The BMW whined as she slammed on her brakes. The SUV was once again pushing her forward. Only, this time, she couldn’t steer the car away from the cliff’s edge. With a sickening sensation that accompanied free-fall, the car went over the edge. Broken shards of glass and her cell phone that she’d dropped again began to float up from the floor. But only for a second, as the car hit the side of the cliff wall, bouncing away from it, before slamming into the ground at the bottom of the cliff. Her seatbelt engaged, tightening around her like a boa constrictor. Air pushed from her lungs, with the feeling of a cracked rib, and then the snap her head forward.
She tried to breathe, but couldn’t. Her vision blurred and then began to tunnel. Her world was going black, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. A ringing in her ears and a stream of blood running from her mouth were the last sensations she felt before her world went dark.
Chapter Thirteen
Dust swirled through the air in a suffocating cloud. Mariska coughed, gagged on the tiny particles that now coated her tongue and restricted her airway. Where was she? It was hard to breathe, and the struggle made it hard to think. She started pulling at the strap that pressed against her chest and waist. What was going on?
Mariska tried to yell for help but instantly regretted it. A series of coughs once again wracked her body. Her lungs burned. Her throat ached. She tried to swallow, but couldn’t. A sudden clarity awakened her logical thought process. The steering wheel in front of her, the seatbelt suspending her in midair, and the shattered windshield told the story.
She’d been run off the road and was now nose down in a deep ravine.
Reaching down between the seat and the driver side door, she blindly felt for the seat belt release button. Where the hell was it? Her fingers closed around what she’d been searching for.
Click
Mariska used her feet to brace for impact. The airbag had deployed but was now a dusty half inflated bag, useless for cushioning her fall onto the steering wheel. Lying flat against the steering wheel, she used her left hand to search the car door for the handle. A few frantic seconds passed before she pulled it, the door swung open. A breath of cool air engulfed her body, chilling the sweat the covered her skin. It felt like Heaven but was short-lived as she pushed herself up and over to exit the vehicle.
The fall to the ground outside the car didn’t hurt so much as it woke her up. Woke her up to the situation she was now a part of—someone had tried to kill her. Again.
A few seconds passed while she cleared her head. It hurt when she breathed. Pushing her fingers along her ribs, she pinpointed the fourth rib and intercostal. Pushing a little harder, she winced. There wasn’t any grinding or crunching when she applied significant pressure, probably bruised rather than broken. Wiggling her fingers, toes, and all four limbs, Mariska determined she would live. Nothing broken, but she hurt like hell. Although, her mouth tasted of blood. Sitting next to her on the ground was a piece of her side mirror. She picked it up and looked at her reflection. Hair in all directions, matted against her face and partially slick with sweat, her makeup gave her raccoon eyes, and blood drying on her lips and down her chin.
She swallowed. More blood. Opening her mouth, she looked in the mirror again. Her tongue was lacerated and seeping blood. She’d bitten her tongue. It didn’t hurt too badly, but she knew it would later. Visions of her many friends in college who’d went and gotten tongue rings. Oh, it doesn’t hurt. You should get one. They’d been drunk, and silly. But the next morning couldn’t eat, barely drink. Coffee in the morning would have to be iced.
Surveying her surrounding, Mariska replayed the events that led her to this spot. She’d been a few minutes’ drive from Ingrid’s home. Closing her eyes, she mentally put herself on the map. A mile, maybe two. She could walk that far. Forcing herself up to stand, she stretched. Snap, crackle, pop. Everything began to fall back into place. Looking up the side of the ravine that she needed to climb she started to laugh. How the hell was she going to do this? It might as well have been a sheer cliff or Mount Everest—she was in heels.
“A journey of a thousand miles starts with the first step…or something like that,” Mariska said as she took off her heels.
