The Ghost of Mistletoe Mary

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  Jeremiah ran his hand along the smooth surface of the truck’s door. On it was attached a magnetic door sign with the Milestone Farm logo. “Nice wheels. It new?”

  “Yeah,” she answered with a gleam in her eye. “Brand-new. The old one couldn’t make the long drive anymore. We just use it around the farm now.” She started the truck. “You still seeing that Rose from Angels?”

  “I am. Why?”

  “Just that I know a hot grandma up my way you might like if you’re ever interested.”

  He laughed and shook his head with amusement. “I’ll keep that in mind, girl.”

  Even with its optimistic name, it was obvious that the Hi-Life Diner was not one of the new trendy places. It had been new once, maybe back when Eisenhower had been president, but now it was just a run-down diner with scuffed linoleum and cracked bloodred vinyl booths and stools patched here and there with duct tape. In some cases the entire seat of a booth had been replaced without thought to matching the color of the original seat, so that some of the booths were a patchwork of red backs with green or black seats. The place was narrow with a counter running along the right and booths along the left and a few along the back wall. There was no room in the middle for tables. Tacked on the side wall above the booths was a beat-up gold banner wishing everyone Happy Holidays. There was a door marked Restroom set in the back wall and a swinging door at the end of the counter that probably led to the kitchen and was marked Employees Only.

  The smell of bacon, toasted bread, and strong coffee hit his nostrils as soon as he entered the place, making Jeremiah realize how hungry he was. He straddled the first stool at the long worn but clean counter and placed his phone on the counter in front of him. He’d turned off the ringer, and set it to vibrate. On the end of the counter were two covered pedestal cake plates. Under one dome was an assortment of donuts that looked fresh. Under the other was a chocolate cake that didn’t. From here he could keep an eye on his bike through the grimy window.

  Across from the counter were the usual food prep areas used by the waitstaff, and beyond that the kitchen, seen through a long pass-through where orders were stuck into clips like flags and food delivered to the raised counter for pickup. From Jeremiah’s spot, he could see only one cook working this morning—an older dark brown man, his head covered by a cap pulled down tight, bill backward. The cook was probably Mexican and possibly illegal, paid cheaply and under the table. Many places in downtown hired illegals of all races and backgrounds. Every now and then the authorities cracked down, but within days the workers were back, sometimes new faces, sometimes the same ones, willing to take the risk of deportation for low-paying jobs that fed their families.

  Thick earthenware mugs of dull white were placed in clusters, rims down, here and there along the counter. Jeremiah picked up one and turned it upright, signaling that he wanted coffee. Soon a short, dumpy waitress was in front of him filling his cup with a dark, strong brew. She wore a bib apron over ratty purple knit pants and a dark blue T-shirt, and from the cleanliness of the apron, Jeremiah guessed she’d just started her shift.

  “Know what you want?” she asked him, her dark full lips taking a no-nonsense stance. She was African-American, in her forties or even pushing fifty, with very dark skin, almond eyes, and a wide face that hinted it might have been angular and pretty when she was younger. On her head was a wig fashioned in a blunt cut of mahogany hair that once belonged to someone else. Pinned to the front of her apron was a name tag that read Mona.

  In answer, Jeremiah grabbed a menu from several stashed between the nearest napkin holder and a pair of salt and pepper shakers. It was greasy and encased in a holder of cracked plastic. Giving him a minute, the waitress moved down the counter refilling the mugs of the other two men seated together at the counter—one black, one Latino, both dressed for jobs of manual labor. They must have been regulars, because they joked with Mona as she poured their coffee and she responded with a wide smile and sass of her own.

  The menu was standard diner fare. Breakfast on the front, other food items in the middle pages, and the back listed sides, extras, drinks, and desserts. A moment later, Mona was back in front of him, still holding the coffeepot like a weapon.

  “Made up your mind?” she asked.

  “The breakfast special,” he told her as he replaced the menu next to the napkin holder. “Eggs over easy.”

  “Toast?”

  “Whole wheat.”

