The Ghost of Mistletoe Mary

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  “Do you know what this is?” he asked them in a hushed voice.

  He waited while both Sloan and Lizzie thought about it, then shook their heads. He would have been surprised if they did. Few in Los Angeles County knew about this service.

  “This is the annual LA County burial for unclaimed bodies,” he told them. “Happens every year around this time, and every year I come and pay my respects. This year they are burying the cremated remains of over fifteen hundred people, that includes adults and children.”

  Both Sloan and Lizzie remained silent, then Lizzie asked, “What does unclaimed dead mean? That no one wants them?” She was dressed modestly today in jeans and a sweater, with minimal makeup and her wild red hair tamed into a ponytail. She still looked ragged and tired, but going through detox rode a body hard. With the help of Audra Wilcox, Jeremiah had gotten special permission from the rehab center for her to attend the funeral today.

  “For the most part,” Jeremiah explained. “Sometimes families cannot afford to pay for burial services so they leave their loved ones for the county to take care of the remains, but most of these poor folks had no one who knew or cared that they had passed away. No one stepped forward to identify them or to give them their own proper burial. Most were homeless. So every year the county buries their cremated remains in a mass grave with a multi-denominational service.”

  “In the old days,” Rose added, “places like this where the poor were buried were called Potter’s Field.”

  Lizzie gave Sloan a quick look, then both looked down at the grass beneath their feet.

  Jeremiah started walking around the area near the tree and motioned for them to follow. He pointed down at several flat stone markers placed in the ground at even intervals, each with a different year engraved on them. “Each of these represents the unclaimed dead buried in that particular year.” He indicated the service still going on just yards from them. “That marker will read 2015.”

  “Why did you bring us here?” Lizzie asked with a shiver.

  Sloan was the first with the answer, “He’s trying to scare us straight, or at least clean.” He looked over at Jeremiah, letting his eyes linger on the older man’s face. “Right?”

  Jeremiah shrugged. “The question is, do either of you want to end up here with no one caring if you lived or died? If you don’t care about that, just continue on the paths you were heading down.”

  “Sloan,” Rose offered, “you are making great progress, but we all know how easily addictions can be triggered. Stay strong. We’re all here for you.” She reached out and placed a hand on his arm.

  “You did a great job of helping me, son,” Jeremiah told him. “But I wanted you to see where you might end up if you don’t stay the course.”

  Sloan wiped away a stray tear with the back of his hand. “Kind of like the Ghost of Christmas Future, huh?”

  Rose and Jeremiah exchanged brief smiles, knowing they had reached him.

  “You know, my family is in the Valley,” he told them. “I haven’t seen them in a long time. The last time I did, my father threw me out because of my drinking. We were always fighting after I got home from the service.”

  “Why don’t you give them a call?” suggested Rose. “I’ll bet they will be very happy to see the progress you’ve made.”

  “Would it be okay with Red if I saw them for Christmas?” he asked with hope. “Providing they want to see me. I’ve already said I’d go to his house for Christmas dinner.”

  “I know Red would be very happy if you went to see your family,” Rose assured him. Sloan beamed at the idea. He hugged Rose and shook Jeremiah’s hand.

  “And if you want,” Jeremiah said, “I’ll even spring for some new clothes for your visit.”

  Sloan pulled Jeremiah into an embrace. “I’ll pay you back, man. Every penny.”

  When the two men parted, Jeremiah told him, “Pay me back by staying clean so you can land a steady job and build a new life. That’s payment enough for me. That and remember to pay it forward.”

  Rose tapped Jeremiah on the arm and pointed over toward the tree. Lizzie was leaning against it, her back to them. From the shaking of her shoulders, they could tell she was sobbing. Jeremiah went to her.

  “What’s the matter, girl?” he asked her.

  “Mary’s going to end up there, in one of those holes. And so am I.”

  “There’s no need for that if you take care of yourself. You’ve already entered a program. Stay clean and Rose and her friends will help you find a job or some sort of job program to train you for something. Even Detective Wilcox and I will help.”

