“Did Mary introduce you to her?” Jeremiah asked. “Did you get a name?”
“Not then, but I think Mary once told me that her daughter’s name was Sherry or Cheryl or something like that. She told me that the state took her from Mary when she was just a toddler. It was because of the drugs.” She shoveled bites of cake into her mouth, one after the other, then struggled to chew and swallow. She ate like she was afraid it would be taken from her.
“Is that why Ryan isn’t with you?” Granny asked, forgetting that Lizzie couldn’t hear her.
“Do you remember what the daughter looked like?” Jeremiah asked.
“Not really,” she said, her mouth still partially full. She glanced over at the counter while she chewed, then washed the cake down with a swig of coffee. “Both times I saw her, she made me leave.”
“Mary did?”
Lizzie shook her head and carved off another bite of cake. If it was stale, Lizzie didn’t mind. “No, the bitch daughter. As soon as she showed up, she told Mary she had to talk to her alone. After, Mary started acting all high and mighty, like she was better than the rest of us, so I left her alone.”
“Ask her about her son, Jeremiah,” demanded Granny.
“Hang on,” Jeremiah said to Granny, forgetting himself.
“Hang on about what?” asked Lizzie with another full mouth.
Granny crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her booted foot on the floor, but it made no noise.
“Hang on,” Jeremiah said to Lizzie, making a save of his blunder. “If you saw her twice, you’d know if she had brown hair or blond. Was she tall or short? Fat or thin?”
Lizzie thought while she chewed, but it was clear she was exhausted. Finally, she said, “Brown hair, I guess. And it was cut short, kind of like hers.” She pointed at Mona. She gave it more thought. “She seemed kind of average to me. She wore sunglasses both times.”
“At night?” both Granny and Jeremiah said in unison.
Lizzie nodded at Jeremiah. “Yeah, happens all the time down here. People go slumming and don’t want to be recognized. Some fools think the shades make them look cool. Usually though they need to hide that they’re high.”
“Which do you think was the case with Mary’s daughter?” he asked.
Lizzie shrugged, her thin shoulders nearly hitting her ears. “Slumming probably.”
“If Mary did leave with her daughter, don’t you think it’s odd that she didn’t say good-bye to you?”
Again the shrug. It was a nervous gesture that began almost every comment from Lizzie. “Not the way she was acting. Like I said, she was bragging about going to live with her daughter. It got pretty old after a while.”
The front door to the diner opened and two black men came in. Like the others, they were dressed for manual labor. They took a booth near the front and called to Mona for coffee and shouted a greeting back to the cook. Regulars. The place probably only had regular customers. Jeremiah was sure the Hi-Life Diner wasn’t on a tourist list of LA’s best eateries.
Jeremiah returned his attention to Lizzie and decided to steer the questions in another direction. “How did Mary get along with Ace? She was one of his girls, wasn’t she?”
At the mention of her pimp, fear filled her eyes as she suddenly thought of something. Putting down her fork, Lizzie started to scoot out of the booth. “I gotta go.”
“Lizzie, don’t,” Jeremiah said, putting out a hand to cover the one she still had on the table. “Ace will never know you spoke to me. I don’t care about him. I’m here to find Mary.”
Lizzie’s eyes shot toward Mona again, who was serving coffee to the two new customers and taking their orders. Finished with that, Mona came to their table and refilled Lizzie’s and Jeremiah’s mugs. “Everything okay here?” Her sharp eyes studied Lizzie, then Jeremiah, and shot back to Lizzie. “Tell the man what he needs to know, Lizzie, and be quick about it,” Mona encouraged her. “Then he’ll be gone. If you don’t, he’s the sort who will stick around and cause trouble. And you know, we don’t be needing any of that.” She gave Lizzie a knowing look. “None of us.” Mona returned to the counter and put in the order for the other table.
Lizzie settled back into the booth and picked up her fresh coffee. She blew over the top of the mug before taking a sip. “Mary works for Ace,” she finally said. “Same as me.”
