Cooper knows her future sister-in-law is innocent, so when the police arrest her for the murder, the Bible study group must step in to catch the real killer and prevent a grave injustice. Following a twisted trail of clues that leads to a hit-and-run driver, a homeless veteran, and a park full of suspects who may hold more secrets than solutions, Cooper must hold firm to her spiritual convictions before an innocent woman faces a conviction of a more earthly nature.
Cooper knows her future sister-in-law is innocent, so when the police arrest her for the murder, the Bible study group must step in to catch the real killer and prevent a grave injustice. Following a twisted trail of clues that leads to a hit-and-run driver, a homeless veteran, and a park full of suspects who may hold more secrets than solutions, Cooper must hold firm to her spiritual convictions before an innocent woman faces a conviction of a more earthly nature.
Overview
Cooper knows her future sister-in-law is innocent, so when the police arrest her for the murder, the Bible study group must step in to catch the real killer and prevent a grave injustice. Following a twisted trail of clues that leads to a hit-and-run driver, a homeless veteran, and a park full of suspects who may hold more secrets than solutions, Cooper must hold firm to her spiritual convictions before an innocent woman faces a conviction of a more earthly nature.
Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940170262182 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Tantor Audio |
| Publication date: | 05/31/2016 |
| Series: | Hope Street Church Mysteries , #5 |
| Edition description: | Unabridged |
Related Subjects
Read an Excerpt
László
The Gentleman from Budapest
By STEVE KOSSA
Balboa Press
Copyright © 2014 Steve KossaAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4525-1285-3
CHAPTER 1
László's Death
During my life I have seen tears of hope, joy, love, fear, pain and sorrow ... László
László (Leslie), my father died in February 1983, quite suddenly from a heart attack. I remember the time and the circumstances quite clearly, as it was just before the commencement of semester one at the Institute of Technology (now the University), and I was preparing my lectures and making final preparations for the influx of new students. Hurriedly I made arrangements to fly from Launceston in Tasmania to Mackay in Queensland as soon as possible.
It was a highly emotive time with all sorts of thoughts flying around in my head. As a matter of fact it had been only a few weeks since I had returned from spending my summer vacation with my family in North Queensland, juggling my time between my sister, Eva, and her family and my folks who also lived in Mackay. Eva and Peggy my step mother handled the funeral arrangements from that end. I was asked by my father to act as executor of his will, and to notify a small number of people in Hungary.
In retrospect I still find it somewhat unnerving when I recall the last day of my vacation in Mackay, and the last living encounter with my dad ... I firmly believe that my father had pre- empted his death. It was on this occasion that he asked if I would act as executor, and handed me a personally typewritten list of names of relatives and their addresses in Hungary, in the event that he died!
Of course I said that I would, and tried to assure him that he still had a lot of living to do and should not think of death. I really could not entertain the idea of him dying! He to me had always been a mountain of a man – a pillar of strength, and invincible. He had been through so much in his life and had so many obstacles and hardships to overcome. I suppose time catches up with us all and life experiences pay their toll on health and zest for life.
At this time I was choked with emotion. I held back tears, (or at least tried to ...), and had to occasionally swallow in order to control my dry mouth and that sensation at the back of my throat.
My father had told me a great deal about his past and his many adventures and dark moments, but what he confided in me at this encounter revealed a deep secret from his past that absolutely floored me and shocked and stunned me to my core! It was a secret that I have never revealed, nor ever will
I arrived at Mackay airport. It was like stepping into an oven when I disembarked from the airplane. The temperature differential between Launceston and Mackay was quite substantial as was the humidity. My shirt stuck to my body as perspiration just poured off me.
My eyes did a quick scan around the arrival lounge in search of my sister who was to have met me ... but no sign anywhere. I then heard a familiar and somewhat eerie whistle that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge! It was a trademark whistle that my father had used to call my sister, his wife, or me. It was quite unique, and the sound was made by somehow holding the tongue on the hard palate as air passed through an opening to create the whistle. Surely it could not have been my father, I thought. Then, in a flash of recollection I remembered that my sister had painstakingly understudied this unique idiosyncrasy, and I had been completely taken in! I was met by my sister the day before the funeral. My sister and I embraced and sobbed quite uncontrollably, eventually regaining our composure. We had such a lot of shared memories and experiences.
Eva was very close to Dad and although at times they had their differences, inevitably they made up and followed one another all over Australia in order to live close by.
The day of the funeral had arrived. The funeral service was held in a Catholic church (Dad being a devout Roman Catholic). The coffin, although not over the top ornate, was nevertheless tastefully adorned with some tropical flowers and dignified. We each in turn viewed his mortal remains within the coffin.