After retrieving her purse and cell phone from the car, she tucked the heels into the back of her pants, slung the purse over her neck, and tiptoed to the wall of dirt and rock. Taking her time, she looked ahead and plotted out a few hand-holds so she wouldn’t get stuck in no-mans-land. The rocks hurt her feet and hands, and she was going to need an emergency pedicure when she could find the time, but she was going to make it. What seemed like forever, was over in ten minutes—according to the time on the cell phone. She sat at the top of the ravine, alongside the roadway. Breathing heavily and sweating profusely, she was safe.
Mariska tried to call David, but couldn’t get a signal. She stood, put on her heels, brushed the dirt from her clothes and tried to straighten her hair. A revving car engine drew her attention up the road to one of the many switchbacks. There, maybe a quarter of a mile ahead was a dark SUV. A breath caught in her chest. That was the son of a bitch who ran her off the road. Who were they? She squinted, trying to get a better look at the man who stood outside the vehicle. She didn’t recognize him. He was too far away to see any distinguishing features, but he was a tall man. Thick, broad shoulders, wore a suit, and sunglasses. They’d been watching her. Probably waiting to see if she survived the crash.
She pulled out her cell phone again, pretending to make a call. That did the trick. He hopped back into the passenger side of his vehicle and started pulling away. Take a picture, you idiot. Fumbling with her phone, she managed to open the camera and take a picture before the SUV had completely disappeared from sight. Mariska zoomed in on the picture, trying to make out the license plate. No use. Too far away. She’d keep the picture anyway, just in case. Maybe Detective Wulf would want to see it.
Mariska spent a few minutes wandering around trying to get a signal with her phone. Her phone suddenly beeped. A text message managed to sneak through the spotty coverage. Opening the message, she saw it was from an anonymous number. The message read: You’re in Danger! Badger.
“Now you tell me.” She tried to reply to the message by asking how he knew and asking if he knew who was trying to hurt her, but the message had essentially come from no number at all. The cell phone prompted her to put in a number before the message could be sent.
Mariska put the phone in her back pocket and started up the road. A couple miles walk in heels shouldn’t be that bad. She’d done it before with minor blistering. The hour passed about as fast as it does in the dentist chair, but she made it to Ingrid’s mansion. The sprawling estate was at least ten acres, hidden away in the hills outside L.A. city limits. It was quiet up here in the hills, very little traffic and even fewer neighbors. The acreage was stamped in the middle with a gorgeous white and stone mansion. From where she stood on the roadside, she could only make out a small portion of the front of the main house. She’d been told there were a couple separate buildings that housed the help. Rumor had it that Ingrid even had a collection of antiquities, artifacts, and fossils that would leave a fully established museum, green with envy. The gate in front of her was at the base of the driveway. Locked up tight. Mariska pushed the intercom button and waited.
“Can I help you?” a man’s voice said over the intercom.
“Yes. My name is Dr. Mariska Stevenson, and I would like to speak with Ingrid, please.”
“Where is your car?”
Mariska saw that the intercom also had a camera. “I was in an accident. I left the car about two miles back.”
There was a long pause. Long enough for Mariska to question if she was going to get a response at all.
“Ingrid will see you.”
There was a buzzing noise, and the gate immediately started to open. Mariska didn’t wait for it to finish opening and slipped in through the ever-widening space as soon as she could fit.
Speed walking up the long, bricked driveway, she managed it in less than a minute. She rang the doorbell and used her selfie setting on the phone to straighten her hair and makeup. She was still a mess when the door opened.
“Dr. Stevenson, welcome. Miss Ingrid will be with you momentarily. Your unexpected arrival has found her in the middle of some pressing matters.” The butler ushered her inside and closed the door. Mariska followed him to a sitting room a few feet from the entrance.
“Can I offer you something to drink?” the butler asked.
“Some water would be wonderful, thank you.” Mariska remained standing and waited in the middle of the sitting room.
The butler returned moments later with a tall, cold glass of water. She took a sip; it was refreshing and felt good on her sore, dry throat.
“Thank you,” Mariska said. “This is wonderful.”
