“Well, then I guess it makes sense that they would have money being sent to them by the museum. Although, a catering van would be an easy way to discretely remove the La Brea Woman’s remains.” Mariska pointed to the screen. “But that strange series of numbers and letters seems to be depositing money into their account as well.”
“Very strange.” Theresa nodded. She scrolled through some more files, looking for something. “I don’t see anything else to indicate who Mr. Grassland is?”
Mariska pulled out her phone and said, “Let’s Google it.” She put in Peter Grassland, One-and-Done Catering, and Los Angeles into her search-bar. “There we go…looks like he’s…oh shit.”
“What? What did you find?” Theresa asked.
Mariska turned the phone, so Theresa could see the screen. “No, way.”
“Yep,” Mariska said. “Looks like Mr. Grassland is the Tribal Leader of the local Chumash people. The very same group that’s been protesting every event the museum holds.”
“But why would Dr. Snyder use a catering company if they hate the museum?”
“That’s a good question.”
They both were at a loss for words. Neither said anything for a little while, letting the revelation sink in. What would the museum gain by using that company? Who was behind the large amounts of money being deposited into the accounts?
“I’m sorry to have to ask this,” Theresa said, quietly. “Did you happen to look into your dad’s file yet?”
Mariska shook her head. “Nah, not yet. I’m not sure I’m prepared to see what’s in there right now.”
“Let’s save it for later.” Theresa closed the laptop and slid it over in front of Mariska. “What do we do next?”
Mariska thought about it for a minute and then shrugged. “I think I’ll need to pay Katherine Wellington a visit.”
“What about Mr. Grassland? It seems to me that he would be the obvious choice.”
“And, say what, exactly? Hey sir, you don’t know me, but I think you attacked me and stole museum property?”
“I see your point.”
“I feel like I would be more comfortable going to Mr. Grassland once I have more information. I would think that if he was going to steal the remains, he could have done it years ago? He’s had access for years. Plus, I’d like to believe he wouldn’t jeopardize the tribe’s chances of legally obtaining the remains so they can do what’s best in terms of their culture.”
“I agree,” Theresa said. “Let’s start with Kathy.”
As Mariska got up from the table, her mind went wild with possibilities. Kathy and Mariska had a mutual dislike for one another, so what was she going to say to her? Throwing caution to the wind, Mariska decided to wing it. What could go wrong? It’s not like Kathy was going to kill her, right?
Chapter Thirty-One
Kathy Wellington’s home was more of a palatial mansion fit for a royal family of thirty than it was a residential dwelling for a single person. Tucked away in a private, gated neighborhood, the huge mature trees shielded it from view. Mariska had to park on the main street and climb over the bricked wall that kept out the general public and hordes of gawkers. No easy feat in couture pants and bedazzled flip-flops. Her guess was there were other celebrities who also inhabited this well-guarded neighborhood, and they didn’t want to be seen on the Where-do-the-Celebrities-Live Tours. The guard at the gate told Mariska she couldn’t enter the premises unless her name was on the list—and it wasn’t.
No sooner had she landed on the soft, manicured lawn inside the walled-off neighborhood, when she heard the hum of the security gate opening. Either a resident or someone on the list was being let in by the guard. Mariska looked for a place to hide. There wasn’t time to be picky. She chose the clump of jasmine bushes that were being used to block the unsightly look of the electrical boxes used to man the gate and guard house.
Mariska peered through the lush greenery that smelled like a high-priced body spray and watched a beautiful white Rolls Royce inch past the gate. The windows were tinted, obscuring the passenger, but her heart started to race when she realized the driver was none other than Thomas, Ingrid’s chauffeur. Why was Ingrid here? Must have come to see Kathy, but why?