  After writing the order down and tacking it to a clip in the kitchen window, Mona made some toast and when it was done waddled over toward the only occupied booth. With his mug to his lips, Jeremiah watched from the corner of his eye. The booth was against the back wall and held two white people, a man and a woman, seated on opposite sides. The man was older, dressed casually but nice, and looked uncomfortable. The woman was painfully thin. She wore a short, clingy, bright blue dress of cheap material, very high heels, and too much makeup. Her bright red hair was long and teased on top. She was most likely a working girl. Both looked tired. He might have been her last customer of the night or had been picked up early this morning and she’d talked him into buying her breakfast before they parted. Her pimp could take her money, but he couldn’t take a full belly.

  The cook called order up. Mona picked up the food that had been placed in the pass-through and delivered it to the booth, where the woman fell on it like a starving animal. Jeremiah wondered if this was Lizzie, Mistletoe Mary’s friend. She certainly fit the description Carmen had given him.

  His own order was placed in front of him a few minutes later. Two eggs perfectly fried over easy, crispy hash browns, and two strips of bacon. On a separate plate, Mona had delivered his whole-wheat buttered toast and a single plastic pod of strawberry jam. The food was served on heavy dishes of scratched dull white rimmed with a thin blue line. He ate, keeping an eye on the couple in the booth without being too obvious, which was easy enough since the place wasn’t that large. When the two men seated at the counter paid and left, Jeremiah had a direct view of the booth.

  He raised his mug to his lips again, saying out loud but in a low whisper squelched by the rim of the mug, “Granny, where are you when I need you?”

  “You rang?” came a voice out of nowhere.

  Surprised, Jeremiah coughed and sputtered on the coffee in his mouth until some went down his throat and the rest dribbled down his chin. He grabbed some napkins from the nearby holder and mopped his face.

  “You okay there, mister?” the waitress said stepping in front of him.

  “I’m fine,” Jeremiah assured her. “It just went down the wrong way.”

  After staring at him a moment, Mona turned and went down to the other end of the counter where she was filling gathered dispensers with sugar and salt and pepper.

  Jeremiah glanced slyly around, but saw nothing. He brought his mug up close to his lips again and whispered, “Granny, that you?”

  “Who else you expecting?” The ghost of Granny Apples materialized next to him. “You did send up a smoke signal to Emma that you wanted to see me, didn’t you?”

  He nodded as he took a sip of coffee, and wondered how he was going to communicate with the spirit without people noticing.

  “What a dump,” Granny said, looking around. “Are you sure you should eat the food here?”

  In answer, Jeremiah shoveled another bite of eggs into his mouth.

  After swallowing his food, he cast another look at the booth, noting that the man had only picked at his food while the woman was in the process of wiping her plate clean with a piece of toast. The three of them were the only customers in the place at the moment. He half expected the man to wave a hand at Mona indicating he wanted the check so he could make his escape, but he didn’t. Instead he watched the woman across from him wolf down her food with a mixture of disgust and despair.

  He needed to tell Granny to go over and see what they
were saying, but didn’t dare mumble anything out loud in case Mona was listening. He knew when Emma needed to talk to Granny, she often pretended to be speaking on her cell phone, but that wouldn’t work in this case because he needed to talk about people within earshot. Then he remembered that Granny could read some. Picking up his phone, he typed in a short text message but didn’t send it. He put the phone back down on the counter, tapping the screen until Granny noticed, and went back to eating.

  Granny looked down at the cell phone screen. “You need me to spy on those folks in the booth?” she asked. He nodded as he chewed on a strip of bacon. “You gonna tell me why or what we’re looking for?” she prodded.

  After wiping his hands on a napkin, Jeremiah picked up his phone and typed in, Not here. He put the phone back down on the counter and went back to finishing his breakfast.

  “Gotcha,” the ghost said with a determined jerk of her chin.

  Turning his head slightly, Jeremiah watched as the ghost sashayed in her pioneer garb with its ankle-length homespun skirt and long-sleeved blouse over to the booth with the man and woman.

