The Ghost of Mistletoe Mary

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  “Is Mary here with you right now?” she asked, keeping her eyes peeled for any signs of the ghost.

  “I’m dead,” Bucket snapped at her. “Murdered. It’s dark. I don’t like the dark.” Bucket’s voice took a turn down and he started weeping and rubbing his arms. “Cold and dark.”

  Granny returned to Jeremiah. “It’s Mary, isn’t it?” he asked her.

  “That’s what I’m thinking.” Granny looked over at Bucket, who was still standing and ranting, arms clutched around himself.

  Jeremiah approached Bucket. Granny followed. “Bucket, do you remember me? It’s Jeremiah. I brought you and Lola breakfast this morning.”

  Bucket’s eyes latched on to Jeremiah. They were just as red and runny as they had been a few hours ago, but there was a focus in the pupils that wasn’t there before. “I don’t know you,” he spat out.

  Jeremiah tried a different tack. “Mary, my name is Jeremiah Jones,” he said in a soft voice as he stepped closer to Bucket. “I’m here to help you. And that’s my friend Granny. She’s also here to help.”

  Bucket’s eyes shot between Jeremiah and Granny, but Jeremiah got the attention back on him again. “I talked to Lizzie this morning,” he said gently. “She says hello.”

  At hearing Lizzie’s name, a small smile spread across Bucket’s weathered face. “Lizzie is such a nice girl, but she needs to get out.”

  Then he saw the ghost of Mistletoe Mary. At first it was just a haze, like a light steam coming off Bucket. Then she stepped into view. Bucket staggered and with great effort lowered himself back down to the bench. He didn’t pay them any mind, just picked up Lola and closed his eyes.

  “Is Lizzie in danger?” Granny asked.

  “We’re all in danger down here,” Mary said. She was dressed in a very short skirt with a skimpy, low-cut blouse. Her long hair was wild and matted and her body wasn’t much more than skin and bones. On her chest, dead-center, was a flower tattoo, just as Carmen had said. Though he wasn’t sure, it looked to Jeremiah to be of an orchid.

  The ghost hesitated, then said as she wrapped her thin arms around herself, “I’m very cold. It’s dark,” she whimpered. “Mommy locked me in a closet when I was a bad little girl. I hate the dark.”

  “Where are you, Mary?” Granny asked. “Can you tell us?”

  “It’s cold and dark. Very dark.” Mary’s image started to fade.

  “What’s happening, Granny?” Jeremiah whispered.

  “She’s a new spirit,” Granny explained. “They can’t stay for very long at a time like I can.”

  Before they could find out anything more, Mary’s ghost was gone. They looked down at Bucket. He was asleep on the bench, snoring loudly, exhausted from his activities.

  “At least we now know that Mary’s dead for sure,” Granny said as they walked back to Jeremiah’s motorcycle.

  Jeremiah started to say something, then stopped as an old couple walked by and entered the park. To be safe, he pulled out his phone and pretended to be talking on it like Emma did when speaking to Granny in public.

  “But where is her body?” he said into the turned-off phone, still keeping his voice low. “Cold and dark could mean anything. And I can’t very well go to the police and say a ghost told me she was murdered but we have no idea where the body is.” He ran a hand over his head as he pieced together the scraps of information he had so far. “We don’t even know when she was killed. Just sometime between Thanksgiving and today. That’s about ten days.”

  Granny paced the cracked sidewalk, her hands clasped behind her back. She stopped in front of Jeremiah. “Do you know when Bucket started ranting about her being dead?”

  “From what Red said, sometime last week. So it could be she was killed about that time.” Jeremiah looked at Granny. “How long before a spirit can manifest itself after the body dies?”

  “Hard to say. Sometimes right away. Sometimes not for a long time. It depends on the spirit.” Granny quickly paced back and forth before stopping again. “Some spirits cross over immediately and never return, and some don’t cross over until they finish up something here on earth. Then they may or may not return.” She put her hands on her bony hips. “It’s not like we come with an instruction manual.”

