Time Thief: A Time Thief Novel (4 page)

A
s it turned out, luck was with me for once. Norm the mechanic managed to get Eloise started, although her engine definitely sounded worse than normal.

“Thanks for all your work,” I told him as I winced when she backfired.

“She’s going to need a lot more if you want to make it back to the coast,” he warned.

I thought of the repair amount he’d quoted me, and blanched. “I know, but she should at least get me to a potential job. Can you tell me how to get to the Appleton Lumber Mill?”

Norm spat at Eloise’s tire and gave me an odd look. “You mean where those Gypsies are campin’? Buncha thieves. Old mill is about a mile outta town. Take the left at the crossroads. Can’t miss the sign.”

“Wow, that was unpleasant,” I told Eloise as we drove out of town, turning off at the listing, faded, mud-splattered sign sprouted out of the sagebrush at the edge of the road to announce that I was in the vicinity of the Appleton Lumber Mill.

“Well, at least Norm was right in telling me where this mill was,” I said, turning onto the private drive. It had once been paved, but was now more potholes and rocks
than anything resembling an actual road. Crowding in on either side of the drive were fir trees, and dense tangles of sagebrush, the subsequent wall of green giving the drive a closed-in, almost eerie feeling. “Careful does it, Eloise. Ouch. Sorry. Didn’t see that big hole. If we can just—what the hell?”

I had been creeping along the road, given its (and Eloise’s) bad state, but as the drive curved to the right, a mossy chain with a battered and almost unreadable
PRIVATE PROPERTY—NO TRESPASSING
sign popped up and blocked the way.

“Well, crap. Um. Hmm.” I shifted into park, grabbed my accelerator brick from where it sat on the passenger side of the car, slapped it over the gas pedal so as to keep the engine running, and climbed out to examine the chain. If it looked like it was a hard-core “keep folks out at all cost” sort of chain, then I’d simply park Eloise and continue on foot. But if it looked like no one paid any attention to it…“Ah, good, you come off easily. And since those tire tracks look fresh, and very much like they belong to a fancy British sports car driven by a potential male model, then I guess we can risk being arrested for trespassing, Eloise.”

I unhooked one corner of the chain, allowing it to drop into the muddy potholes. Although it was summer, there had evidently been a heavy rain recently in this area, since most of the potholes were partially filled with chocolate brown water.

“And besides,” I muttered to myself as I climbed back into the car and retrieved the accelerator brick, “it’s not like a trespassing fine is going to do anything but add to an already mountainous amount of money that I need. Ouch. Oh man, that was a bad one. Hang in there, little car. It can’t be much further.”

And it wasn’t. A few minutes of bouncing my slow way toward the mill, the drive turned sharply to the left, and the vista opened up. The lumber mill had evidently been on the small side, if the remains of the buildings were anything to go by. There must have been three originally, one large main building that was now nothing more than some broken concrete foundations with the odd bit of rebar jutting up into the air, flanked on either side by two smaller structures, one of which had only one scorched, black wall standing, while the other appeared to be mostly intact, if minus all the glass in its windows, and no doors in the doorframes.

Five shiny RVs were parked in horseshoe formation in the center area. Off to one side was a small green child’s wading pool, and a collection of kids’ tricycles and other summer-fun paraphernalia. There were no people visible, however, nor was there a bright red British sports car.

“Hmm.” I pulled up to the right, and switched off Eloise with a whispered plea for her to start again when I needed to drive somewhere. After the noise of her asthmatic engine, the silence that followed seemed almost smothering until my ears acclimatized themselves to the sounds of the deep forest.

Birds chattered and sang in the trees that surrounded the derelict lumber mill. Bees droned softly as they flitted amongst a bright patch of purple and yellow wildflowers. Tree branches rustled as the wind gently lifted them, and every now and then a chipmunk or squirrel squeaked as it went about its daily business. But from the RVs there was no sound.

“Hmm,” I said again as I climbed out of the window and stood considering the six vehicles. I bit my lip. I felt incredibly
stupid standing there, not knowing if Gregory had been polite when he said he wished I could take on the task of dog nanny, or if his grandmother was really looking for someone for the job. I didn’t even know her name.