After the car rolled past and went far enough down the street to be out of the line of sight, Mariska popped up and stepped around the shrubbery. Brushing off the errant leaves and twigs, she hurried through the grassy area until she reached the sidewalk along the main road. Checking her phone for directions, she determined it would be a quick walk. Maybe five or six houses separated her from Kathy’s property. The only thing was each of these homes were on a few acres of land. Large trees shaded the grounds. High towering Italian Cypress trees lined the road, preventing anyone from seeing past, into the yards of the rich and famous. Clearly, privacy was important to everyone here.
Looking up and down the street, there wasn’t a soul in sight. She didn’t hear lawnmowers, kids playing, or even the sound of a barking dog. A light breeze rustled the treetops, and the sounds of birds chirping was the only signs of life. Truly, serene, but a little creepy to be in a big city and hear none of the man-made sounds that usually accompanied living here. Her sandals scraped against the pavement as she walked, but she had the feeling no one knew she was there. A quick check of her phone revealed she was one property away from Ms. Wellington’s house. Kathy had become a B-celebrity of sorts when she was disgraced and expelled from school for plagiarism. Her father being the A-lister movie director, publically backed away from his daughter. Rumor had it a reality show was in the works, but that Kathy refused to do it once she started working at the Page Museum. Now, as the potential face of the Page Museum, she would get paid to appear at museum events and fundraisers. Also she would have her image on billboards, posters, and the sides of buses. She would even star in the museum commercials and narrate many of the educational materials made at the museum. All in all, she would be making a ton of money without having to put out much effort and in her own way could rise back into celebrity status.
Mariska stopped at the driveway that lead to Kathy’s mansion. She had her own gate. The black iron rods were in stark contrast to the white stucco wall that lined the front of her property. She peered through the gate, the well-manicured lawn, bright clusters of flowers surrounding huge old Oak Trees, and bricked driveway, truly made her property one to envy. Mariska couldn’t help, but wonder if Kathy even took the time to enjoy what she has. The few times she’d interacted with the woman, she seemed too prissy and fame-affected to spend any time outdoors where there might be bugs or a slight breeze that could upend a perfectly quaffed hairdo. Not to mention the grudge she seemed to carry around.
So, how was she going to get inside? There wasn’t anything to use as leverage to climb over the wall. She reached out and pulled on the gate. Locked up tight. To the right, there was a control box and camera. If she’d been an invited guest, she could have pushed the button, smiled, and identified herself. The butler or whoever would then buzz her inside the grounds. That wasn’t going to work. She looked up and down the street, no other cars headed this way which meant no one was going through the gate anytime soon.
Maybe there was a place to climb over around the side of the property? With a sigh of resignation to possibly getting scraped up and, or arrested for trespassing, she marched around the corner and into the thick barrier of coniferous trees. Many of the branches hung low enough to catch her in the face as she tried to push past them and at least twice her short hair got snagged, pulling her up short. There it was, the perfect spot to climb over the wall. The tree grew close enough to the wall that she could climb up and step over onto the thick, stucco wall. So, she climbed. Before she knew it, she stepped over to the top of the wall, and lowered herself down the other side, before dropping the last few feet to the ground below.
Once on the other side, with no way back over, she started second-guessing her decision. She could be arrested…would someone shoot her for trespassing?
Oh well. She needed answers before she was shot by someone else, anyway. Deciding it was best to keep as hidden as possible until she reached the front door, she kept close to the wall and snuck nearer to the house as trees, fountains, and a beautiful gazebo presented itself for her to hide behind. After zigzagging her way to the side of Kathy’s house, she stopped and reassessed her position.
Mariska, her back against the wall, snuck a peek around the corner. In the circle driveway next to the fountain, sat Ingrid’s Rolls Royce. She couldn’t see if Thomas was in the car or waiting inside for his boss. To be on the safe side, she decided to go around back and see if she could find out what was going on.
Rounding the back corner of the home, she spotted the huge back patio. The floor of the patio was at chest level as the backyard sloped toward a ravine in the distance. She hurried over to the stairs and took them two by two. Not wanting to be seen, she ducked low and rushed to the side of the house. Never having been to Kathy’s house before, she had no idea what part of the house exited onto the back porch. For all she knew, the large, glass, multi-paned double set of French doors lead directly into the main living space where Kathy was currently entertaining Ingrid.