László was dressed in his good suit (his only suit) and appeared at rest. His face looked relaxed and peaceful. The funeral house did a good job in toning down his usually red face that in the latter years of his life displayed quite a few ruptured smaller blood vessels, especially around this nose. Additionally many of his frown lines that reflected not only his age but also his hard life and character were less visually notable. Finally there was no more turmoil, anguish, hardship, torture. The top of his head still bore the scars where as a prisoner in a Russian gulag he had his skull fractured and smashed in from a punishing beating ... but now he was at peace.
Nobody other than family attended the funeral. My nieces, Karen and Sonia, and nephew Danny, (who was quite young at the time), were, as they loved their grandpa, visibly upset.
After the funeral we went back to Eva's house and recounted a few stories as we sat by the swimming pool and had some refreshments. My niece Sonia seemed more affected than we were aware. She didn't have much to say, but we knew that things were not right when she walked straight through a plate glass sliding door leading into the house! Fortunately she was not cut badly ... we were all relieved.
Of the funeral, I remember thinking that it's somewhat sad when I compare it to other funerals that I have attended, at which friends and acquaintances, as well as family, have filled the funeral parlor to capacity.
In László's case, he had only a few friends, and they were in other locations. He had only within the last year or two moved to Mackay to be closer to his daughter and grandchildren, and so he passed away without any fanfare.
Although I did not realize at the time, my father had been a great teacher – he had experienced much during his life, and had learnt more life lessons than most, managing to transmit many of his insights, ideas, attitudes and values to my sister and myself.
"The Gentleman from Budapest" was buried in Mackay cemetery in North Queensland. He was laid to rest in a land many thousands of kilometers from his birthplace in a country that adopted him giving both he and his family a home and opportunities for a good life, prosperity and political stability
Understanding László the man
"Remember the three R's ... Respect for self, Respect for others, Responsibility for all your actions." (unknown source)
In appearance László was average in height ... around 170cms. tall, and was stocky to overweight in build. Although his head was bald, pitted and scared on top, he had quite a healthy thick crop of greying hair above his ears and back of his head, which was cut short. He tended to carry his weight around his midsection and this was reflected in a protruding abdomen which was quite pronounced as he aged, and was there as a consequence of his love of wine and fine food, and held in place by his belt (which had extra holes drilled in it). As far as dress goes, he was modestly attired most of the time, and was not fussed with fashion, but erred on the side of comfort and practicality ... special occasions being the exception, when he would dress up in his Sunday best with shoes polished and his body smelling of "4711" au de Cologne.
He was mostly a jovial man who displayed at times a sense of humour, and loved to play practical jokes on his family ... such as hiding in a darkened corridor and then jumping out to scare you ... or counting the number of sneezes (aloud) in order to break an imaginary record (as he often did with my stepmother who held the family record of more than 15!)
There was also a darker side to László. He did have a quite ferocious temper that on rare occasions was displayed ... mostly after he had had a few too many drinks.
Both my sister and I have reflected on this aspect of his character, as we have both been beaten ... me for being insolent, with a slap across the face (that sent me reeling and counting stars), and Eva with a beating for spilling Indian ink on the carpet accidentally, whilst doing her homework.
To understand my father, László, one has to appreciate what it is to be "Hungarian", because his mannerisms, motivations, personality, customs, loves, eating habits and behaviour to a large extent were influenced by some interesting traits of a "national Hungarian character".
Although it is said that no two Hungarians are alike, they appear to be attracted by the magnetism of their common destinies. When in business Dad had many Hungarian friends or "cronies" who would visit, exchange a few greetings, have a drink, and go. Hungarians greet one another as do brothers, love to share a drink, laugh, sing, dance and discuss food and politics, and then go their separate ways. I recall, in Hobart, many such times when Dad would take us to functions at the Hungarian Australian club and I would watch him partake in these social activities. Generally speaking Australians claim equality, whereas Hungarians are proud to be different more so than others.
Hungarians speak a language and form a culture that is distinct and different from any other in the region. This for them is a source of pride. The language (of Finno-Ugrian classification) is like no other, and speakers like to boast that it ranks with Japanese and Arabic as amongst the world's most difficult. Being a well educated man, and living in Europe, László spoke not only Hungarian, but also German, French, as well as some Polish, Russian and other Slavic languages. He was also quite fluent (believe it or not) in Latin! It was not until he came to Australia that he spoke some English. This he spoke with a strong accent and never mastered till the day he died!
My father was a proud man. His country of origin, the country that gave him his education and youthful experiences, was situated in the Carpathian basin in Eastern Europe. The country has had a history of fighting off invaders such as Ghangis Khan, Attila the Hun, Slavic hordes, and Turks. It was the most eastern bastion of Christianity from where several Crusades were launched. It is a country that has been occupied by the Turks for about 150 years before eventually driving them out, then being treated as a vassal state by the Austrians (within the Austro-Hungarian empire). It is a country that has seen battle after battle and war after war. László knew his history well. He could quote inspirational Hungarian prose and recite works by famous poets ... Yes he was a proud man. His pride extended to Hungarian accomplishments in sports such as football, swimming, water polo, fencing and gymnastics.
