Too Pretty For The Hills Page 8

  Obviously feeling at home, he blew some more smoke. ''No reason not to. Definitely a good thing I came by. How about you pour me some tea, Greta, if you have it, and maybe sprinkle a bit of whisky in there?''

  ''We don’t have any,'' Greta said coldly, stepping back from the thick cloud of nicotine and looking like she might throw the sheriff out any minute. ''But now that you’ve heard Dora’s story, I’m sure you'll get to the bottom of it.''

  She motioned toward the door with her hand but the sheriff had other plans.

  ''An au pair, you say, Miss Dora?''

  ''That's right.''

  ''And when exactly did you arrive in Graufirst?''

  ''Yesterday at noon.''

  ''How did you get here?''

  ''I took the shuttle.''

  ''Any incidents along the way?''

  She shook her head.

  ''How about after? Apart from this one, I mean.''

  Dora pondered whether she should mention the episode with the old widow or not. It was eerie and unsettling, granted, but in light of present circumstances it seemed almost trivial by comparison.

  ''Miss?'' the sheriff repeated.

  Everyone was looking at Dora.

  ''No,'' she muttered, beginning to show her annoyance.

  ''You sure?''

  ''Are you deaf?'' Greta snapped, dropping any remaining shred of hospitality. ''She said there wasn't! Now how about you and that chimney of yours hit the road, sheriff? I’m sure somewhere out there there's a horse with a sprained ankle just waiting for you to get there.''

  The sheriff stood up but did not leave.

  ''Let’s not forget I'm the law up here,'' he grumbled. ''If you keep running your mouth, Greta, you'll be the one who gets locked up.''

  ''Now, Felix, you know she didn’t mean it,'' Errol said. ''It’s been a long day and she's just stressed out is all.''

  ''You're gonna lock me up?'' Greta blurted out, oblivious to her husband's efforts to play peace maker. ''You? I’d like to see you try!''

  ''You think I’m scared of you, Greta?''

  ''I think you’re a dumb drunkard, sheriff, that’s what I think!''

  He stepped over to her like a rooster trying to control one of its recalcitrant hens. ''I'll be back here every day to check up on your new nanny,'' he said, his nose nearly touching hers.

  ''The hell you will! We don’t want you visiting here. In fact, next time I want to see a warrant or I’m not letting you in!''

  Stunned at this brazen affront to his authority, the sheriff took a step back and spat in Greta's face. ''There's your fucking warrant!''

  ''You fucker!''

  They jumped on each other like two street cats in a territorial dispute. The sheriff tried to get the upper hand, but Greta, herself no stranger to scuffles, gave him an upper-cut, and she soon had him on the table.

  ''You better get your dog on a leash!'' Felix barked, as Errol finally managed to pull Greta off him.

  ''I’m awfully sorry, sheriff!''

  ''Get out of my house!'' Greta bellowed. ''Get out right now, you son of a bitch!''

  Errol could barely restrain her as the sheriff put his hair back behind his ears and blew his bloody nose into a paper napkin which he tossed on the table. As he was leaving, he looked back at Dora.

  ''Look after yourself, Miss. And if something happens, I mean anything at all, just call the station. There’s always someone in, if not me, then the deputy. You folks have a good night now.''

  He straightened his jacket and left.

  Dora sat speechless.

  ''Get lost, shitbag!'' Greta screamed as the door slammed. She was panting, her magenta red lipstick smudged across her forehead. ''I don’t care if he is the sheriff! The next time he pulls this kind of shit, I’ll kill him I swear to God!''

  It was only after she saw the shock on Dora's face that she began to calm down and take stock of herself.

  ''Oh, dear,'' she said, ''I can only imagine what you must think of me now. I would never speak like that to anyone, let alone a policeman! But that man is nothing but a drunk. How he's managed to keep the badge all these years is beyond me.''

  ''He just likes his drink is all,'' Errol bristled.

  ''Errol, you know as well as I do that he’s not fit to be sheriff. You saw him spit in my face, didn't you? I mean who does that? Or this, for that matter?'' she said, tossing the blood-smeared napkin on the floor.

