to get the inner enthusiasm happening, I put out a call in a post, on this blog, and then I finished off writing a short story, set in my book setting, Talloola, which I had said in that post, I would post on the blog today, once the story was edited and as good as I could make it. No-one dies in this short story, but the question of whether or not to kill someone is definitely mentioned.
So here, now, is that short story, I hope readers enjoy it, and if they don’t that they let me know. Either way, feedback is what every writer needs, if they wish to get better. Thank you readers, please let me know what you think about this short story!
Oh, and this is a story for the grown ups, not for children …
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Spit it Out
A Talloola Tale
A man who thinks all women are the same, except for hair colour, and other items of interest to a red blooded bloke, might be surprised that they are in fact quite different. And when Mr Jerome Van Schitz moved into the small town of Talloola, he assumed his wolfish good looks, and charming ways would lead on to many a sexy time with the women (of a certain age), around town, and beyond.
Jerome had his fun times, yes, for a while, confident the women, once scorned by him as they became old hat, would be too embarrassed by the things they’d done and allowed him to do. They’d been OK at the beginning, but quickly became not as exciting to him, and less inclined to cater to his sometimes what one woman told him were rather distasteful whims.
As far as Jerome knew, women were jealous and quite stupid receptacles for sperm, his sperm, in a wide variety of different places and spaces. He’d spent plenty of money in this little town and he was going to get his money’s worth, compliments of these aging and desperate ladies.
He’d joked with a few of them, at times, about the Cuntry Women’s Association, laughing at the ‘o’ missing in the work when he wrote it down. But his rather slack variety of lovemaking, had left too many of his conquests, also lacking an ‘o’ and when dissatisfied women sit and chat, there is no telling quite how far their discussions might go.
Jerome appeared to consider himself quite the man about town, and was also setting himself up as a committed community person, signing up for the Talloola Lions Club, and the Football Club too. He drew a line at joining the Talloola Bocce Club, but did express an interest quite early at the possibility of joining TOG, the Talloola Ornithological Group. His application had been submitted, then it sat in the secretary’s in basket, while she kept an eye on him, to see whether he was good enough for the group.
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Old Gert had very high standards, and while the TOG was never going to be a record breaking group, in terms of unusual birds spotted, they were good at sometimes seeing birds that were unusual, and interesting to those who liked such things. Gert was out along the Talloola to Wellston Road one day, not that long after the application from this Mr Van Schitz had landed in her post box for the TOG, and she was horrified to see the lack of care this man took when driving his car. He seemed to take actual delight in running into birds, judging by the look on his face, as he sped by, swerving to hit the young magpie Gert had been observing, crushing the bird, and leaving its parents distraught.
This was an awful thing to do. Accidentally hitting and killing the birds that were on the road, that happened, it was a sad fact of rural life, but hitting birds on purpose, that was terrible. A person who would do such a thing was certainly not a suitable person to join the Talloola Ornithological Group, and such awful behaviour would not be put up with! Gert’s back was up, and she would not rest until this man was shown the error of his ways. At first the punishment she’d thought of had seemed enough, but very soon merely refunding this man’s membership fee, and writing letter to him to explain the reasons for non-acceptance was proven to be inadequate.
The talk around the table at the various group meetings Gert attended was that this creep was certainly dangerous to the human birds too, the mature ones who he aimed ‘his tackle’ at, leaving many dissatisfied ‘older birds’, who cheeped and chirped, and told their own stories to other ‘chicks’ and soon enough the man was certainly the talk of the town, in more ways than he’d imagined.
So at this special meeting of Talloola Ornithological Group, at the Tallola Hotel, it was action time! The group members were all ready to ‘get’ this man who had done much damage to that actual bird, yes, but to all of them too, to their damaged sense of self, and their self respect. As ladies confessed some details of what had happened to them at the dirty hands of Mr Van Schitz, other ladies felt freer with their own confessions, and the details become ever more salacious … Gert pretended she didn’t know what some of the ladies meant, but she wasn’t fooling anyone.
‘What does he drink, does anyone know?’ I asked. I wasn’t meaning that someone could put poison in his drink, not really, but it would give the ladies something to think about, until a better idea came up. As the Talloola Town Co-ordinator, it was my job to make life better for the residents of Talloola, not kill them off.