“I heard that he cut her loose because she was too old and sick to attract customers.” Jeremiah turned his warm mug around between his two hands.
Lizzie nodded her head with disgust. “Ace would never do that as long as a girl could turn a buck, but it was getting more and more difficult for her to earn anything and Ace lost his patience. He turned her out of her place shortly before Thanksgiving.”
“You mean he controls where you live?”
She nodded. “Several of us room together in a dive on Stanford Avenue near the Salvation Army. There are a couple of apartments above a warehouse that Ace owns. All his girls live there. Mary did, too, until about a month ago when he threw her out and replaced her with a new girl.”
“Charming guy,” Granny snapped.
“I’m sure Ace charges top rent for the place, too, right?” Jeremiah asked, although he already knew the answer.
Lizzie leaned forward and looked around before speaking. “Listen, Ace isn’t a prince by a long shot, but he never beats his girls. I’ve worked for guys like that. They’d put a girl in the hospital just for looking at them sideways. Ace gives us a place to live and protects us. Everything’s good, as long as we can work.”
“Does he keep you supplied with drugs, too?” Jeremiah asked, his eyes latched to hers. “Hard to save anything when all your hard-earned money is going for shelter and getting high.”
“I thought you wanted to know about Mary,” she shot back.
Jeremiah nodded. “I do. I want to know where she is.”
“I have no idea, and that’s the truth,” Lizzie said. “After Ace threw her out, I think she was living in some flophouse and getting by however she could. Her daughter must have come back and taken her off the streets.”
“Did Ace throw her out before or after she started talking about her daughter taking her away?”
Lizzie took a deep breath and looked down at the half-eaten cake. “I really don’t remember.”
“Do you think Ace might have harmed Mary in some way?” he asked, knowing the question would definitely spook the antsy woman.
“You mean, kill her?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. She shook her head vehemently. “Ace does nothing without a motive and what would that solve? Mary was already washed up and causing him no problems. He’s a badass, but also a smart businessman. He’d never do something that might rain the cops down on him. A dead body would do that, wouldn’t it?”
Jeremiah agreed with her assessment, providing Ace was as smart as she thought. Some pimps were. Some were not. He pulled some cash out of his pocket and slid it across the table, along with his business card. “If you see Mary, give me a call. It’s important.”
She took the money, then eyed him with fresh suspicion. “Who are you working for? For years no one has given a damn about Mary and now suddenly she’s Miss Congeniality.”
Jeremiah slid out of the booth. He bent down, putting his head close to Lizzie’s. She smelled of stale cheap perfume and sex sweat. “Lizzie, I don’t know what happened to your friend Mary, but I intend to find out. You’re still a young woman and you have a son. There’s still time to change your life around. Call your father. Tell him you’re coming home in time for Christmas, hear me?”
“You’re not the boss of me,” she said with defiance.
“No, I’m not.” He studied her a moment, then said, “Call me if you remember anything else. Or when you’re ready to get off the streets. I’ll get you help.”
Chapter 5
“Now are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Granny asked as they left the diner and were standing next to Jeremiah’s motorcycle.
Borrowing Emma’s trick, Jeremiah put his phone up to his ear and gave Granny a quick rundown of what he was doing and what he had learned so far.
When he was done, Granny asked, “You think this Mistletoe Mary is dead, don’t you?”
“I don’t really know, Granny,” he told her honestly, “but I intend to find out. I want you to watch Bucket and see if her ghost or any ghost shows up. As I told you, he had an episode while I was there that could have been a spirit taking over his body or just him ranting. It was hard to tell and I haven’t seen that before.”
“Well, I have. It’s even happened to Emma.”
“Speaking of which,” he said, looking down at his phone. “She texted back saying to call her this afternoon.”
“Yeah,” the diminutive ghost said, “she and Phil are going to some fancy brunch with Emma’s folks and some friends of theirs this morning.” Granny stood in front of Jeremiah with her hands on her hips. “Frankly, I’d rather be here working a case than at some hoity-toity thing. But if you want me to watch Bucket, you’ll have to take me there. You know I can’t zoom in on people and places unless I’ve made a prior connection.”