I frowned as I tried to remember Gregory’s surname. It was something odd, something vaguely foreign. Something that sounded like an exclamation made in one of the old upper-class novels by P. G. Wodehouse. “Faugh, that was it,” I said softly, then gathering up my courage, marched over to the nearest RV and knocked on its door.

There was no response. I knocked again, then after a minute moved to the next RV and tried it. It wasn’t until I was on the third one, the one in the center of the RV horseshoe, that my knocking got a response. An immediate yapping sounded forth, along with the sound of several small bodies thumping against the door.

“Clearly I’ve found the right—aieee!” The door opened just then and a wave of gray and tan and black furry bodies swept down the steps and flung themselves upon me, sending me falling backward. I lay on the ground stunned for a moment or two before I realized that the squirming bodies that had swarmed me were now licking me with enthusiasm. “Oh my god, you guys are so adorable,” I said, laughing as I tried to sit up. “No, seriously, I do not need another bath. But thank you. Whoa, now, no getting frisky with my arm there, Romeo.”

“My darlings!” a sharp voice called from the trailer, followed by a loud handclap. “Darlings, behave. Are you hurt, young woman? Terrance, that means you, too. Cease that action at once!”

I plucked the pug who was having his amorous way with my sleeve from myself, and patted him on his head before gently pushing off all the other small bodies that
were dancing around on top of me. “I’m fine, just got the wind knocked out of me. Oh my gosh, they are so cute!”

“They are, aren’t they?” The woman behind the voice came stiffly down the stairs of the RV, a small, thin figure, her posture showing that she suffered from a curvature of the spine as she carefully descended the steps, holding tight to a handrail. “They are all siblings, all but Terrance, who was a stray I found in Reno. Who are you?”

I straightened up from where I was trying to pet the five wiggling bodies, blowing my hair out of my eyes so I could see the woman whom I took to be Gregory’s grandmother. “My name is Kiya. Are you Mrs. Faugh?”

“The name is Faa.” She spelled it for me, waving one gaunt hand as she did so. She didn’t look very grandmotherly to me—standing up straight, she probably was a few inches shorter than my five foot seven. Bent as she was, she reached my shoulders. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back in a bun low on the back of her head, leaving the sunlight to catch on large dangling gold earrings, several gold chains around her neck, and the jangling gold bracelets with which she was bedecked.

Her face was as gaunt as her hands, the cords of her neck standing out starkly against flesh that had sagged with the passing of time. The rest of her might reflect her age, but her eyes were anything but vague. There was a sharpness to the gaze with which she raked me, enough so that I started babbling despite my intentions of presenting myself as a competent, collected person. “Really? That’s so unusual. Is it Romanian? Gregory said something about being Romanian. That’s Gregory your grandson, by the way. I met him earlier today, and he mentioned that you might be looking for some dog help.
I love dogs, and I’d be happy to…er…help,” I finished lamely. “If you need me, that is. Although, I’m really only looking for temporary work. I need to pay for Eloise, you see. She’s broken.”

Mrs. Faa looked where I gestured at my car. “I see,” she said after I had finally run down. She looked at me again, making me squirm a little; then her gaze dropped to the pugs, who were milling around my feet. “My darlings seem to approve of you. And if Gregory recommended you, then I see no harm in discussing the situation with you.”

Rather than invite me inside her RV to chat, she came down the last step and herded me over to a steel picnic bench painted with
Property of Oregon State Parks
along one leg. The next ten minutes were spent answering questions about my job experience, my ability to care for a large number of dogs, and my willingness to work in the present location.

“Like I said, I don’t have the money to get my car fixed, so I’m kind of stuck here until I can raise it. So if you don’t mind me being temporary help, then I can have my foster mom check on my plants and feed my fish while I’m out here. Although I’m not sure where I’d sleep. I can’t afford a hotel, and frankly, I don’t think Eloise is up to much driving.”

She waved away that concern. “I must have someone who can take my darlings for their daily swim in the lake, but it will not involve much driving. As for sleeping arrangements—” She picked up the nearest pug and smooched him on the top of his wrinkled little head. “My caravan has only one room, and I’m using that. However, one of my grandsons has camping equipment that you
would be welcome to use, so long as you don’t mind staying in a tent. You understand that I prefer that you be close by in case I need you.”

