Preservation

by Charles Lemoine

  The furnishings inside were an eclectic display to behold. The entryway was modern, the walls filled with abstract paintings, the niches equally spaced down the hallway housed glass and metallic sculptures—some were ornate, while others were simple, plain.

  She sat uncomfortably on a nineteenth-century sofa with an ornate gold and red patterned fabric. The front of the sofa’s arms and legs were dark wood that’d been carved to reveal the look of leaves. Mariska squirmed while she waited for Chief Grassland to arrive, his maid had rushed to get him from the second floor, but he still hadn’t arrived.

  Might as well look around. The thick brown hair from the buffalo skin on the back of the sofa was beginning to poke through her top. It made an already uncomfortable experience, far worse. She stood and walked across the room to look at the pictures on the table against the wall. Chief Grassland and his family were quite photogenic. Contagious smiles and excitement was evident in all the pictures. But that’s when she noticed another framed photo on the small end table, under a reading lamp. She knelt down to get a better look. It was an older picture, from the look of it, dating back thirty or forty years. Chief Grassland appeared much younger, and their clothes reeked of the late seventies.

  Standing next to each other, the younger Grassland and male teenager…maybe early twenties. It was hard to tell. They weren’t smiling, although they clearly had affection for one another, the chief with his arm around the younger man’s shoulders. The similarity between the two men was evident, and she suspected they were father and son. She stood back up and looked back at the pictures on the table. None of the others contained a picture of the young man.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Chief Grassland said, as he walked into the room.

  Mariska twirled on her heel, hurried across the room, and offered her hand. He accepted the greeting. “It’s great to meet you, Chief Grassland. My name is Dr. Mariska Stevenson.”

  “Please, call me Peter,” he said with a huge smile. “Let’s leave the Chief part to the members of my tribe, shall we?”

  “As you wish.” She was shown to the same sofa she’d rather not sit in and asked to have a seat. Reluctantly, she complied. “I’m really sorry to come here unannounced.”

  “Do not be sorry, my dear. I’m an old man. Any time a beautiful young woman wants to come and visit me, I will gladly accept it.” He smiled and took a seat in an armchair adjacent to her.

  Mariska smiled and folded her hands in her lap. “I’m not sure if you are aware of this or not, but I work at the Page Museum.”

  His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “I knew you looked familiar, but couldn’t quite place your face.” He shrugged his shoulders. “One of the perks of getting old, I suppose. So, what do I owe this visit?”

  “I have some bad news,” Mariska said.

  “Bad, news?”

  “Yes.” Mariska shifted in her seat. “The La Brea Woman’s remains have been stolen.”

  She wasn’t sure what she expected from this old man. A confession? Some kind of emotional outburst? Anger? He offered nothing. Peter Grassland, sat in silence for a few moments, just long enough to make her start to sweat.

  He broke the awkward silence. “I’d heard rumors of such an incident. I’m disappointed that the Page Museum didn’t come to me personally to inform me of such a terrible thing. As you may be aware, I have, on the behalf of my tribe, been requesting her remains to be return to us.”

  “I am aware of that fact.” Mariska cleared her throat before pressing on. “I was awarded a grant by the museum to study her remains. I had hoped that through my efforts, I would be able to identify without a shadow of doubt, the rightful heirs to which the remains could be return too. The night I was to be officially awarded the grant, I was attacked in the basement, and the remains were stolen.”

  The man’s eyes betrayed his disappointment and anger. His mouth tightened into a thin line, and Mariska worried what he was going to say next. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly through pursed lips. “Very upsetting. So, what is the nature of your visit? To provide this old man with devastating news? Seems a cruelty I hadn’t expected from you.”

  “Oh, no.” Mariska reached out. “I don’t want to upset you. I just wanted to provide you with all the background information first. My goal is to find her remains. I want to continue with my research, so I can hopefully return her to her rightful people.”

  He straightened in the chair. “So, how can I be of assistance? Surely, you haven’t come here looking for her? You don’t suspect my people or me, do you?”

  She was on shaky ground right now. Almost everyone was a suspect in her mind, at this point. But how could she say that without offending him? “I’m not here to accuse anyone of anything. I have some questions that I think might shed light on her whereabouts…or, at least possibly give me an idea of who might have wanted to take her.”

  “Since this is the first I’m hearing of this, I can’t imagine I will be of much help. But I’ll be happy to tell you what I know.” Peter sat back into the chair and crossed his leg.

  Mariska smiled. “That sounds perfect. If nothing else, I’d like to learn more about the La Brea Woman and the tar pits from your perspective. Knowledge is power, as people like to say.”

  “Would you like something to drink, before we get started?”

  “No thank you, I hope not to take up too much of your time.”

  She made herself comfortable on the sofa before she continued. “I’ve seen some pictures at Ingrid Ashton’s home dating back to when the La Brea Woman was found.”

  “Yes, that was a long time ago. Even before, this old man was born.”

  “There was a young Native American man in the pictures. Do you know who that could have been?” Mariska asked. “Was it a member of your tribe?”