“We’ll do that right after I make a call to Rose,” he assured her. “She left me a voice mail.”
“Rose,” Granny repeated. “That’s your lady friend, isn’t it?” Jeremiah nodded as he returned the call to Rose Carson. “I like her,” Granny pronounced. “She’s real people.”
“That she is.” Jeremiah chuckled, knowing that Granny and Rose would probably get on like bacon and eggs, if they could meet. Both women, the dead and the living, had a habit of speaking their minds and cutting to the quick of situations. Granny knew Rose from the few times she’d been with him when he visited Emma, but Rose knew nothing about Granny or Jeremiah’s gift.
After the call, during which Jeremiah gave Rose a quick rundown of what Red had wanted and told her he’d see her for dinner that night, he made his way back to Bucket’s usual spot. Granny said she’d meet him there.
San Pedro Street was busier now. Still not as busy as it would be during the week, but the people who lived on the street were moving about, gathered in small groups talking or moving their carts down the sidewalk as if going to work. In an hour or so, some of the small shops, convenience and liquor stores would be open for business and increase the activity even more. Jeremiah made his way to Bucket’s spot, but the old man and his dog weren’t there. He called to two young guys standing nearby against the wall, “Hey, you know where Bucket went?”
One of the men, the shorter but more buffed, straightened and took a step closer to Jeremiah. In spite of the chill in the air, he wore no jacket over his black wifebeater and his exposed heavily muscled arms were covered with gang tattoos. Neither of the guys looked homeless, but they did look tough and bored—a bad combination. “You mean the crazy guy who rants about dead whores?”
Jeremiah nodded, but stayed on his motorcycle. He didn’t want any trouble. “Yeah, that’s him.”
“He went to his summer place,” the taller, skinnier one called out. Both hoods laughed.
“And where might that be?” Jeremiah asked, giving them his best cop stare, which he’d never lost. These were the types of guys Red was worried about. They were the sort who would think nothing of taking a pipe to Bucket’s head just to shut him up. Or to a burned-out hooker’s head just for sport.
“I think he owns beachfront property over on Alvarado Street,” said the shorter one, again laughing. The two fist-bumped, pleased with their combined wit.
Jeremiah spotted Eddie on the corner still doing his robotic dance. He knew he wouldn’t be of any use. He rode up to the intersection of 5th Street and looked up and down the cross street. He thought he spotted Carmen in a small group of women about a block down San Pedro. He crossed the intersection and headed for her.
“Hey, Carmen,” he called to her as he pulled up, “have you seen Bucket since this morning?”
“Well, hi again, handsome,” she said in her little-girl voice. She looked slightly high to Jeremiah, but not totally baked.
There were three other women of various ages with Carmen—one white, two black. As soon as he pulled up, the white woman, whom he recognized as Beth Jenkins, an Iraqi vet he’d seen a few times at Angels, took a long drag from a joint and passed it to the person to her left—a tall, skinny woman with her head shaved—who took her own long drag. They were smoking out in the open with no fear of being caught. They knew the LAPD in this area had bigger fish to fry than a few potheads with a joint or two. As poor as these people were, there always seemed to be a way to get the drugs and booze they used to take the sting out of their situation.
Jeremiah took off his helmet and dismounted his bike. He approached the women. “Hi, ladies.” He looked specifically at Beth. “Hey, Beth,” he said to the woman with short brown hair wearing a field jacket similar to Sloan’s. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”
“Got a job,” she answered. She was in her thirties, about five-eight, slim ,and tomboyish.
“Something Red fixed you up with?” he asked, knowing the pot smoking was a violation of Red’s rules and Beth knew it, too.
“Nah, something I got on my own,” she replied. “Part-time for now, but who knows. Could turn into something else.” The joint was passed back to her and she took another long hit before holding it out to Jeremiah. He declined with a shake of his head. Beth shrugged and passed it to Carmen.