The butler nodded and walked over to one of the ornate chairs in the room and placed a white cloth down on the seat. He led her over to the chair and said, “Please, have a seat. Miss Ingrid shouldn’t be much longer.”
She took a seat in the uncomfortable yet elegant chair. The clawed feet and arms of the chair gave it a medieval appearance. In fact, the entire room reeked of old, expensive decor. Oil paintings of aristocrats, Chinese vases, and Egyptian art with cartouche carvings hung from the walls. Covered the tables and filled the built-in display cases that lined the walls of the room. Beautiful art. Expensive and historical things. Someone with a more discerning eye for such pieces might call them relics or artifacts.
She fought the urge to get up and look around. Pick up and hold each piece. Try to feel the historical significance of each item. Much like she did when examining the bones and fossils of animals…and of the La Brea Woman. Mariska prided herself in the ability to feel the energy, the significance of fossils. It was like the wooly mammoth was alive when she touched its bones. Her colleagues would joke from time to time about her attachment to the specimens she examined. They aren’t alive anymore, they’d say. They can’t hear you, Mariska.
The only person at the museum who seemed to get her was David. He would look at her, watch her while she worked. How many times she’d look up to find him smiling. His attention on her, rather than his own work. He made her feel like a genuine, authentic person. Not a title. Not a paleontologist or scientist. Not a daughter. An individual, with feelings, desires, and passion.
Mariska smiled and pulled out her phone. She’d send him a text. They were going to have dinner later tonight. Maybe he could pick her up at Ingrid’s and drive her home. An image of him, freaking out, coddling her like a child. Nope, not in the mood for that shit.
She got up from the chair and started surveying the room a little more closely. There were some photographs on the long wooden table in the back of the room. Mariska bent down to get a closer look. Black and white pictures of people standing over a large pit. She recognized the pond in the background. It was taken at the Page Museum. Actually, before the museum ever existed, but from the grounds where the building was eventually built. Next to the pit there were two men dressed in dirty work clothes, the pants held on by suspenders. The picture looked like it dated back to the early 1900s. The men were skinny, dirty, but happy. The man with the pickaxe and shovel stood next to a large mammoth bone—a femur, the back leg. The next picture caught her attention. Two adult men and a young boy, maybe ten to twelve years old. They stood next to large, deep pit. Mariska leaned in closer to the photograph. The angle of the picture didn’t allow her to see all the way to the bottom of the pit, but there was something sticking out, barely visible.
A human arm.
The La Brea Woman was the only human ever unearthed at the La Brea Tar Pits, so it had to be her. Which dated the picture to 1914, the year she was discovered. Mariska picked up the picture to get a better look at the people. She didn’t recognize them from any of her history books or displays at the Page Museum. Although, it was possible that one of them was Mr. Page, the founder of the Museum. She hadn’t seen pictures of him as a young man, plus the picture quality wasn’t the best.
Mariska put the framed picture back on the table. The third and last photo was harder to make out. The image looked smeared like the camera was moved while the film was exposed during the shot. She looked behind her, Ingrid still hadn’t arrived. Turning over the picture frame, she started to undo the clasps in the back. She wanted to see if anything was written on the back of the picture.
“What are you doing?” The voice from behind her startled Mariska. The picture she held seemed to jump from her hands on its own. In desperation, she fumbled with it, trying to regain her grip. The beautiful, wooden frame, and priceless, one of a kind photograph hit the floor with a crash.
Chapter Fourteen
Ingrid rushed over to where the picture had fallen. Her tall, thin frame was aged, but sinewy, and strong. With an ease of someone thirty years younger, she bent down to the floor and scooped a piece of her family history up into her arms. Clutching the frame to her chest, she slowly took a look at the picture.
Mariska held her breath as she craned her neck to inspect the damage. The glass covering the photograph was shattered, a few shards had come loose and speckled the wooden floor near where Ingrid kneeled. With a sure hand, Ingrid ran her finger along the cracks in the glass, inspecting the photograph below.