  The encouraging words from Jeremiah helped stem Lizzie’s tears. “Even if I do stay clean, my family will never accept me back. Not after the horrible things I’ve been and done.”

  “Doesn’t your father come around to see you?” he asked.

  She nodded, her face streaked with tears. “But my mother called me a whore and said she never wanted to see me again.” The tears started falling harder again. “She said my son was better off without me.”

  Jeremiah took her into his arms and held her tight. “People change, Lizzie. And people forgive. Forgiveness won’t erase the pain, but it can help heal it.” He motioned to some people standing on the outskirts of the grass up by the drive. At Jeremiah’s direction a middle-aged couple and a small boy with red hair started walking slowly toward them.

  “Look who’s here to see you, Lizzie,” Jeremiah said in a soft voice as he turned her around.

  At the sight of her parents and son, Lizzie covered her face and started crying harder. The woman encouraged the little boy to go to Lizzie. Shy at first, he held back, but with more encouragement, Ryan ran to Lizzie and wrapped his arms around his mother’s legs. She bent down and took him into her arms so tightly he squeaked in protest. When her parents reached them, Lizzie gave her father a long hug, then turned to her mother. “I’m so sorry, Mommy.”

  Mrs. Thompson was crying but held back. “I’m sorry, too, Lizzie. You will always be my little girl.”

  “I want to come home,” Lizzie said, looking to her mother and father and speaking in a barely audible voice. “Please let me.”

  Mrs. Thompson gave her husband a long look, then looked down at her happy grandson. Finally, she settled her wet eyes on her daughter. “You coming home would be the best Christmas gift ever, for all of us.”

  Lizzie glanced back at Jeremiah, then turned back to her parents, “I don’t think I’ll be out of rehab in time for Christmas.”

  “Then we’ll celebrate Christmas when you do come home.” Mrs. Thompson held out her arms and Lizzie fell into them.

  Jeremiah walked away and rejoined Rose. The service was ending and people were starting to leave. Jeremiah put an arm around Rose and pulled her close. Sloan was walking around the grounds looking at the headstones.

  “This is exhausting,” he told her. “Much more exhausting than chasing bad guys.”

  “Yes, it is, Jeremiah,” she told him, titling her lovely lined face up to him. “But it’s what we do. We recover shattered lives and piece them back together like a hospital for broken toys. One life at a time, so that hole over yonder doesn’t need to get any bigger.”

  “Speaking of which,” he said, “when Bucket dies, I’ve decided I’m going to take care of his burial. Nothing fancy, but I don’t want him to end up here.”

  Rose reached up and patted Jeremiah’s face. “You’re a good man, Jeremiah Jones.”

  “Nah,” he said looking at her. “I’m just a man who knows he blessed.” He took her hand and kissed it. “I’m thinking about getting a Christmas tree this coming weekend. About time I had one again. You want to help?”

  “Are you sure you’re ready for that, Jeremiah?” she asked, looking into his eyes.

  “No, I’m not sure. But I do know I’m sure I want to give i
t a try again.”

  Keep reading for a special preview of the next Granny Apples mystery

  GHOSTS OF MISTY HOLLOW

  Coming in 2016

  Gino Costello, the famous crime writer, came down the front steps of the farmhouse, taking two at a time, to greet his guests.

  “Oh, oh,” said Emma to Phil, who was behind the wheel of the rental car. “He’s not alone.”

  “That’s his wife on the porch, isn’t it?” Phil asked as he brought the car to a stop next to a black SUV parked in front of a large garage just off a circular drive. On the other side of the SUV was a white compact sedan.

  “I think so, but I’m not talking about her.”

  “Oh no,” echoed Phil with a groan as soon as he understood what she meant. “Can’t we even get settled before ghosts start pestering you?”

  “They’re not pestering me, Phil,” Emma said, still looking toward the large porch that ran across the front and down both sides of the two-story white farmhouse. “But they’re definitely here.” She started unbuckling her seat belt.

  “Friendly or disturbed?” Phil asked.