I remember as a 12 year old sitting around a radio in Hobart (Tasmania) listening to a water polo commentary during the Melbourne Olympics in 1956. We did not own a TV set, so Dad bought a quite large short wave radio which not only received local broadcasts but could also be tuned to European stations in order that he could listen to some Hungarian news.
The Hungarian team was playing the Russian team, and Dad was on the edge of his seat very excited and emotionally shouting encouraging comments. The Melbourne Olympics were held at about the same time as the Hungarian uprising against Russian occupation, and so emotions reflected in that game of Water polo with wild play and blood being drawn as a consequence of frantic and retributive underwater encounters.
László also had pride in the fact that so many Hungarians have contributed in many ways in many countries (including Australia) to humanity, in areas of music, the arts, science, commerce and industry and creative inventions.
Hungary has a multi-ethnic origin, so no single epithet could describe a Hungarian ... however from a variety of ethnic backgrounds, and over many hundreds of years, they have developed a unique character. As did my father, many Hungarians still live by a medieval code of naïve chivalry. They have respect for women, ancestors and elders. Hungarians are family centered, and ancestor worshipping, and have pride in their conservative moral philosophy. Family was very important to Dad. He was most protective of both my sister and me, and loved us both. Eva, in particular he loved, and even when she had grown up leaving home and leading her own life, they were never far from each other residing in reasonable proximity.
László had no qualms in regards to showing affection in public. This to me in adulthood proved a source of embarrassment. I remember meetings and goodbyes at airports where he would give me big hugs and kiss me! I am not homophobic, but I guess it's a cultural thing ... perhaps being raised in Australia!
My dad considered honour as a virtue, and as many Hungarians, believed in God, miracles and beautiful useless ideals.
László had a love of food as do most Hungarians. Budapest was considered the Paris of Eastern Europe, and along the banks of the Danube can be found countless cafes and restaurants. For Dad, food was an important part of his life. I can recall numerous occasions in Australia when at restaurants I would squirm and go red with embarrassment when Dad would either ask to talk with the chef, or tell the waiter that the food was not real "goulash", or it was the wrong colour/flavour. Unfortunately much of Hungarian cuisine can have too much fat and sour cream, and so life expectancy for men in Hungary, up until quite recently, was only about 67 years ... very low by European standards.
For as long as I can remember Dad was a large man and overweight. László struggled with weight management. His body mass was about 16 stones (about 225lbs). Surprisingly, however, he was light on his feet, and at functions where there was dancing, he would be on his feet and one of the first on the dance-floor. In particular he enjoyed the Czardas, Tango, and the Waltz.
He loved his food, and he consumed a fair quantity of wine each week ... his justification, after eating fish, was that "the fish has to swim". He loved his food, and he loved his wine! On numerous occasions he would go on diets – some successful, others not so. Success for him was reflected in the number of extra holes he made in his leather belt, as this he proudly would show, was how much his midsection (abdomen) had gone down in size. As for exercise in conjunction with diet, well, that was always circumvented! ... Put in the too hard basket! I did speak to him regarding his weight and how it could impact on his health and mobility – to which he replied: "I am an old man. I have lived a full life. I do not smoke or have many other vices. Let me eat and drink as I don't have many other pleasures left in life, or things to look forward to ..."
He was, even when I was a teenager, very strong and powerful. I was into weight training, gymnastics and wrestling, and on occasions Dad and I would have a friendly frolic either on the grass, or indoors on the lounge room carpet. I suppose that these mêlées were to assert dominance or to establish the pecking order in the household ... Inevitably he would win. I could not match his strength. He would simply get me into a bear hug or a submission hold on the ground and sit on me! Mind you ... his endurance or stamina was poor and so he could not continue intense physical activity for long. Come to think of it, Mum was also a powerful woman ... her party trick was to simply lift people up off the ground and place them on the table.
My father was proud of his family. He would show us off at every opportunity to his friends and in fact to anyone interested.
Even when we were very young he would have my sister and me hanging, swinging and climbing performing gymnastics. He constructed a horizontal bar and had a hanging rope in the backyard of each house we lived in. Every morning, without fail, we had to train for about half an hour, doing some strength and coordination work in the form of chin ups, rope climbs and horizontal bar routines. Eva (my sister) and I had our routines and sequences all down to pat, and we were asked to show these to Dad's friends frequently!
Incidentally, that was not all that he was proud of ... we also, from tender ages, had to show off to his Hungarian friends, some of our comprehensive Hungarian swearing vocabulary that we had learnt by heart. (The swearing in Hungarian is quite colourful and graphically descriptive, and always resulted in raucous laughter from the listening audience, I am now embarrassed to say!)
(Continues...)
Excerpted from László by STEVE KOSSA. Copyright © 2014 Steve Kossa. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.