“Oh my God,” Mariska said. “Ingrid, I’m so sorry. I wanted to look at the back of the photograph…and I guess I was startled. I feel terrible. Is there something I can do to fix it?” Mariska reached down and placed a gentle hand on Ingrid’s shoulder.
Ingrid pulled away from her touch and stood. A few short strides and she reached a nearby desk. She slid the top drawer open and placed the broken frame inside. Without a word, she took a deep breath before closing the drawer and turning to face Mariska.
Mariska took a step back. The look on Ingrid’s face was not the kind, experienced scientist she’d met once before. Ingrid looked her up and down before clearing her throat.
“You look a frightful mess, my dear,” Ingrid said as she walked around her, leaving a wide berth between them. “I see my butler, Thomas, has provided you with a towel to sit.”
Ingrid took a seat in the chair facing the one with a protective towel. She motioned for Mariska to sit as well. Without a word, Mariska rushed over to the chair.
“I’m sorry about the picture.” Mariska fidgeted with her shirt. She looked up and saw Ingrid smile. Before she could muster up the courage to speak again, Ingrid waved a dismissive hand.
“Mistakes happen. Thankfully, the photograph itself was undamaged, although the frame was an antique I picked up on my travels through Europe. Irreplaceable, expensive, but not priceless.”
Mariska felt two inches tall. This woman had been a mountain in the scientific community. A woman who wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. In a male-dominated field of study from the start, archeology and paleontology have had extremely thick glass ceilings. Somehow this woman had managed to achieve more than any man Mariska had met. The daughter and granddaughter of two men who originally found the La Brea Woman on Mr. Page’s land during an excavation of one of the tar pits. In short, she was Mariska’s hero, idol, life-goals personified.
“I will pay to have it fixed.”
“That won’t be necessary, dear.” Ingrid took a glass of water that had just been brought in by Thomas. “Thank you.” She took a sip and smiled. “Refreshing. Would you like some water?”
Mariska looked around for the glass she’d been drinking from a few minutes ago, but somehow in the midst of the chaos, Thomas had taken it away, before she could break that too.
She looked at her hands and then with palms out said, “I better not. I seem to have a case of the dropsies.”
“Indeed,” Ingrid said with a genuine smile. “Thomas, if you’d be so kind as to give us a moment alone.”
They waited while he left the room.
Before Ingrid could
continue, Mariska said, “I’m really sorry to show up unannounced. I needed to talk with you about something important.”
“What is it? Is everything all right?”
Mariska caught herself smoothing out her hair and clothes. A nervous habit, but one that fit in this case. She was still quite a mess after the accident.
“Dear, why do you look like that? What happened?” Ingrid’s concern was evident in her voice. She put the glass of water down and leaned forward to get a better look at Mariska.
How do you tell someone you were attacked, run off the road and left for dead? “I was in an accident. On my way here, an SUV crashed into me, and I went off the side of Mulholland Drive.”
“Have you called the police? Do you need an ambulance? Are you okay?” Ingrid’s questions came with concern etched across her face.
“I haven’t called anyone, yet. At the site of the accident, I didn’t have cell coverage and couldn’t call anyone. I walked the last two miles to your house. I figured I could call them from here.” Mariska wanted to tell her everything, but didn’t know who she could trust. She closed her eyes as she tried to push the ever-growing fear away.
“Of course. If your phone doesn’t work here, you can always use the house phone.” Ingrid stood and went into the hall outside the room. She must have been speaking with Thomas, but Mariska couldn’t make out what they were saying. When she came back into the sitting room, she said, “Thomas will fetch the police or a doctor. Would you like him to make a call on your behalf?”
If anyone showed up now, she wouldn’t have a chance to really converse with Ingrid. This entire trip would have been for nothing. “I don’t think that’s necessary. Before I go, I’ll call my friend David. He can pick me up. We’re supposed to have dinner together anyway.”
Preservation Page 10