No-one could remember, so Fran spoke up. ‘Well, Meredith,’ she told me, and others present, ‘he buys Southern Comfort bottles from the hotel, but I’ve never actually served a drink to the man, just the bottles. And the creep always says, when he buys the bottles, he was getting some comfort for his loveless ladies! As if he was some kind of gift to them! Yuck!’
Everyone knew Gert seemed to know a lot about what people ate and drank, and things were getting desperate, so they looked to her. If Gert didn’t have any idea, on what to do, it was going to mean checking with that damned copper. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for another run in with him again, just yet, so I continued listening, to hear what Gert may be able to offer.
Gert shook her head though. ‘I’ve never seen him drinking anything, ladies. Everyone else is always scoffing down their beers and soft drinks, but I haven’t see that man drink anything at call. When I’ve offered him a drink at events, he’s always turned down my attentions regarding good and drink, and, if I may say, has always been most rude about it.’
For dear Gert to make such a comment, this Jerome fellow must have been very rude indeed. Usually, Gert would simply allow bad words to flow on past her, and not make a fuss. It looked like the time for that was over. I didn’t like this creep either, and as he was a blow in, from out of town, I felt no loyalty toward him. He could head out of Talloola, and never come back, as far as I was concerned!
I told Gert that, and she looked around. The small circle of ladies sitting around us, were listening intently to our words. Looking over toward the bar, there was the barmaid, Fran, wiping glasses, but listening too, and it appeared the only people in the Talloola hotel were women, no men at all, and I got the feeling it was coming to the time for something big. I kept on listening, this was my town too, now.
One of the women mentioned she’d put in a report previously to the police, about the Van Schitz fellow, but it had been rejected. I wasn’t surprised, and the general feeling certainly seemed that if the stupid police officer of ours wouldn’t take action, we ladies of the Talloola Ornithilogical Group would have to do the job instead.
These feisty chooks had an abundance of flock loyalty, and no newcomer rooster was going to get away with ruffling their feathers like. It seemed they felt the ridiculous little man should cluck off, and stay there. It had become obvious to all, by the look of it, this stupid man hadn’t taken any of the many hints about unwanted behavious he’d been given, so now the women ‘been done wrong’ had decided it was time to flock together, and rid Tallooola of this invader.
Gert had been far too old to have attracted the interest of the Jerk, as Jerome Van Schitz had been nick-named, but while she hadn’t been harassed sexually by him, she had heard all of the news, all of the details, even those salacious tales. A former nurse, and maker of various potions from her garden, Gert knew many things, and the ladies in her circle knew she never betrayed their secrets. She’d been there, done that, and knew the strength in sticking together, especially when times seemed to be at their darkest moments.
I was eager to hear what was going to happen to this horrid man. I’d not been a victim to him, I suspect I may have seemed too confident in my rights, and what was and wasn’t allowed in social situations. ‘So what are you going to do?’ I asked.
Gert glanced at me and shook her head. ‘In your position, I suggest it’s best if you don’t know, Meredith.’
The other ladies present nodded their agreement, and then Fran appeared at our table, laden down with a large tray of cakes.
‘Hop into it ladies,’ she said, and so we did.
‘I think I’ll stay, for sure, If I may,’ I said. ‘In with a penny, in with a pound.’
Gert looked closely at me, and must have sensed my resolve. She smiled. Tensions eased, smiles came back all around, instead of scowls, and so the meeting progressed into an afternoon tea, and the problem of what to do with, or to, Jerome Van Schitz seemed to have vanished. Only for a short while though, it seemed.
Barbara, my next door neighbour was the first to take the topic up again. ‘This is a secret meeting, we all agree on that, don’t we?’ she said looking around at us all.
There were many nodding heads, Barbara squinted her eyes, seeming to be thinking. ‘Murder, that’s such a big thing, right?’
Many nodding heads, again.
Gert agreed, with him not drinking, poison might be too much of a problem anyway, she said.
‘OK, how about gelding him then? That’ll slow him down a bit.’
The usually meek Barbara looked at me with an evil looking grin. ‘Castration, that’s what gelding is, Meredith, if you didn’t know.’
The room erupted with cheers. My eyes widened. I knew what gelding was, I’d actually witnessed the action on a lovely Arab colt, back when I was having a stay over at my friend Emma’s house when we were kids. Her dad, who was a horse breeder, as well as crop farmer, used to ‘deal with’ any colts that weren’t needed for breeding, but were destined to ultimately be nice quiet geldings.