  “Yes. In fact, the man in the photograph was my father. I know it well, as our two families, the Grasslands and the Ashtons, go back a very, very long time.”

  “So, your father was present when they discovered her remains. Did he ever tell you stories of that day? And did any of his stories have any interesting or not-well known details you can share with me?” Mariska was fishing in the pond without any bait. She wasn’t willing to reveal her own hand, but was hoping to persuade him to give up his.

  He gave her a sideways glance before he continued. “Interesting or not-well known details. That’s a curiously phrased question.”

  Shit, he’s not as old and feeble-minded as he led on.

  “My father was never the same after the La Brea Woman’s discovery. He always said he knew deep in his bones that she belonged to us. Then, these white men scoop her out of the ground and put her on display. Like some kind of animal, unworthy of the honor she should have been provided through the time-honored rituals of our people. Then as soon as we begin our fight to have her returned to us, the museum removed her from display…only a small plaque remains stating one set of human remains have ever been found in the pits. It’s like our history is being wiped clean.”

  Mariska’s heart ached as she listened to him speak. His father’s pain had been passed down and become his own.

  “Did your father ever mention anything unusual about the body?”

  “One that he always felt curious was how she was found with her arms wrapped around a small dog. It would have been unusual for someone to have domesticated a small canine during that time…or at least, that’s what the history books say.”

  “You’re right. Commonly accepted research indicated that canines weren’t domesticated until later in the America’s. However, to be honest, the timelines of the people of the world are constantly shifting. Changes are always being written in as further research is completed and new discoveries are made.”

  “My father only mentioned one other strange thing about the La Brea Woman discovery.”

  Mariska sat up straighter on the sofa. “Yes?”

  “He mentioned that it ruined his friendship with Mr. As
hton. Apparently, they had been fast friends from childhood. That all changed when they found the remains.”

  “Other than the obvious, did he mention why?”

  “Not anything specific. He said there were two discoveries made that day. When pressed about the second discovery, he would grow quiet and change the subject.” Peter leaned in closer to Mariska. “You have to understand; in those days, we had respect and honor-lines…even within the family that could not be crossed. When my father said, no, he meant, no.”

  Damn, it. Did Peter Grassland’s father know about the tooth and beads?

  “Does the Chumash or any other local tribes have legends surrounding creatures that may or may not actually exist?”

  Peter looked at her like she’d lost her damn mind.

  “I know, that’s a really strange question,” Mariska said with a laugh. “I’ve heard rumors about creatures with large teeth, specifically eye-teeth, that don’t match anything else we’ve discovered up to this point. I’m just wondering if you’ve heard anything about these creatures…maybe in folklore or tradition.”

  “There is a legend amongst our people that is told to misbehaving children.” Peter smiled and a snicker escaped his lips. “They are called the Night-howler. Many other names come to mind like Bigfoot and Yeti, but all referring to the same legend.”

  “Night-howler, huh?”

  “Yes, the legend says that children that misbehave or don’t do as they are told will be taken away from the tribe in the middle of the night. This mythical creature lives in the forested areas and howls at night…thus, the name. Anyway, it’s a traditional story passed down from generation to generation. I can remember sitting up some nights waiting for the creature to come and take me away after I disobeyed my father.” Peter laughed again as the memories were relived.

  “It’s too bad that there hasn’t been any proof of these Night Howlers in the fossil record. I bet it would be easier to get the kids today to behave if we had found them.”

  “It’s probably for the best.” His voice changed from light-hearted to deadly serious.

  “How, so?” Mariska wasn’t smiling anymore.

  “Legend has it that the bones of the Night Howler are sacred. Anyone possessing them without the proper authority is cursed.”

  “Cursed, how?”

  “Not sure, exactly.” Peter stood and stretched. “As far as I’ve ever heard, there’s never been any bones in possession. My guess is they don’t exist, so there was never a need to elaborate.”

  Mariska stood. She had a feeling with the mood in the room having shifted so drastically, her time here was up.

  “Can I ask you a personal question, Peter?”

  “Certainly.”

  “While I was waiting for you I took a look at the photos on your table.”

  “Ah, yes. Some of the best photos we as a family have taken.”

  “They certainly are.” She paused for a moment. “I was wondering about that one.” She pointed to the one under the reading lamp. “Who is that young man in the picture with you?”

  His expression hardened, and he took a moment to answer. Clearing his throat, he said, “That was my son.”

  “Was?”

  “He passed away a long time ago.” Emotion began to rise up into Peter’s voice. He cleared his throat again. “He was a troubled youth. Got into drugs. A similar story to so many other families that have suffered such a great loss.”

  “I’m so sorry for your loss.” Mariska looked away so she wouldn’t cry.

  Peter shook his head, no doubt pushing the emotional memories back into safekeeping. “I’m surprised you didn’t know about him?”

  Mariska gave him a quizzical look. “Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

  “No reason, I suppose. You’d mentioned you were friends with Ms. Ashton. I assumed she told you.”

