Too Pretty For The Hills

  TOO PRETTY

  FOR THE HILLS

  ALES MATKO

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2019 by Ales Matko

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.

  Amazon and the Amazon logo are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  Edited by David Greenwald

  Cover design by Mastah Killah 187

  TOO PRETTY

  FOR THE HILLS

  ALES MATKO

  Contents

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  Prologue:

  The night was dark, illuminated only by the parked car’s headlights, and Liz, half-naked, dashed through the tall grass, tears running down her cheeks.

  She felt sick - sick of herself and sick of the world for what it had allowed to happen. She was drunk but the outrage and the adrenaline was sobering her up fast, though she didn’t scream. No-one was going to hear her anyway, not out here.

  Reaching the end of the clearing, she ran past some oak trees and continued her escape into the thicket, stopping only when there was not a drop of fuel left in her tank.

  Then she waited and listened, gasping and straining her eyes to see. The dark shrubbery around her rustled in the wind and her heartbeat was deafening, like the banging of some foreboding tribal drum.

  Without warning and seemingly out of nowhere, she was hit with a stone on the side of her head. She collapsed, only feeling the pain of this first blow for an instant. But to those that followed she was oblivious.

  1

  Somewhere in the German Alps, 1985

  The dingy green bus with Herman Tours on its side was slowly climbing up the mountain road. The shuttle honked as it passed a couple of farmers on foot; the driver must have known them, as did some of the passengers, mostly locals, waving at them, the farmers responding in kind.

  Dora Lustig, a brunette in her late twenties, was leaning her head on the big side window. She didn’t know who the farmers were. And how could she, having just traveled nearly four hours from the town of Immstadt with a change of buses at the bottom of the foothills.

  She was holding a pencil in one hand and resting a notebook on her leg, looking out for the next town sign she could cross off her list, counting down the names of the hamlets to her final destination.

  ''Wow, Butterflies! They’re beautiful!''

  Dora turned her head, following the voice. A small girl was sitting on the opposite row.

  ''Why thank you,'' Dora smiled.

  ''Can I go look?'' the little girl asked her mother, and quickly went over to the brunette and sat down next to her, admiring the doodles of butterflies that Dora had been making while staring out at the passing landscape. ''Where did you learn to draw so well, Miss?''

  ''I’m an art major.''

  The expression of wonder and admiration in the little girl’s eyes made Dora both proud and sad. In the last four years she had held several low-paying jobs, none of which had included anything even remotely related to painting. Artists were not particularly well off in the current economy.

  ''So pretty. Look at those wings, it’s like they’re moving ... I wish I knew how to draw like that.''

  ''You know what?'' Dora said, tearing the butterfly-covered page out of the notebook. ''Here. You can have it.''

  ''You mean it?''

  The child took the piece of paper with shaky hands.

  ''Are you a tourist?'' asked the girl’s mother, an authentic farm girl - body like a root, braded golden hair, freckles and even a tiny bit of stubble above her upper lip.

  ''Believe it or not, I’m visiting for a job interview,'' Dora responded.

  ''As a nanny?''

  ''Yes, as a matter of fact. How did you know?''

  ''Miss, there are three things to do out here in the hills. Join the lumber game, do farm work, or raise a family. But you don’t exactly strike me as a lumberjack or a farmer.''

  Dora smirked. She had the body of a model - almost boyishly slender, wearing skinny jeans and a red tweed pullover, nails polished, a touch of makeup, and meticulously styled brown hair down to her shoulders, none of which suggested any familiarity with physical labor.

  ''Where are you from?'' the girl's mother asked.

  ''Immstadt. Do you know it?''

  ''Is that the town with all those factories?''

  ''Sadly, yes.''

  ''We see it on TV sometimes. Anyway, Frida and I will be rooting for you, Miss. Which part of the area is it that you are visiting again? I get around quite a lot and may very well know the family that is looking for help.''

  ''Graufirst, if I am not mistaken.''

  The woman's demeanor changed as soon as Dora said the name. ''Come, Frida, let’s leave this nice woman alone. We've bothered her enough.'' She reached for her daughter’s hand and yanked her back to her seat.

  Passengers got off at each stop, while only an occasional one entered. Finally there were only two names remaining on Dora’s list of villages, and now she was the only passenger left on the bus.

  Travelling onward through the sunny hills, she could not help but feel a slight sense of dread. The very fact that she was a city girl alone in the mountains for the first time, heading into the unknown, was already enough to provoke anxiety, and the bus driver’s frequent gazing at her in the rear-view mirror did not exactly help put her mind at ease.

  2

  After the last stop, the drive to Graufirst took a good ten minutes along cracked and bumpy roads with beautiful vantage spots every here and there down into idyllic and seemingly uninhabited meadows. To Dora, it looked like the edge of civilization.

  The bus finally stopped and she snapped out of her reverie. She didn’t see any houses, but there was a big wooden board on the side of the road that said Welcome to Graufirst.

  ''Have we arrived?'' she asked the driver.