Jeremiah turned to Carmen. “Have you seen Bucket?” he asked her again.
“Bucket’s on the move during the day,” she told him after exhaling. “Over there by the mission is only where he sleeps. You might find him on Wall by the Angels office or he might be on San Julian by the park. If he’s not at either of those, I’m not sure.” She shrugged like a little kid and giggled. Jeremiah thanked her, bid them good day, and left.
He spotted Bucket on San Julian Street just inside the park. He was sitting on a bench, Lola in his lap, his shopping cart nearby. San Julian Park was gated and locked at night, but during the day it was the backyard for the area’s homeless, who filled the benches, tables, and grassy areas as soon as the gates were open. There was also a public toilet located next to it. Jeremiah pulled up to the curb, got off his bike, stored his helmet, and locked everything.
Bucket was alone, talking loudly, not to the dog but to anyone with ears. Jeremiah looked around, noting that there was almost a no-fly zone around Bucket as people ignored or avoided him. Bucket rambled and rocked slightly back and forth. He paid no mind to anyone or anything, his voice ebbing and flowing in volume from normal speech to angry shouting. His tirade was a blend of clarity and incoherence, punctuated with blistering cusswords like stabs from a knife.
Before approaching him, Jeremiah watched Bucket with interest, trying to find a pattern to his diatribe. It didn’t take him long to pick out the words murder and dead. They were splattered throughout Bucket’s speech like splotches of paint. He kept listening and could decipher other strings of words that also showed up with regularity, including help me and find me. Jeremiah studied the area around Bucket, checking for any signs of a ghost, and for a second he thought he spotted a hazy figure standing just to the right of where Bucket sat. Then whatever he saw was gone. It could have been a shadow from the trees overhead or maybe he was trying too hard to see something that wasn’t there.
“This the guy?” asked Granny, popping up next to Jeremiah.
“Yeah,” he said to Granny in a whisper. No one was around them, so he didn’t take precautions not to be overheard. “That’s his dog Lola in his lap.”
“What’s he jabbering about?”
“That’s the ranting he does about Mary. If you listen closely you’ll
hear the word murder here and there. I’m not sure if those are Bucket’s words or the words of a spirit coming through him.” Jeremiah was tempted to look at Granny, as he would anyone else he was speaking to, but caught himself. “Can you see any spirits around him, Granny?”
“Not right now,” she told him. “I’d like to mosey on over there and see what happens, but the dog might give me away.” She continued watching the man and dog. “Animals are sensitive to spirits, so if the ghost of this Mary is there, the dog would be a little more active. Unless the animal is so used to her, it doesn’t even notice anymore when she’s around.”
“That dog is pretty old and sick, Granny. She might not notice a spirit or even care.”
“Gotcha,” Granny said and started moving toward Bucket slowly just in case Lola decided at that precise moment to care.
As she got close, it wasn’t the dog who noticed her, but Bucket. He stopped ranting midword and stared at Granny. “Go away,” he said to her, his voice indignant.
Bucket could see her, but the dog stayed put. Granny couldn’t tell if there was a spirit guiding his words or if he really could see her.
“I need to see Mary,” Granny said to him, loud enough for her voice to carry to Jeremiah.
“Go away,” Bucket demanded. He gently put the dog on the bench next to him. Lola looked up and saw Granny, giving her raggedy tail a few feeble wags.
“Is that you, Mary?” Granny asked Bucket, hoping to find out if there was another ghost present.
“I don’t know you,” Bucket said, getting to his feet. “I don’t know you!” He took a few steps toward her. Some people stopped what they were doing to watch, but all they saw was a crazy old man yelling into thin air. With a shake of their heads, they went back to their business.
“I came to help Mary, Bucket,” Granny said, moving closer. “You want to help her, don’t ya?”
Bucket’s mouth moved, but no sound came out. He stared at Granny, unsure of what to do next.
The Ghost of Mistletoe Mary Page 5