  “Not sure yet,” she answered as she continued to check out the hazy apparitions. “So far I count three possible outlines of ghosts. One is coming toward us with Gino and is more distinct. He’s male and fairly young. It’s almost as if they were waiting for us along with our host.”

  Gino came to a stop next to the car. The big burly man was clearly excited about their arrival. The spirit floated beside him, and gave Emma a hesitant wave.

  “The spirit with Gino just waved at me,” Emma said to Phil. “Guess that means friendly.”

  Phil shook his head. “Let’s hope he stays that way.” He couldn’t see the ghosts, but knew their presence meant that Emma would probably get little rest during this visit. “Wait till Granny gets here,” he said to Emma. “It will be a real ghost convention, like an early Halloween.”

  Emma was barely out of the car when Gino engulfed her in a big bear hug. His soft flannel shirt smelled of cigars and woodsmoke. “It is so good to finally meet you guys,” he said. “I feel like we’re long-lost family.” Although they’d never met, Emma had been in contact with Gino several times over the past year. Their daughters, Kelly and Tanisha, who both resided in Boston, had become very close friends. Gino had even helped Emma out with a recent matter she’d been investigating.

  “It certainly feels that way, Gino,” Emma said with a broad smile while keeping an eye on the ghost, wondering if the spirit was going to embrace her, too. It didn’t, but it did step forward. As the ghost’s facial features came into focus, she saw she was right, the ghost was a young man, maybe in his twenties. He was studying her, assessing her. He waved again, barely moving his hand. “Can you see me, ma’am?” he asked.

  Without being too obvious, she turned her head toward the ghost, who was just behind Gino’s left shoulder, and looked it straight in the eye, giving it a small dip of her chin to let it know she could see him.

  In response, the spirit nodded back quickly. “Can you also hear me?” The spirit seemed greatly relieved when Emma gave him another nod. “Welcome to Misty Hollow,” he said with a slight bow, then scampered up the porch to the hazy outlines of the other spirits to give his report: a full-blown medium was in the house.

  Phil came around the car. Gino held out his right hand to him. “I understand,” Gino said, pumping Phil’s hand with gusto, “that congratulations are in order. Tanisha tells me you two got engaged this summer.”

  “Yep,” Phil answered, putting an arm around Emma’s shoulders, “Emma’s finally agreed to make an honest man out of me.”

  “Speaking of which,” Gino said, “let me introduce you to my better half.” He indicated a woman on the porch who had made no move to greet them.

  Gino’s wife was standing to the right side of the large black lacquered front door. The small gathering of ghosts were huddled to the left of it. She didn’t know the spirits were there and they seemed disinterested in her. As the three of them walked up the steps, Emma glanced over at the ghosts. She could still only make out the young man. The others appeared to be clusters of dust shimmering in the fading sunlight, but Emma knew better.

  “This is Vanessa, my wife,” Gino said, introducing them when they were on the porch. “Honey,” he said to his wife, “Emma Whitecastle and Phil Bowers. Emma is Kelly’s mother.”

  “I know who she is,” Vanessa said, bored impatience plastered on her perfectly made-up face. “You’re Grant Whitecastle’s ex.”

  Emma cringed but tried not to show it. She really disliked being considered an appendage of her ex-husband, especially now that they had been divorced for several years. Grant Whitecastle was a flamboyant TV daytime talk show host known for his temper, nastiness, and disrespect for others. Emma had her own TV show. It explored paranormal topics in a serious and informative fashion and, even though it was on cable and only aired once a week—unlike Grant’s show which was broadcast daily on a major network channel—Emma had built her own solid following and reputation away from him. She just preferred to stay out of the limelight and the tabloids, while Grant seemed to encourage them.

  Emma did a quick study of Vanessa Costello and realized the woman had intended to make her uncomfortable. She’d been around many women like Vanessa when she was married to Grant. They were rich and spoiled and any woman who showed any independence or individuality was game for sport. Vanessa had purposely made the comment to let Emma know she viewed her as nothing but the ex-wife of a famous man—a dime-a-dozen commodity. Emma also knew how to stand her ground, something she’d learned in her long years as a Hollywood wife. She smiled and looked Vanessa Costello in the eye, conveying that she was not going to be easy prey. With cool politeness, she held out her right hand toward the woman. “Do you know Grant?”