I wasn’t wild at the idea of being at her beck and call 24-7, but I reminded myself that beggars can’t be choosers, and accepted the amount of pay she offhandedly mentioned. With luck, a couple of months of dog care and I’d have the amount to get Eloise fixed so I could make it home. “A tent is fine, and this area looks pretty, so no, I don’t mind.”

“I will introduce you; then you may start immediately. My darlings haven’t had their walk today—my grandsons refuse to take them either to the lake or for their walk—so you may begin with that. I will show you where I keep their things, and then you may commence. But first, you must meet each one. Clothilde is the shy one. This is Jacques. He is not shy. Terrance you have already noticed. He is…yes. We are working on controlling our baser appetites, are we not, Terrance?”

As the pug was, at that moment, attempting to get busy with the leg of the picnic table, I doubted if Terrance had been working very hard on his issues.

“Maureen is the one chewing on your shoelace—nasty, Maureen! Leave it!—and to her right is Frau Blucher.”

I looked up in surprise. Mrs. Faa shrugged. “It is a very long story, too long for today. My darlings are all very well behaved, and have nice manners. You will not allow them to become unruly. And now that you have met them, I will take you to where their leashes and collars are kept, and you may take them for a short walk.”

Thus it was that approximately seven minutes later I stumbled out of the clearing and headed down a barely
visible trail that Mrs. Faa had indicated, five pugs on five leashes, each equipped with its own small plastic grocery bag, the dogs leaping and barking and running in circles around me until my legs were so bound that I could only take baby steps.

“You guys do realize this is my test to see if I can handle you, right?” I told the dogs as I staggered down the trail. What with the lush vegetation of the forest, it wasn’t a minute before I had lost sight of the clearing and RVs. I wondered if Mrs. Faa would really let a stranger—even someone so obviously honest and upright as myself—walk off with her precious dogs, or whether she was somehow keeping me under observation. I certainly had an itchy feeling between my shoulders that I equated with being watched. “So let’s all be on our best behavior, OK? Jacques, that is not my idea of best behavior. Man. And you’re such a little dog, too.”

I looked around quickly, wondering if I could just pretend that I didn’t see what the pug had just done on the trail, but decided with a sigh (and a double-bagged hand) that it was important to start off on the right foot.

“Not that I appreciate you doing that the second we set off. Now I get to carry this around for the entire—holy jebus!”

The last two words were uttered in a shriek as a man suddenly stepped out from behind a tree right into the path about a foot in front of me.

I
jerked the dogs toward me when I jumped back in surprise, my body intent on running away from the startling danger while my mind was determined to protect the innocent little pugs. Unfortunately, not being the most coordinated person in the world, I snagged the back of my gauze overshirt on a prickly arm of a blackberry bush, which in turn caused me to lurch forward, forcing my arm out in an arc, which ended when the loaded grocery bag struck the man smack-dab in the face.

He said something in a language I didn’t recognize as he recoiled from the bag, an almost comical look of disgust on his face. His nose wrinkled in a manner that I would have thought was adorable on someone less bent on scaring me half out of my life. “What the hell?” he finally said in English.

“That’s what I say!” I shrugged myself out of the shirt still stuck to the blackberry vine, and gathered the pugs to me, all of whom were barking in high, brittle voices. My mind raced with the need to find some sort of weapon I could use to protect us from this stranger should I be called upon to do so.

“No, you said ‘holy jebus,’ which I assume means you have some sort of a speech impediment that makes it
impossible for you to say the word ‘Jesus’ correctly. What do you have in that bag? It smells like shit.”

“It is. Well, dog poop, that is. And I don’t have a speech impediment.” I straightened my shoulders, and clutched my bag of poop. Clearly, that would serve as a weapon. If not one to disable, then one to disgust my attacker into giving me time to escape. “‘Jebus’ is a polite way of saying ‘Jesus.’ You say it when you don’t want to offend someone, such as when you’re in company with a person whom you don’t know, but want to swear at nonetheless. I don’t know you. I do want to swear at you. Hence, jebus.”