It was risky to look inside, but Mariska couldn’t help herself. Staying low, on all fours, she peered through the glass doors. Inside was a large open room with bookshelves lining the walls and a beautiful wooden desk against the far side of the room. She scanned again for any signs of Ingrid and Kathy. That’s when they entered the room. Kathy made a sweeping motion with her arm as she showed off her vast book collection. Ingrid smiled politely but said nothing. Mariska couldn’t contain a smirk as she saw the older woman was less than impressed with Kathy’s things. She wondered if Kathy had ever been shown Ingrid’s vast repository of historical and priceless collections. Probably, not.
Muffled words were now exchanged, but Mariska could still make out their conversation. This was exactly what she’d hoped for. Answers.
“Lovely home you have here, Ms. Wellington,” Ingrid said as she sat in the chair she’d been offered.
“I told you, please, call me Kathy.”
Ingrid smiled but said nothing.
“So, what do I owe this unexpected visit?” Kathy said.
So, it hadn’t been planned. Ingrid was definitely up to something, Mariska thought.
“Can’t one member of the Review Board, visit another, without an agenda?”
Kathy smiled, “No, I don’t think so…as lovely as it is to see you.”
Ingrid crossed her legs and laced her fingers together as she held her knee. “I supposed you’re right.” She leaned in a bit closer, bending at the hips while her back remained straight, proper. “There’s been some interesting developments at the museum, and I think we need to discuss them.”
“Ah, yes. The unfortunate incident at the Fundraising Gala. Despite, everything that happened, I’m happy to see we still raised more money than we did last year.”
“Yes, we did. Plenty of money still in the budget for your P.R. campaign,” Ingrid said. Kathy had been offered the position after all? Mariska could see Ingrid’s indirect jab, indicating Kathy’s position at the museum depended upon public donations, was not lost on her. The younger woman straightened up and squared her shoulders.
“Again,” Kathy said. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”
Just as Ingrid started to speak, Mariska’s attention was pulled away, into the yard. Behind her, she watched as, who she presumed was a gardener walked past, pushing a wheelbarrow. She remained still, not even turning her head to look back into the library. Any movement could call attention to her. A few agonizing seconds ticked by until he disappeared behind the pool house.
Mariska looked back inside and saw the two women still in conversation, but this time they were standing. What had she missed?
Ingrid shook her head and gave Kathy a look that caused her to stop speaking mid-sentence. Mariska could feel the tension between them. Both women glaring at each other without a word being said between them. Mariska held her breath and waited for someone to break their silence.
“I’m telling you, she’s on to you,” Ingrid said. “It’s not a threat. It’s nothing other than a friendly warning…between colleagues.”
Kathy’s back straightened even further. “That sounds an awful lot like a threat to me.”
“Oh dear.” Ingrid gave her a condescending look. “I’ve upset you. My intentions were nothing, but honorable. I mean, if my position at the museum was at risk, I would welcome a warning.”
“But I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“It’s not about right or wrong, dear. Sometimes, it’s about public opinion. Sometimes, it’s about nothing more than good timing…or, bad in your case.” Ingrid went to turn, but Kathy stopped her.
“So, what exactly are you trying to say?”
Ingrid’s face hardened. “Oh sweetie, do I really need to spell this out for you?” Ingrid smiled, a condescending look crossing her face. “You found out something you weren’t supposed to know. I’m telling you that if you reveal it to anyone…even her, I’ll ruin you. Your new career here at the museum will be shorter lived than even your own father expected it to be.”
“But I had nothing…” Kathy started to say.
“Like I said, public opinion can be difficult to survive.” Ingrid turned to leave. “I’ll be in touch.”