  Vanessa flipped her long honey-blond highlighted hair over her shoulder before taking Emma’s hand and giving it a dry, feathery single pump. On her wrist hung several thick gold bracelets and a very expensive watch. Her thin frame was covered with black leggings and a long cashmere cowl neck sweater in pale yellow. Emma guessed her to be in her early forties.

  “As a matter of fact,” Vanessa said, “I met him once years ago at a friend’s party in LA. Interesting man, to say the least, and very much like his media personality. I can see that Kelly takes more after you.”

  From her tone, Emma couldn’t tell if Vanessa thought that a good thing or not and decided in Vanessa’s world it was not. Kelly had never said much about Tanisha’s step-mother, except to say that she’d met her a couple of times and not for long, but she knew that Kelly liked Gino quite a bit. Tanisha had never said anything to Emma about Vanessa, except that she existed. Emma was beginning to see why both girls had been so closed-mouthed on the subject and why Tanisha looked to Emma as a surrogate mother. Tanisha’s real mother, a college professor, had died in a tragic car accident when she was only thirteen. Her parents had never married. The exclusion of Vanessa from the girls’ conversation had made Emma curious about the woman and put her on alert before she’d arrived at the farmhouse. Now she clearly saw why the girls didn’t talk about her, at least to Emma.

  Vanessa turned to Phil. “You’re certainly a departure from Grant Whitecastle.” She took Phil’s offered hand, giving it the same limp shake.

  Without a bit of hesitation, Phil grinned directly at the woman. “Everyone says Emma traded up. After meeting the man, I tend to agree.”

  Off to the side, Gino stifled a laugh while Vanessa considered Phil and Emma for a few awkward seconds.

  “This is a great old house,” Phil said, breaking the short silence. “And the location is beautiful.”

  “Yes,” responded Gino, “it is. The house was built in the late 1800’s, but it has been totally modernized. Only the outside has been preserved as it was originally. I was told that about
ten or twelve years ago the previous owner turned it into a B&B, expanding bedrooms and adding en suite baths in some of the rooms. There’s a photo album in the living room showing the before and after photos. The place is called Misty Hollow.”

  “Was that the B&B’s name?” asked Emma, remembering the greeting of the ghost.

  “The B&B was called that too, but Misty Hollow is actually the name of the farm itself,” Gino explained. “Out by the driveway entry there’s a plaque bolted to a large rock with the name on it. The current owner closed down the B&B when he bought it and turned it into a vacation rental.” He walked to the right side of the porch where it turned and continued along the other side and pointed at something. “The porch encircles the entire house and there’s a small lake behind the house with a private beach and dock.”

  Phil and Emma followed him and could easily see a lovely lake beyond a short span of newly mown lawn. The trees on the property were already partially ablaze with their fall finery of red, orange, and gold leaves. They were mixed with evergreens and birch. The view was as pretty and as inviting as any New England postcard.

  “The place is usually booked solid through October,” Gino continued. “I was lucky to get it, but I booked early. As you can see, the leaves are already changing. By the time you leave, most of them will be totally done. We’re here at the perfect time for checking out fall foliage.” He paused to drink in the scenery. “The owner and his family spend a lot of time over the holidays here, as well as a couple of weeks during the summer. I heard about it through a friend.”

  “How long are you here for?” Emma asked, her face still turned to the view as she appreciated the natural beauty.

  “Five or six weeks, depending on how much time I feel I need,” Gino answered. “We arrived about ten days ago. We’re their last guests for the year so the owner was flexible with our departure date.” He looked around and took a deep breath of the clean September air, clearly content with his surroundings. “I like it here. I think I’d like to stay the full six weeks through the end of October.” He paused, then added, “I actually wouldn’t mind staying here through Thanksgiving. There’s such a quiet peace to the place.”