  “Any idea why she would choose Bucket to haunt?” he asked, ignoring her sass.

  “She might have known him well or could be she died in close proximity to him. You know, near where he was at the time. Emma or Milo might be able to explain that better.”

  Jeremiah looked around the neighborhood, thinking about what Granny just said. If that was true and Mary died at night, then she was probably killed over on San Pedro. But if she was killed during the day, it could be anywhere within this four – or five-block area. Not a large geographic area, but one with lots of nooks and crannies for hiding people, dead or alive. But it was also an area with lots of people milling around during the day.

  “You got some ideas, Jeremiah?” Granny asked.

  “If Mary attached herself to Bucket shortly after she died, I’m betting it was near San Pedro Street where he sleeps at night.” He gestured to the park. “Look around, there are too many people around during the day. A friend of Bucket’s told me he wanders during the day but doesn’t go far.”

  “We should search the area where he sleeps now while he’s not there. How about a Dumpster?” Granny suggested. “Those are cold and dark.”

  Jeremiah shook his head. “The homeless go through those almost every day looking for food and stuff they might be able to use. If her body was dumped in one, it would have been found by now.”

  “If she’s been dead a few days and not found, she’s gotta be pretty ripe,” Granny noted. “Someone should have picked up on that by now, no matter where she is.”

  “Again, depends where she is,” Jeremiah said. “If she was left out in the open, yes. But if she’s shut up or buried somewhere, not necessarily. Maybe you should go sniffing around,” he suggested. “You won’t rouse any curiosity like a cadaver dog.” He paused, then added, “You can still smell, can’t you? I mean, I’m not sure how that works with ghosts.”

  “I can,” Granny assured him. “I can’t taste or touch, but I can still smell.” The ghost looked around and scowled. “This place stinks of pee and garbage.”

  Jeremiah pocketed his phone and mounted his bike. “Granny, check and see if Mary’s back with Bucket.”

  The ghost left and returned, shaking her head. “Nope. So where to now?”

  His cell rang before he could answer her. The call was from Aaron Espinoza. “Hey, Aaron,” Jeremiah said, answering.

  “Got your text. What’s up?”

  “Tell me, have there been any female bodies found lately in the Skid Row area?” It wasn’t the first question he was originally going to ask his old partner, but now that he knew Mary was dead, he changed his priorities.

  “I can’t think of any off the top of my head, but let me check and call you back? You expecting a body to drop?”

  Jeremiah knew he had to be careful how he phrased his words. “Red Watkins has asked me to look into the disappearance of one of the street people, a pro called Mistletoe Mary. I was just wondering if she turned up dead and he doesn’t know. Her real name is Mary Dowling. White woman. Late thirties, maybe fortyish. Hard to tell. Crack and booze addict. I’ve heard she worked Hollywood before hitting bottom down here. Also heard she’s got a daughter but lost custody of her years ago. No idea how old the kid would be. Mary’s gone missing.”

  “I’ll check and see if anything turns up,” Aaron said. “I’ll check her name in the system, too. She’s got to have a record with a résumé like that. You at home?”

  “No, I’m down by San Julian Park.”

  “I’m in today catching up on paperwork, so how about grabbing some lunch? I should have something for you by then.”

&n
bsp; “Name the time and place,” Jeremiah said, “but make it somewhere we can have some privacy.”

  “How about noon at Roble on Olvera Street?” Aaron suggested. “I have a meeting near there at one thirty, so I could spend more time with you if we go there. I’m sure they’d find us a quiet table.”

  “Sounds good,” agreed Jeremiah. “See you then.”

  Jeremiah checked his watch. It was almost ten thirty. He’d been poking around in the downtown area over four hours. He lifted his head again to survey the area, wondering, if he had a body to dump within these few blocks, where would he dump it? Of course, there was always the possibility that Mary was killed elsewhere or even killed here and her body removed from the area.

  He put his phone back up to his ear and looked at Granny, who was still keeping watch in case Mistletoe Mary returned. “Granny,” he said, trying to keep his voice low while trying to grab her attention. “Granny,” he said again a little louder.