  ''Now, to be fair, dear, you were really rude to him.''

  ''Not without a cause! And still, rude or not, that’s no way to behave, especially for a sheriff! I won’t let it slide this time. Mark my words, this isn’t over!''

  Figuring it was best not to object, Errol just nodded his head and refilled Greta’s glass as she continued.

  ''With police like that, we don’t even need criminals! If we had any, we’d be in serious trouble! Come to think of it, maybe one of our friendly neighborhood Gypsies should run for sheriff next time. If a drunk can do the job, why can't they?'' Suddenly she stopped speaking and grew pensive. ''Wait a minute. I don’t know why I didn't think of this before, but those people are known for their love affair with the devil’s weed - you know, marijuana. Rumor has it they grow it up there in the woods, and if you say you're sure it was a person chasing after you, Dora ...''

  ''And not a boar?'' Errol interrupted.

  ''Enough with the boars already, Errol, God. As I was saying, if you're sure that’s what happened, I bet you stumbled onto one of their plantations and somebody saw you and tried to scare you off.''

  ''That’s actually very plausible,'' Errol nodded. ''It’s common knowledge they grow weed up there. It would make sense for them to try to spook you in a manner that would ensure you don’t return.''

  Dora said nothing, her gaze riveted to the mostly untouched plate in front of her. It seemed like a new unsavory characteristic was added to this family's resume with each passing hour.

  ''I don’t want to talk about it any more. I’m really tired,'' she said at length. ''Would you mind terribly if I read the kids a bedtime story and then headed to bed myself? My head’s killing me.''

  ''No, not at all, sweetness. You do that. In fact, I think me and Errol are gonna call it a day too.''

  Greta stood up and embraced Dora in a warm hug that smelled of dried sweat and perfume.

  ''We’re so glad you’re here with us, Dora. You’re a god-send.''

  ''I'll second that,'' Errol said.

  ''And again - don’t even worry about the dog. He was old anyway.''

  ''And a pain in the butt,'' Errol muttered.

  ''Yes, that too.''

  At last Dora headed upstairs. As she was about to join the kids, the story book in her hand, she heard the phone ring downstairs. The lines were apparently up and running again.

  Greta answered. ''Who? No, I’m afraid you have the wrong number.''

  ''Was that someone named Katja?'' Dora shouted as Greta put the receiver down.

  ''What? Oh no, honey, it was just some kids making a prank call. I find the best way to deal with them is to be polite. Takes all the fun out of it.''

  Dora considered calling Katja and telling her about what happened, but remembered she was probably still at the concert. She made a mental note to call her in the morning.

  She went into the kids' room only to discover them already in bed and sleeping. Secretly she was glad that she didn’t have to further strain her vocal cords with story-telling right now.

  Climbing up to the attic, yawning, she heard the phone ring again.

  ''No, I told you already it isn’t. Yes, you’re very welcome,'' Greta said, some agitation starting to creep into her voice. And when she put the receiver down, Dora heard her grumble: ''It’s those darn kids, Errol. It’s Saturday night all over again!''

  ''Just unplug it, dear, or they’ll be waking us up all night long.''

  Dora was exhausted, and as she opened the skylight and allowed some fresh air into the hot attic, she purposely avoided loo
king at the house next door, not willing to give the old woman the chance to pull any of her voodoo tonight.

  She collapsed on the bed without even brushing her teeth.

  ''Unbelievable,'' she mused to herself.

  She hoped that Graufirst had now finally run out of unpleasant surprises and that it would be smooth sailing from now on. Holding on to that thought, she plunged into a sleep which was uneasy, but deep enough to blot out the midnight sonata of the Gypsies.

  14

  Dora was awakened the next morning by the sound of heavy rain pattering on the roof. It was rather cold in the attic, so she pulled herself out of bed and closed the window.

  It was pouring outside, and a stream was running down the middle of the road. All the usual cheerful colors of Graufirst had been replaced by washed-out grey hues that coincided perfectly with Dora’s mood on this particular morning.

  She dug a puffy wool pullover from her travel bag that she hadn't imagined wearing anytime soon when she arrived. The affairs of the day before seemed surreal and fuzzy, like parts of some weird dream.