  While Granny spied for him, Jeremiah finished his breakfast. He’d just pushed his plate away when Mona returned with the coffeepot and refilled his mug. “You a cop?” she asked without ceremony.

  The question should have surprised Jeremiah, but it didn’t. He knew he still looked like a cop and always would. His military and police training were too ingrained for him to be anything else. “No,” he answered honestly. He studied the bloated face of the waitress, wondering if he should tell her the truth or try a ruse, but one look into her small dark eyes let him know that while she may be slow-moving physically, her mind was quick and she was observant. “I’m a PI. I’m looking for a missing woman.”

  “A runaway?” Mona asked with no emotion in her voice. “We don’t get many of those down here. They mostly hit Hollywood. They end up down here when they hit bottom, like that piece of trash over there.” She indicated the woman in the booth with the red hair.

  Jeremiah glanced that way and saw that the man was talking to the woman and the woman looked bored. Granny was almost perched on top of the table listening. “Not a young woman and not a runaway,” he told Mona, turning back to her. “Do you know a woman called Mistletoe Mary?” he asked in a low voice.

  Mona’s eyes widened with surprise. It was the first emotion he’d seen from her. She snorted, “Who would pay a private dick to find her?”

  Jeremiah pulled his coffee close. “I’m doing it for a friend. Have you seen her?”

  “Not lately,” Mona told him. “She used to work down here but she got too old and sick.”

  “I’m told she used to work for Ace and that Ace works out of this diner.” He remembered that Carmen claimed the diner was owned by Ace’s family. “You related to Ace?” he asked.

  “He’s my brother,” Mona admitted. “But you don’t want to go messing with him. He kicked her to the curb a few weeks, maybe a month back. He ain’t had nothing to do with her since.”

  “I have no intention of messing with him,” Jeremiah assured her, “but I’d like to ask him a few questions. See if he knows where she might be.”

  “Dead most likely,” Mona said with another small snort. “She was a drunk and sick, both in the body and the head. That’s why Ace cut her off.”

  Jeremiah nodded his head in the direction of the booth. “Is that woman there called Lizzie?” When Mona nodded, he added, “I hear she’s friends with Mary. Maybe when her John leaves, I can buy a few moments of her time.”

  Mona put down the pot and leaned forward on the counter, displaying copious breasts barely held in check by the neckline of her shirt. “That ain’t no John. That’s her daddy. He comes here a couple times a month to buy her breakfast and try to talk some sense into her.” She straightened up. “Breaks my heart, but nothing I can do about it.”

  Jeremiah fixed his eyes on hers. “Breaks your heart so much you and Ace run girls out of here?”

  Again Mona bent over, but this time she wasn’t as friendly. “Listen, mister. Ace might be my brother, but I have no part in whatever business he’s in. I need to make a living just like the next person. I run the Hi-Life and that’s it. It’s an honest business that my brother would ruin if I ran him off.” When he didn’t say anything, she added with narrow eyes, “Do you understand me?”

  Jeremiah nodded. He understood perfectly. “Where’s Ace now?”

  “Sleeping. He probably just got to bed an hour or so ago. Won’t be up until after noon.”

  “Where does he crash?”

  Mona straightened. “I ain’t telling you. He’s my brother. And you may not be a cop, but I’m betting you once were. Black or not, you’re covered with cop stink.”

  Jeremiah reached into his zippered pocket and pulled out a ten-dollar bill. He placed it on the counter and pushed it toward Mona. “What are my chances of getting some one-on-one time with Lizzie over there after her father leaves?” Then he tacked on, “Without Ace knowing.”

  Mona picked up the ten and deposited it somewhere under the folds of her apron. Then she pulled his meal ticket from her pad and placed it in front of him, making it clear the ten was over and above the price of his meal which was only $6.99 with coffee. He put another ten and a five on the counter and said, “Keep the change.”