  This time she heard him and floated over. “What’s up, Chief?”

  Jeremiah smiled. He’d only ever heard the cranky ghost call Emma Chief. Her calling him that meant she’d fully accepted him as a partner. “Granny, when a ghost is newly minted, you know, leaves the body but doesn’t cross over, does it usually stick around in the area where it died?”

  Granny scrunched up her face in thought. “In my experience, usually that’s what happens, at least until the body is discovered or buried. After, the spirit might seek out a loved one or a favorite place. That’s why so many houses are haunted. The body of the deceased is long gone, but the spirit feels attached to the house.”

  “So,” he said, formulating his question as he asked it, “Mary’s spirit being here, doesn’t necessarily mean she was killed here. If she was killed someplace else, she might return here because she knows it.”

  “Yep,” answered Granny. “I know that doesn’t help much, but it is what it is.”

  “It is what it is?” Jeremiah asked with a wink in her direction. He knew Granny loved to watch TV and picked up modern slang and phrases that way, along with a lot of dated phrases from old TV shows, especially old cop shows. You never knew what the old ghost would say next. “Did they say that a lot in your day?”

  In response, Granny twitched her nose and sniffed. “I learn things.”

  Chapter 6

  Jeremiah rode the few blocks back to San Pedro Street and pulled up in front of Bucket’s usual night spot. He was glad to see the two thugs of earlier were gone. A few homeless sat propped against the walls of buildings farther down the street and across from them, closer to the Union Rescue building. On the other end Eddie still maintained his corner.

  “Is this where Bucket sleeps at night?” asked Granny popping up. Jeremiah answered with a nod. Granny looked around. “It’s so tragic and revolting that people live like this,” she added.

  “That it is, Granny. That it is.”

  “Just as horrible as poor Lizzie’s life.”

  “Unfortunately, it’s not that rare.” He turned to the ghost. “This is a long way away from the types of investigations you and Emma usually do. If you’d rather not help, Granny, I’d surely understand. It’s tough to take, even for old cops like me who have seen pretty much everything.”

  Granny straightened her shoulders and fixed him with a steely glare. “Jeremiah Jones, I’ll have you know that I’ve seen a lot of death and despair in my time on earth, both as a living being and as a spirit.” Granny shook a finger in Jeremiah’s face. “I was even unjustly hanged myself. These people need our help, and I don’t turn my back on people who need help.” She punctuated the ending of her speech with a downward jerk of her head. “Now, let’s roll!”

  “All righty then,” he said when she was finished, “let’s start here. Look for any place in this area that might be a good spot to kill and hide a body, assuming that Mary is with Bucket because it happened here. We’ll look farther afield once we rule this out.”

  “Sounds like a plan, Stan,” said the ghost, “but this just looks like a boarded-up old building.”

  Jeremiah pressed on the old plywood wall for several yards in each direction. It was covered with layers of faded posters announcing old movies and concerts, as well as graffiti. He stepped back almost to the street and looked up. The building was single story and made of brick. The boards didn’t go up all the way, stopping several feet below the roof of the squat building. It occupied a lot that ran within yards of the corner, where it abutted the side wall of a business facing 5th Street.

  “I think this building once housed several small businesses,” he told Granny as he came back to the wall. “And it looks buttoned up tight, no openings of any kind from the street. Can you go inside and see what’s there?”

  “I can try,” Granny said. “Sometimes I can if I’m this close and sometimes I need to have been inside first with someone before I can go in on my own.” She disappeared.

  Jeremiah continued walking down the street, inspecting other possibilities, including a short alley and a small parking lot between a couple of buildings. The people on the street paid him little mind. He found nothing and returned to where he’d parked his bike. Granny wasn’t around, so he jaywalked and did the same with the other side of the street. Again, he found no sign of a convenient kill or dump spot.

  When he returned to Bucket’s spot, Granny was waiting for him, looking forlorn. “Sorry, Jeremiah, I tried but couldn’t get a fix behind this wall. I felt like I was almost there, but couldn’t go in all the way.”

