anything?”
“No.” He regarded her for a moment and then offered his hand. “I’m Israel Timberlain. They call me Rael.”
“Rael. Glad to meet you. I’m Mandy.”
“Hello, Mandy. Have you found a place to stay yet?”
“Maybe. A lady I met last night at the Qwik-E Market has a rental. I’m going to look at it—” Mandy checked her watch. “—in just a minute.”
“That’s Fran. I was going to tell you about her place. It’s just down the road from mine.”
“Well, thanks. Maybe we’ll be neighbors.”
“Maybe.” Rael wheeled his hand truck ahead of him to the door. “Nice to meet you, Mandy.”
“Wait. You said your name was Timberlain? Are you and Grange—”
“Identical twins,” he deadpanned. Then, grinning at the look on Mandy’s face, he confessed, “First cousins. See you around.”
Mandy watched as Rael sauntered down the hall and stopped to lean a shoulder against the doorframe as he talked to Grange. The difference in the cousins was stark. Grange was tall, dark, broad shouldered, and well kempt in a rugged, backwoods sort of way. Rael was slight and angular, about five foot six, with high cheekbones and unruly hair.
“Identical twins.” She chuckled as she gathered up her purse and keys.
She let Mrs. Berman know she would be out for a couple of hours and drove to the Qwik-E Market, where Fran was waiting. Of medium height, trim and fit, Fran looked to be about forty. Though her face was too round and flat to be attractive, she played up her dark eyes and shiny, shoulder-length hair.
Mandy got in Fran’s pickup, and they headed east on Highway 20 for several miles before angling off on a secondary road. Mandy read the sign out loud. “Timberlain Road? There sure are lots of Timberlains around here.”
“They’ve been here a long time. Rael Timberlain lives on the original property. It’s on this road.”
A huge wooden bear stood upright by a gravel driveway where a double-wide mobile home and a large, metal-sided pole building occupied a clearing. Other, smaller wooden statues were scattered around the front yard.
“That’s quite a carving!” Mandy kept her eyes on the bear as they drove past.
“That’s where Wesley Gallant lives. Have you heard of him?”
“No. Should I have?”
“He sells his stuff all over the U.S. He’s on the school board, too. I thought, one way or the other, you might know the name.”
Mandy shook her head. The woods closed around them again. Bright green leaves burst out of low-growing bushes, relieving the darkness of the forest wall. “It’s good of you to take me out to see the house,” she said.
“Glad to do it. If you want the house, it’ll be good for you and good for me. Finding responsible renters isn’t easy, especially in a place this small.”
“Do you have other rentals?”
“One. It’s a tiny house in town. I buy fixer-uppers.”
“Who does the work for you? Fixing them up, I mean?”
“I do it myself.” Fran explained how she had taken some manual arts classes a few years ago. Her first project was a bookcase, but before the year was out, she had remodeled a house. As they rounded a bend, the river appeared below them, a metallic gash in the valley floor.
“That’s quite a river,” Mandy said. “What we call rivers in New Mexico are a lot smaller than that.”
“Whereabouts in New Mexico are you from?”
“Albuquerque.”
“I’ve been there. Nice town.” Fran pointed to a small story-and-a-half farmhouse sitting beside a gravel road that veered off the asphalt. “That’s where I live.”
Mandy noted the white siding, the green shutters, the well-kept grass with daffodils blooming in random patches along a low fence. “Was it a fixer-upper?”
“Yes, you should have seen it!” Fran took the gravel road that dropped down below her house and ran closer to the river’s edge. “I had to rewire it and put in all new plumbing. The house is eighty years old.”
“And you did it all
“No.” He regarded her for a moment and then offered his hand. “I’m Israel Timberlain. They call me Rael.”
“Rael. Glad to meet you. I’m Mandy.”
“Hello, Mandy. Have you found a place to stay yet?”
“Maybe. A lady I met last night at the Qwik-E Market has a rental. I’m going to look at it—” Mandy checked her watch. “—in just a minute.”
“That’s Fran. I was going to tell you about her place. It’s just down the road from mine.”
“Well, thanks. Maybe we’ll be neighbors.”
“Maybe.” Rael wheeled his hand truck ahead of him to the door. “Nice to meet you, Mandy.”
“Wait. You said your name was Timberlain? Are you and Grange—”
“Identical twins,” he deadpanned. Then, grinning at the look on Mandy’s face, he confessed, “First cousins. See you around.”
Mandy watched as Rael sauntered down the hall and stopped to lean a shoulder against the doorframe as he talked to Grange. The difference in the cousins was stark. Grange was tall, dark, broad shouldered, and well kempt in a rugged, backwoods sort of way. Rael was slight and angular, about five foot six, with high cheekbones and unruly hair.
“Identical twins.” She chuckled as she gathered up her purse and keys.
She let Mrs. Berman know she would be out for a couple of hours and drove to the Qwik-E Market, where Fran was waiting. Of medium height, trim and fit, Fran looked to be about forty. Though her face was too round and flat to be attractive, she played up her dark eyes and shiny, shoulder-length hair.
Mandy got in Fran’s pickup, and they headed east on Highway 20 for several miles before angling off on a secondary road. Mandy read the sign out loud. “Timberlain Road? There sure are lots of Timberlains around here.”
“They’ve been here a long time. Rael Timberlain lives on the original property. It’s on this road.”
A huge wooden bear stood upright by a gravel driveway where a double-wide mobile home and a large, metal-sided pole building occupied a clearing. Other, smaller wooden statues were scattered around the front yard.
“That’s quite a carving!” Mandy kept her eyes on the bear as they drove past.
“That’s where Wesley Gallant lives. Have you heard of him?”
“No. Should I have?”
“He sells his stuff all over the U.S. He’s on the school board, too. I thought, one way or the other, you might know the name.”
Mandy shook her head. The woods closed around them again. Bright green leaves burst out of low-growing bushes, relieving the darkness of the forest wall. “It’s good of you to take me out to see the house,” she said.
“Glad to do it. If you want the house, it’ll be good for you and good for me. Finding responsible renters isn’t easy, especially in a place this small.”
“Do you have other rentals?”
“One. It’s a tiny house in town. I buy fixer-uppers.”
“Who does the work for you? Fixing them up, I mean?”
“I do it myself.” Fran explained how she had taken some manual arts classes a few years ago. Her first project was a bookcase, but before the year was out, she had remodeled a house. As they rounded a bend, the river appeared below them, a metallic gash in the valley floor.
“That’s quite a river,” Mandy said. “What we call rivers in New Mexico are a lot smaller than that.”
“Whereabouts in New Mexico are you from?”
“Albuquerque.”
“I’ve been there. Nice town.” Fran pointed to a small story-and-a-half farmhouse sitting beside a gravel road that veered off the asphalt. “That’s where I live.”
Mandy noted the white siding, the green shutters, the well-kept grass with daffodils blooming in random patches along a low fence. “Was it a fixer-upper?”
“Yes, you should have seen it!” Fran took the gravel road that dropped down below her house and ran closer to the river’s edge. “I had to rewire it and put in all new plumbing. The house is eighty years old.”
“And you did it all
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