  Again the money disappeared. Mona left and returned with the coffeepot. As she refilled his mug, she said, “Her daddy should be going soon. He never stays much past the meal. I’ll make sure Lizzie sticks around. She’s got a sweet tooth. I’ll take her a piece of cake.” When she finished pouring his coffee, she carved off a large piece from the chocolate cake under the plastic dome, placed it on a plate, and put it on the counter. He started to pull out more cash to pay for the cake, but Mona shook her head. “This is on the house. It’s two days old and will be tossed later today anyway.”

  Jeremiah was relieved at the gesture. He was bleeding money and had just started his investigation.

  Soon after, the man at the booth shoved some money across the table at Lizzie, which she scooped up. Then he got up and came to the counter and stood just a couple of stools down from Jeremiah. He caught Mona’s eye, making sure she saw the twenty he put down on the counter before leaving. Jeremiah watched him walk out with rounded shoulders and tears in his eyes. His child was lost to him and there was nothing he could do, but he wasn’t about to stop trying.

  As soon as Lizzie’s father was gone, Mona picked up the big slice of cake and delivered it to Lizzie’s booth. Jeremiah took the cue and followed her with his coffee mug. One the way he passed Granny returning to the counter. He gave her a nod that turned her on her heels back to the table.

  Chapter 4

  “This gentleman’s bought this cake for you, Lizzie,” Mona told the woman in the booth. She put the cake down in front of the woman, cleared the breakfast dishes, and returned to the counter.

  “She’s looking at that cake like it’s a bear trap, ready to snatch her,” Granny noted.

  “I’m done for the night,” Lizzie said to Jeremiah without looking up from the cake. Her voice was low but determined, like a warning growl.

  “I’m not here for that,” Jeremiah told her. “I’m a private investigator. I want to ask you about your friend Mary.”

  “I don’t have any friends.”

  “Sure you do,” Jeremiah said to her in a soothing tone. “You’ve got your father. Isn’t that who just left?”

  “Yep,” Granny confirmed. “That was her daddy. And she has a son, too. A little boy named Ryan, according to her father.”

  “And you have Ryan, don’t you?” Jeremiah said to her, thankful for the feed from Granny.

  Lizzie’s face shot up to stare at Jeremiah. Under all the garish makeup and mop of shocking red hair was a face younger than he’d expected. But she did look used up. Under he
r dull blue eyes were deep dark crescents, both from being up all night and from drug use. Her skin was sallow, her cheeks hollow, making her long nose seem longer and thinner. At one time, Jeremiah thought, she must have been pretty with full cheeks and a youthful spark in her eyes.

  “How do you know about Ryan?” she hissed.

  “And her daddy wants her to come home,” added Granny. “Said he’d help her get off the drugs so she can be a good mother to Ryan.” The ghost sniffed. “Broke my heart hearing him plead with her to come home in time for Christmas. Said it would be the best present in the world for Ryan.”

  Jeremiah folded his hands on top of the table and leaned forward. “I heard that man say something about him and how he wants you to go home and be a proper momma to him. Sounds like a good plan to me.”

  “You don’t know nothing,” she hissed again.

  “Listen, girl,” Jeremiah said, keeping his voice even and paternal, “I know your friend Mistletoe Mary is missing and might be dead.”

  “You’ve been talking to that crazy man Bucket,” she said with a sneer. “Mary’s not dead. She left to live with her daughter. Everyone knows that.”

  “Did you ever see her daughter? Can you describe her?” he asked.

  Granny got up and started pacing, clearly upset by the girl. “That poor little boy. He needs a mother.” Jeremiah shot the ghost a glance, but didn’t make eye contact.

  Lizzie thought about the question. “Yeah, once. No, wait. Twice, I think. Yeah, two times.”

  Granny stopped pacing and stood by the table listening. She said to Jeremiah, “You are going to tell me what this is all about, aren’t you?”

  Without looking at the ghost, he nodded slightly. Of Lizzie, he asked, “When was this? Do you remember?”

  “A week or two before Thanksgiving, but I don’t remember the exact day,” she answered. She picked up the fork Mona delivered with the cake and cut off a large piece with the side of it. “We were on a corner by one of the bars working.”