  Greta and Errol were already up. In contrast to the dispiriting weather, they were in quite the joyful mood as Dora bid them good morning, though she declined their invitation for breakfast as she didn’t have much of an appetite.

  ''The kids ate already, honey. They were up early too,'' Greta told her, back to her usual good-natured self as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. ''They’re playing hide-and-seek somewhere inside the house.''

  ''I’ll join them in a minute. I just need to make a quick phone call now that the lines have been fixed.''

  ''Oh.'' Greta's face grew solemn. ''I’m afraid that won’t be possible.''

  ''Why not?''

  ''The lines seem to have gotten disconnected in the night again. You know how fickle these telecommunication repairs can be.''

  ''But we’ll let you know as soon as they start working again,'' Errol butted in, smiling and taking a sip of coffee from his mug.

  Dora went and looked for the kids. They were in the ironing room. The name of the game they were playing was apparently not ‘hide-and-seek’ but rather ‘wait-until-the-nanny-joins-in-and-then-start-hurling-clothes-at-her’.

  ''Stop it, please!'' Dora cried with a bra on her head, ‘the game’ instantly in full swing. ''I’m really not up for any of this monkey business today. How about I read you a nice, quiet story?''

  With a bit of effort, she managed to bridle the boys somewhat, but not Anne, who continued laughing and throwing the contents of the laundry basket at her. Dora was not the type of person to easily get angry, especially at children, but she had gotten up on the wrong side of the bed today and when reasoning didn’t work, she grabbed Anne by the arm.

  ''What's gotten into you? I don’t know why you're so ...'' Suddenly she fell silent, her eyes fixed on Anne's face. Releasing her arm as if it were on fire, she screamed and stumbled backwards.

  In a matter of seconds, Greta came running in.

  ''Dear God, what’s the matter? Is someone hurt?''

  Dora pointed at the little girl. ''That’s not Anne!''

  ''What are you talking about?''

  ''It’s not Anne! Look at her!''

  Greta looked at Dora with a mixture of confusion and concern.

  ''Of course it’s Anne, honey. I mean, who else would it be?''

  She gently stroked her daughter’s long blonde hair, uncertain what to say next.

  ''But ... Are you sure?'' Dora stuttered.

  ''Of course I’m sure, she’s my daughter. Wait, is this some kind of silly joke?''

  ''No ... No, I could have sworn she had a ... Different face yesterday.''

  Suddenly, Errol was standing in the doorway. ''I think maybe you should take the morning off,'' he said. ''You’re obviously still stressed out from yesterday.''

  ''Yes, I think that would be best,'' Greta added, taking the petrified Dora by the hand and ushering her out of the ironing room and into the kitchen where Errol poured her a cup of tea.

  ''I ... I don’t know,'' Dora stuttered, allowing the cup of chamomile to warm her cold, shaky hands. ''It’s just that I could have sworn she looked different yesterday. Oh God, I sound like a lunatic!''

  ''Like Errol said, I think it’s best if you just take the day off, sweetness,'' Greta cooed maternally. ''Go rest in your room, read a book or something.''

  ''No, I can’t possibly do that,'' Dora replied with a hoarse voice. ''What kind of help would I be, skipping out on my duties two days in a row? I’ll go back to the kids, don’t worry, Greta. And I’ll apologize to Anne for my crazy outburst. And to you too I guess - I’m sorry. That was really unprofessional.''

  Greta gave her a warm smile and kissed her on the cheek.

  ''Happens to the best of us.''

  Dora reassured herself that her nervous wreck of a brain had played a trick on her and that there was nothing more to it.

  ''Pull yourself together,'' she muttered under her breath as she headed up the stairs. ''Don’t go crazy on me, Dora.''

  She apologized to Anne as she had promised and suggested they play a board game. Still, she couldn't help but glance at the little girl’s face every now and then. It was just so bizarre.

  ''It’s your turn, Dora!''

  She winced.

  ''Oh, I’m sorry. Which figure is mine again?''

  ''The little choo-choo!''