  Definitely, not friends, Mariska thought. She couldn’t imagine why Ingrid would have brought it up, other than Mariska having seen old photos of Peter’s father. Maybe she would have to ask Ingrid about it the next time she saw her.

  Mariska shook his hand and walked with him to the front door. In the driveway, Mariska saw the catering van parked in front of the house. That reminded her of another question she had. “Are you having something catered today? That’s the same company we use at the Page Museum for our events.”

  “Yes, a birthday party for my grandchildren. Twin boys.” He puffed his chest out a bit with pride. Surely, he had to know if she looked into it, she’d find out he owned the company. But she decided to let it drop…for now.

  He stopped her before she left the house. “I would be very careful if I were you.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Whoever took the La Brea Woman’s remains is still out there. And, if you have something in your possession that they still want or need, they won’t stop until they get it. Remember, they’ve already hurt you once, they can do it again.”

  The image of Jane sprawled out on Mariska’s bedroom floor, blood soaking into the carpet and dripping from the walls, made her shake her head. “It’s too late for that.”

  They’ve already hurt me more than you can imagine.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Mariska parked the car in the parking lot behind David’s apartment. After leaving her parent’s house, she’d called David and asked if she could crash at his place before she paid Peter Grassland a visit. She got out of the car and opened the trunk. Inside, she pulled out the computer bag. Slinging it over one shoulder and the purse over the other, she hustled across the parking lot. The darkness of night hadn’t used to bother her as much as it did now. After being attacked and stalked this past week, she was a bit jumpy. A man throwing a full garbage bag into the dumpster made her jump. She pulled the straps of her bags closer to her, and she picked up the pace.

  David’s apartment was on the second floor of a new and enormous complex that stretched a full city block. She was almost to the staircase that lead to his place when something caught her attention. Someone was following her. Mariska stopped and turned to look behind her. The shadows were playing tricks on her, right? The lampposts retrofitted with LED lights cast some of the most glaring and hideous looking shadows she’d ever seen. A noise to the left turned her on her heel, and she ran the rest of the way to the staircase. Two by two, she dashed up the concrete steps and pounded on his door. With her back to the door, she searched the grounds below for any signs of danger while she waited for David to answer the door.

  Nothing. No sign of anything other than the man who’d been throwing away the trash, walking back to his own place on the other side of the courtyard. The door opened behind her, and she stumbled backward as she’d been leaning against it.

  “Oh, my gosh,” David said. “Mariska, are you okay?”

  She tossed her bags into his apartment and hurried inside. “Yeah, why? I’m good. How are you?”

  David closed the door. He started to step toward her, arms out for a hug, but she reached past him and locked the door.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.

  She hugged him. The familiarity was nice. He was a solidly built man, which made her feel a little less on her own. “I’m better, now.”

  He tightened his arms around her. They stood in the entryway in an embrace for a few moments. Then, David kissed the top of her head, and she pulled away. She’d lingered a touch too long. Mariska smiled. “Thank you so much for letting me stay here tonight.”

  David waved her gratitude away as if he’d done nothing of importance. “You’re more than welcome to stay. I have to ask you something though.”

  “Sure.” She went and sat on his sofa. “But before you do, any chance you have some wine?”

  He smiled. “You’re in luck. I just picked up a box at the grocery store.”

  Box? They still made boxes of wine? “Great,” she said. “Would it be a bother to have a glass?”

  “No trouble at all.” David disappeared int
o the kitchen.

  She needed a couple minutes to clear her head. She owed him a huge apology, and she needed a minute to formulate the right words to say. He deserved more than an apology, he deserved the grant, and she intended on telling him so.

  He returned with two glasses filled with a pinkish liquid. “I hope a Rosé will be suitable for you.”

  Not her favorite, but she smiled anyway. “Of course. Thank, you.”

  Mariska took the proffered drink and sipped it. It was too sweet for her taste, but she appreciated the attempt. “Oh, yum. That’s surprisingly good.”

  “Really?” He took a sip, smacking his lips as he swallowed it down. “Not, bad, huh?”

  She leaned back into the soft sofa and rubbed her hand across the leather surface. Was this new? He hadn’t mentioned getting new furniture. Wow, she’d been a terrible friend, lately. He would have normally taken her with to pick it out, spent days mulling it over with her while they shared dinners discussing such a purchase.

  “You like it?” He sat next to her and rubbed the cushioned back of the sofa.

  “It’s so comfortable. I love it.” She yawned. “Man, I’m tired.”

  “Long day?” He leaned back. “So, what gives? Why the sudden need to see me? I think the last time we saw each other you accused me of stealing your grant.”

  He removed his dark-rimmed glasses and rubbed his eyes. But when he put them back on, he looked at her differently. It was clear he was still hurting from the other night. She’d cut him deep, and she was sorry for that. She sat up on the edge of the sofa cushion and leaned in, putting her hand on his knee.

  “David, I want to apologize for my behavior at the restaurant. I think the news about your grant hit me unexpectedly hard and I lashed out.”