I took a deep breath, about to ask some questions, but Barbara was already talking.
‘My husband, I know some of you don’t think much of him, and I don’t either sometimes, to tell the truth. But he does have an impressive collection of knives. Sometimes I think if I was a knife instead of his wife, I’d get more affection from the stupid man!’ Barbara gave an “oh well” kind of shrug, and we all laughed, but kindly.
‘How sharp are they? But how, and who? And where? And when?’ The questions came thick and fast, Gert listening intently, with a few questions of her own. It seemed nobody had taken this decision to any kind of a conclusion.
Then the woman I didn’t really know at all well, cleared her throat, she wasn’t actually sitting with us, but standing in between the bar and our tables. It was Ruby from Rabbaba, and that was I all I knew of her. I’d seen her walking her little dog along the Talloola to Rabbaba turn off, many times. She was one of those women whose age was impossible to tell. Weatherworn, and not caring about makeup, or the hairdresser either, by the look of her, but very trim, and with a proudly upright stance.
Anyway, we all looked at Ruby, and waited. Gert got up, to stand next to Ruby to offer her support, I expect, Gert more hunched over than the other woman, but with her own air of pride in herself too.
She looked up at Ruby, ‘I hadn’t realised you were even here dear, but please, tell us your plan, we’re needing someone to take charge of this, I think.’ She looked around the room, and all were nodding, keen to hear about how and what might happen to the odious Jerk VanSchitz.
Ruby may be receiving lots of attention from this group of ladies now, but I suspect some rancour from the past still stuck, and the woman shook her head.
‘I’m not actually telling,’ she said, ‘because I don’t really trust any of you lot, even though I know the pain you feel. Us women, we all know that pain, either personally or amongst our friends. Been there done, that, and never again. You all keep watch, and you know what, sometime soon, The Jerk will get what he deserves! And now that’s all sorted out, it’s goodbye from Ruby, and maybe on a Tuesday, it will happen. Seems appropriate!’ and then she left the hotel, and was gone.
Everyone had something to say, and I couldn’t follow any of it, but my brain finally latched onto something, as I heard a bark, a yap really, and then an anguished shout. I called out loud, over the rabble, ‘Hey, but today is Tuesday, come on ladies, outside, quick!’
We raced out of the dining area of the hotel, by either available door, and headed to where the shout had turned into moaning and groaning. The pained noise was coming from a man lying on the ground near hotel, between it, and the the War Memorial.
He was clutching at himself, “down there” and I realised it was the very man we’d been discussing. Gert hurried across the road to the St John ambulance office, and very quickly there was a group of officers tending to the man. I noticed Ruby hadn’t actually left the area, but was here still. Without saying anything though, she turned and left. Or she tried to, but her little dog seemed to be choking on something.
‘Come on little guy, spit it up,’ she told him, and gave him a firm slap on his little back. Something flew out of the dog’s mouth, and we gathered around to try to see what it was, ignoring the man who was getting the medical attention.
As I stepped close to the dog, I just heard the aggravated voice of one of the ambulance people, who said, ‘Well I can’t do anything for you if you won’t let me see anything, just let go of yourself.’
It was a female ambulance officer, I suspect a male one may have been more understanding, but it was difficult to feel sympathy for someone who had hurt so many people. I looked from the injured man and the people grouped around him, to the women and the little dog, which I realised was the little Jack Russell cross I’d seen many times, walking with Ruby. The dog was grumbling at the women, guarding his treasure which looked to me very much like one of those little cocktail frankfurts, with tomato sauce.
‘Ruby, quick, can you grab that?’ I said, realising what I was looking at, but she grinned at me and looked at her dog. ‘OK, Dinner!’ she said in a high pitched voice, and the dog chomped down and swallowed his prize.
I noticed one of the ambulance officers, who I recognised from her work at the Talloola Oval during the footy season had been watching the dog, and saw what had happened. An older lady, a local, she had a very satisfied look on her face, and I then heard her say to the patient, ‘No, we won’t be able to sew that back on, even if we wanted to, sorry.’
I’ve never seen or heard someone saying sorry, and looking so not sorry, in my life …
The End
Carolyn Cordon - Creative 