  ''I thought that was Thomas.''

  ''No, he's the big train!'' the other boy laughed.

  ''Where’s the dice?''

  ''You’re holding them, Dora!''

  She tried to fall into the routine, to be just a typical nanny trying to tame two typically naughty boys and their slightly older sister.

  Nothing strange about her, she kept telling herself. She's the same girl she was yesterday. Such a ridiculous idea.

  Every now and then she left the kids for a minute just to check whether the phone line had been reestablished, but much to her dismay, the same annoying beep was heard every time she picked up the receiver.

  ''Still nothing, dear?'' Greta warbled from the living room.

  Returning to the children’s room, she noticed the party had disbanded. Anne was sitting off to one side by the little cosmetic table, while the boys were drawing with crayons on the floor. Dora examined the artwork and walked over to Anne.

  ''Do you need some help?''

  The child looked up at her with her big blue eyes and smiled.

  ''That would be lovely,'' she said.

  Dora crouched down.

  ''What are we doing?''

  ''I’m trying to give myself a makeover. Like this, you see?'' Anne pointed at a fashion catalogue on the cosmetic table. ''I can do my makeup, but can you help me braid my hair?''

  ''Sure.''

  She started braiding Anne’s beautiful golden hair, listening to her talk about fashion and behaving so much differently that yesterday.

  Suddenly she stiffened. It couldn’t be.

  Little Anne Dietrich used her right hand to put on lipstick and then flipped through the magazine with the same hand to show something to Dora on another page. Dora pretended to look as instructed but didn’t see anything. She felt woozy.

  She went over to the window and opened it to get some air, staring for a couple moments as if hypnotized by the escalating rain splattering on the orange roof.

  ''Dora, are you coming?'' Anne shouted.

  ''Just give me a minute.''

  She stepped into the hallway and began pacing nervously back and forth.

  ''This isn’t happening! Why is this happening?''

  There were three options. Either she was actually starting to lose her mind or Anne really had changed in some very meaningful ways overnight, including noticeable aspects of her personality and appearance, as well as her dominant hand. Or - and this thought made Dora’s teeth chatter - the girl sitting in there wasn't Anne at all. But how could this be? It didn’t make any sense.

 
She headed downstairs and checked on the phone again. It was still not working, but by then she wouldn't have heard a normal signal anyway. Following an impulse, she quietly made her way to the master bedroom, and pulled the door closed behind her.

  Not really knowing what exactly she was looking for, she started going through the cupboards; the thought that there was something odd going on was definitely better than admitting that she was losing it.

  In one of the drawers she ran across some pornographic magazines which she assumed belonged to Errol. She knew it was risky, but she couldn't resist flipping through one of them just to see what they were like.

  ''What the hell am I doing here? What's wrong with me!'' she berated herself as she put the magazine back.

  Time was getting away from her. If she was going to find anything, she needed to find it quickly. By the time she got to the closets, she didn’t even care about the mess she was leaving behind. And then, all of a sudden, she stopped, her frantic thoughts coming to an abrupt halt.

  A turquoise green plastic bag was sitting on the closet floor, the same kind that she had seen at the Zieglers’.

  A coincidence?

  She listened intently for a moment, then began untying the bag. But as it turned out, it contained only some framed photos, along with a few other heirlooms. Nothing spooky, weird, or exciting. Just a few family momentos.

  Dora felt disapointed, relieved and confused at the same time. She wondered why photos such as these would have been so carelessly tossed into a plastic bag and put away. The obvious answer was, to make room for other photos.

  Suddenly a shiver ran up her spine.

  ''No.''

  15

  Dora’s hands were shaking. On top of the pile of pictures was a shot of Greta with the children hugging her from behind as she sat on a sofa. The scene was normal enough except for one thing. The mother in the photo wasn’t really Greta.

  Dora couldn’t believe her eyes. The woman had Greta's build, her hairstyle, even her sense of fashion. But her face was different. This wasn’t the Greta Dora knew.

  She started looking through the rest of the photos, examining them with a keen eye. And with each one she examined, the cocktail of stress hormones brewing inside her became more explosive.