As Ingrid walked out of the room, Kathy put her hands to her face. She was clearly upset, but she followed behind her guest to see her out. Was Kathy behind the La Brea Woman’s disappearance? Who was she not supposed to reveal anything to? Something deep inside Mariska told her it had to do with her. It was clear, Ingrid knew more than she’d ever let on. Mariska’s resolve to find out more answers grew stronger with each passing question.
A banging noise in the distance caused Mariska to turn and look behind her. Way at the back of the property, she saw the landscaper, emptying the wheelbarrow. There was a small building, way in the back, that she didn’t know what it was for. The worker, done with whatever landscaping job he was doing, opened the side door. To her horror, Mariska watched as two large Doberman Pinschers stepped through the open doorway.
“Oh no.” Mariska crawled on her hands and knees to the side wall of the porch.
The dogs played with each other for a few seconds and then the worker commanded them to sit. They sat, and he give them each a treat from his pocket. They must have known him, and this was their usual ritual, but what was going to happen when they saw her? She was going to be their next treat. She needed to get out of there—fast.
She crawled across the porch until she reached the far side where she scrambled down the steps. When she rounded the side of the house, she heard their first bark. They’d seen her, and there wasn’t much time. Running as fast as she could, she jumped one bush, and then plowed through a bed of peonies, not slowing to see how much time she had left before their teeth sank into her backside.
Thirty feet to go, she heard the dogs snarl and whine with the excitement of the kill. She pushed forward, trying to gain speed. Without looking, she could hear them gaining ground—quickly, too quickly. As she neared the wall, Mariska didn’t see an easy way over it. But without time to slow down, she jumped as she got close. Her body slamming into the stucco façade and her hands gripping the top of the wall. Pulling with all her might, she started moving up, her elbows almost to the top, when one of the dogs bit ahold of her sandal. She tried to shake him loose, but he pulled hard, nearly yanking her grip loose.
The other dog lunged for her other foot, but she managed to swing it up and over the top of the wall. Mariska wiggled, pulled, and shook her leg, trying to get the dog to let go. He wasn’t going to budge. With a glimmer of hope, she felt the sandal start to come loose. Fully prepared to leave them behind, she pulled hard again. This time, the shoe slid off, and her foot came free. Before the dog could drop it and bit ahold of her foot, she swung her leg up hard and fell
over the side of the wall with a thud.
A few seconds passed, as she listened to the two dogs, bark, snarl, and whine on the other side. A man’s voice soon entered the mix, calling to the dogs to come. Well, trained as they were, she heard them expel air from their nose as if they were trying to get her smell out of them and then left.
She waited while her heart rate normalized, and her breathing came back under control before she got up to leave. What had she witnessed? How did Kathy and Ingrid fit into the disappearance of the La Brea Woman? There seemed to be more questions than answers, but at least she now knew two more people she couldn’t trust.
Chapter Thirty-Two
For Wulf, the smell of the morgue brought back bad memories. It’d been three years but suddenly felt like yesterday that he’d found himself standing in this very place, struggling to find the courage to identify his wife’s body. That night had been one the city would not soon forget—a late-night attack in the Emergency Room at the hospital. His wife, Julia, had been the nurse in charge that night.
Wulf shook his head trying to clear away the memories that wanted to come flooding back. It didn’t work. That night had been a full moon. The two had even joked about the crazies coming out in full-force at night, and to be extra careful. Wulf hadn’t given it a second thought until he’d heard a report of an attack come over the police radio.
The memories caused his heart to break all over again, a sinking in his stomach instantly souring it. He tossed his coffee into the trash and walked over to the window of the waiting room and tried in vain to forget.
Julia lost her life that night, and there wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t wish it’d been him, instead. Wulf turned away from the window and crossed his arms, slowly lowering himself into the chair nearest to him. No, something was different…he’d changed. This place. The memories. The resurgence of emotion. They opened his eyes to a truth he hadn’t thought possible. A day…make that a few days, had actually passed without him thinking about that night. What had changed?
Preservation Page 23