  “That’s okay, Granny. I know you tried your best.”

  Again, Jeremiah looked up and down the street imagining a crime taking place in the dead of night. Few of the street people would have noticed or if they did, might not say anything. Much of the time their survival depended on blending in with the background and keeping their mouths shut. “Assuming Mary died near Bucket, there’s a good chance she was killed around here but her body taken elsewhere.”

  “I wonder if Bucket saw anything?” Granny asked.

  “I’m wondering that myself, Granny, but you saw him. Not sure if he’d be able to recall anything if he did.” He looked down at his watch. “I have to get moving if I’m going to make lunch with Aaron.” He looked at Granny. “I really appreciate your help with this, Granny. Can you keep an eye on Bucket in case Mary comes back?”

  “Oh boy,” the ghost said, rubbing her hands together. “A stakeout.”

  Chapter 7

  The last time Jeremiah was at Restaurante Roble was about six months earlier and there had been a shooting. The place had been closed down for three weeks after. It was a family-owned restaurant on Olvera Street, an area known as the birthplace of Los Angeles, and had been there for decades.

  As he walked down the cobblestone street open only to foot traffic, Jeremiah passed businesses and kiosks crammed full of every type of Mexican product from huaraches and leather goods to food and cheap tourist souvenirs. The street, always colorful, was ablaze with Christmas decorations, both tasteful and garish. Shopkeepers and customers mingled and conversed with a festive air while mariachi musicians played in the background. With a small smile, Jeremiah realized that the mariachis were singing a classic Christmas song in Spanish. It was a far cry from Skid Row, which was less than a mile and a half away.

  Near the end of the busy street was Restaurante Roble, one of the few full-service restaurants on the street. Most of the other eateries were more casual. As he approached, he spotted Aaron Espinoza seated on the patio at a table away from the only other occupied table. His head was down and he was reading something. A pretty middle-aged Latina dressed in a white blouse and full skirt trimmed with colorful ribbons greeted him as he walked up. Draped across her shoulders was a red shawl to guard against the slight chill in the air.

  “I’m meeting that gentleman there,” Jeremiah told her, pointing at Aaron.
The hostess smiled and held out a graceful hand in that direction, inviting him to enter the patio.

  “Hey, Aaron,” Jeremiah said as he approached his friend and former partner. Aaron Espinoza stood up. Usually he was in a suit, but today he was wearing jeans and heavy V-neck sweater in dark green over a white T-shirt. He was a slim, energetic man just past forty with warm brown skin and dark intelligent eyes that peeped out from under heavy brows. Since Jeremiah had last seen him, the gray in the man’s thin moustache and on the sides of his thick dark hair had spread, like weeds hell-bent on taking over a lawn. The two men shook hands and took seats at the table.

  “I hope you don’t mind being outside,” Aaron told him. “The dining room is pretty full since it’s a little cool out. I thought we’d have more privacy out here.”

  Jeremiah laughed. “They must be locals then. Out-of-towners wouldn’t find the upper sixties to be cool in December.”

  A waiter, a tall, handsome kid in a white guayabera, a Mexican wedding shirt that all the waiters wore, delivered a basket of fresh chips, along with bowls of salsa and fresh guacamole.

  “Hey, Carlos,” Jeremiah greeted him, holding out his right hand. “Nice to see you again. How’s school going?”

  They shook hands like old friends. “Pretty good, Mr. Jones. Good to see you, too. You, too, Detective Espinoza.” Carlos shook hands with Aaron, then took their drink orders. Both ordered Mexican beers.

  “Mary Dowling is just as you said.” Aaron shoved a piece of paper across the table to Jeremiah before digging into the guacamole with a chip. “Looks like she’s been hooking since she was around fourteen. At least that’s when her sheet starts. Was a runaway from Des Moines. Nothing we haven’t seen before, unfortunately. Hooking. Drugs. Pregnant by the time she was sixteen.” He stopped talking when Carlos returned with their beers and took their orders. Both of them ordered the grilled fish fajitas, one of Roble’s specialties.