  ''We’re in Graufirst, if that's what you mean.''

  With a medium-sized travellers bag over her shoulder, Dora exited the bus, the warm touch of the summer sun caressing her pale skin and the nature in full bloom filling her nostrils.

  She noticed there were three other women waiting at the little bus stop and one could immediately tell that they were not from around here. City girls. Boarding the shuttle, they eyed the new arrival with long faces.

  Dora was sure she knew why they were here. Of course it was unrealistic to expect that she would be the only one interested in the job, despite it having been advertised only in a small paper called Good Morning, Immstadt - at least as far as she knew. But then again, the three were leaving, so Dora took that as a good sign - provided some fourth girl hadn't already landed the position.

  This last thought made her quicken her step as she left the bus stop and headed down the asphalt road that appeared to descend into the hamlet through the canopy overhead.

  Graufirst gave the impressio
n of a backwater settlement, a destination overrun by time, but in a good way. It was a sort of level-grounded hollow, surrounded by massive wooded hills and imposing rock formations.

  As Dora slowly reached the more densely populated area, she concluded that gardening must be the residents' hobby as many lots either had an abundance of flowering pods, or were orchards or gardens.

  Some of the houses stood on higher ground and some were right down by the road. Oddly enough, they seemed to be one of two types, either well preserved with well-kept lawns, or overgrown, boarded up and covered in graffiti as if abandoned. But either way, they were all very colorful.

  ''Good morning. Could you please tell me where the Dietrich family lives?'' Dora asked a local woman who was weeding her garden in front of one of the nicer houses.

  The woman pointed, giving a couple of simple-to-follow instructions, and Dora thanked her as she walked off in that direction.

  All in all, the residents seemed nice, mostly simple-minded and friendly country folks. For the most part, they greeted the new face in their midst as she passed by, and one young boy even went as far as to take off his straw hat and bow theatrically before laughing and running away.

  A few minutes later Dora arrived at an attractive looking house painted in gentle orange with a stronger hue on the roof. On the upper floor it had a balcony full of blossoming azaleas and delphiniums. Also, a small orchard stretched along the side of the lot.

  She opened the door of the white garden fence and headed down the paved path and across a flawlessly mowed lawn toward the house. But before she could reach it, a voice spoke up:

  ''Can I help you?''

  She stopped, shaded her eyes from the bright sun and looked around, only then noticing the woman who was sitting in the orchard on a small pavilion swing.

  ''Good morning. Is this the Dietrich residence?''

  ''It is, yes.''

  ''My name is Dora. I called yesterday, about the job interview.''

  ''Well of course honey, the job interview!''

  The woman stood up from the swing and came out from under the apple trees. She was a heavyset, big-chested Slavic-looking woman with an almost comedically large perm and wearing a red dress with a long skirt.

  ''Greta Dietrich,'' she introduced herself and shook Dora’s hand, her grip warm and very strong.

  ''Dora Lustig, very nice to meet you. Has the position been filled yet? Am I too late?''

  ''No deary, it hasn't,'' the woman replied with a warm smile, giving her visitor the once-over. ''I did a couple of interviews this morning already but all of the applicants were a disappointment. Tell me, though, sweety, did you travel here okay?''

  She walked around Dora, examining her as if this were an interview for a modeling agency.

  ''It was quite a pleasant journey, yes,'' Dora mumbled, slightly confused by the inspection, although at the same time relieved to hear that the position was still vacant. ''I took the shuttle.''

  ''Herman Tours?''

  ''Yes.''

  ''I see. Do you smoke?''

  ''No.''

  ''Neither do I. Such a nasty habit, if you ask me. Drink?''

  ''Only around the holidays,'' Dora said with a slight blush.

  Greta laughed and patted her on the back. ''As do I. Only we have quite a few holidays around here it seems. Always someone’s special day. Well, I think we can finally cancel the ad in the paper now. I’m pretty sure I’ve just found what I was looking for. Consider yourself hired.''

  ''You mean it? Just like that?''

  ''Well of course, there is no need to talk until our tongues drop off. I'd have to be blind not to see you’re a delightful person that’s probably also great with kids. You’ve got that - how should I put it? - that maternal spark. Unless of course you have any reservations about taking the job?''

  Dora blushed. ''None whatsoever.''

  After saying a few words about the salary, which seemed more than fair to Dora, Greta patted her on the back, then held her hand and took her around the lot, cheerfully and also rather loudly and theatrically talking about life in the countryside.

  ''It is so much better than the city, dear, much calmer, you’ll see! So very peaceful, and oh, do the kids love it! I have three of them, three little monsters! But I think you’ll get along handsomely.''

  She lowered her voice somewhat when some people on the street stopped and glanced over at them.

  ''You see, honey, they’re growing up so fast and I figured I’d hire a nanny to help me unburden a bit, but there aren’t any good local sitters available, believe it or not. Young women here have enough worry with their own children, and I wouldn’t trust just some teenage girl with mine. That’s why I asked a friend to put an add in the paper. And I knew the instant I saw you that you were the girl I wanted. Isn’t that funny, dear? I just knew!''

  ''Well thanks for the vote of confidence. I will certainly try my hardest not to let you down, miss Dietrich.''

  ''Please, honey, none of that ‘miss Dietrich’ stuff here. Just call me Greta.''

  ''OK, Greta. Understood.''

  They stopped by the flower beds on the backside of the lot. By Greta's own admission, hers were the prettiest in all of Graufirst.

  ''They do look beautiful, miss Di... I mean Greta.''

  ''Thank you, sweetie. Oh, and here's Adolf.''

  Adolf was a massive St. Bernard lying on his side in the shade of a small inflatable castle for kids, and had his lungs not been moving, one could easily have assumed he was dead. He did not bother opening his eyes when Greta whistled to get his attention, but his breathing pattern changed, suggesting he might have registered something.

  ''He knows I’m still cross with him. He lies here during the day acting all harmless and humble but come nighttime he'll get into my flower beds and dig them up, night after night. I’ve tried peppering them, I’ve tried disciplining him, but to no avail. Which reminds me, honey. I would greatly appreciate if you could also take the dog for a walk every day, preferably late in the afternoon, as a part of your job. The longer the better, so he gets nice and tuckered out, since that's the only way I know to spare my poor flowers.''

  She poked at the big St. Bernad with her foot, but the animal didn't budge.

  The back door swung open and a trio of small kids came running out laughing. All three were blond, and their hair shone brightly in the strong sun.

  ''And here are my little rascals,'' Greta said proudly. One of them hid under her red skirt and was now peeking at the visitor from the folds of the fabric - a little boy, one of two that looked almost completely alike.

  ''Emil, get out from under there! Dora, these are my children Emil, Anne and Thomas. Well, kids, meet your new nanny.''

  They were looking at her with big round eyes.

  ''Hello, children. I’m Dora. I hope we will be very good friends.''

  At their mother’s exhortation, they shook hands with her, and Dora made her hand into a bug and started tickling the boys, which sent them into peals of laughter. As she shook hands with Anne, she noticed that the girl was left-handed.

  ''You’re a leftie?'' Dora asked. ''Well then that makes two of us.''

  ''Look at all of you already hitting it off,'' Greta mused and stroked Anne’s hair. She was the oldest and tallest of the three, and looked to be about ten years old, while the boys seemed about three years younger. ''Now how about you meet the man of the house, Dora?''

  Greta ushered her inside the house.

  ''Is it safe to leave them out by themselves, miss Dietrich?''

  ''Please, dear, it's Greta. And to answer your question, of course. As you'll find out yourself, Graufirst is a small and close community with everyone looking after each other - nothing like the city. Your job won’t be particularly difficult, as you’ll see. Participate and supervise the kids’ play, help them read and do math, take them around the town on a walk and to the playground, help them with their washing, and when they run out of gas tuck them in in the eve
ning. You think you’ll be up to it, honey?''

  ''Of course. I have quite a lot of experience with babysitting, actually. I’ve often helped my friend with ...''

  Greta didn’t let her finish. ''Very good, dear, very good,'' she said. ''This is the living room. Nothing to write home about, but still nice and comfy. And here’s where we dine.''

  The interior was cozy enough, though the wooden furniture seemed somewhat shabby, and the small-town charm was accentuated by the occasional polyester throw rug and warm-colored walls, and the collection of pictures of a happy family in the living room. A bit stuffy perhaps, but overall the place gave the impression of homeliness.

  The ‘tour’ of the ground floor was short, as it was a moderately small house, and it ended in the kitchen, which was filled with the sounds and smells of a lunch in preparation.

  ''Dora, this is my husband, Errol. Errol, meet our new nanny.''

  Errol was a roly-poly man who looked all the more so in an apron. He had a good-natured smile constantly cutting into his puffy cheeks, small and warm blue eyes like a friendly cartoon character, and short blonde hair of the same hue as that of his children.

  ''You look like you've never seen a man in an apron, Miss,'' he smiled, and instead of shaking her hand embraced her in a hug. ''Dora, was it? Well, I’m glad you've joined us. This was getting to be a bit of an ordeal. Greta went to a lot of trouble to find a suitable nanny. Let’s see, today I am already halfway through cooking, but tomorrow I'll fix something that you want. How does that sound, Miss Dora?''

  ''Please, just Dora.''

  Holding her shoulders he kept looking at her with delight as if she were a young relative he hadn’t seen in a while and was amazed at how much she had changed.

  ''But thank you. I’ll take you up on that, Mr. Dietrich.''

  ''Errol. Mr. Dietrich makes me feel like an old man,'' he chuckled.

  ''My husband is an incredible cook, Dora, as you’ll see yourself,'' Greta remarked while picking up a wooden spoon from the counter and dipping it into something brown that was bubbling in one of the pans. ''Does all the cooking in our household, as a matter of fact. One of the reasons I married him in the first place,'' she added. ''How long till it’s done, baby?''