The Ghost of Mistletoe Mary (13 page)

“Was that the time Lizzie was with you and Greta sent her away to speak with you alone?” asked Jeremiah.

“Yes, that was the last time I saw Lizzie while I was alive. Greta and Mona came to realize that I was playing them as much as they were playing me, and Greta put it all out there. She offered me a lot of money to hand over the drugs and disappear. She said I could continue pretending to everyone I was leaving with my daughter.”

“So you gave them the drugs and they murdered you anyway,” Granny said, putting together the obvious scenario.

Mary thought about the outcome of her plan. “Yeah,” she said with confusion. “I guess I didn't think that through. Greta and one of the other runners came with me back to the laundry place.”

As soon as Jeremiah heard about a third person, his ears pricked up like a German shepherd's.

“I had the drugs stashed up under some of the dryers in their motors behind the front panels. I gave them to
them. The runner shot me as soon as Greta gave her the sign.”

“Who was this other runner?” Jeremiah asked.

“I don't know her name, but I'd seen her around.”

“Describe her,” ordered Granny.

Mary bobbled her head as she tried to remember as she came in and out mentally. “About Greta's size.” She paused. “Kind of a bit butchy, you know. Very short hair. Wore a man's jacket. One of those army jackets.”

“Are you sure?” Jeremiah asked, his heart sinking at the description, yet knowing Mary was probably right on the money. Beth's new part-time job had been working for Greta and Mona as a runner with hopes of turning it into more.

“Pretty sure,” Mary said as she continued her pacing. “Like I said, I knew she was a runner. She worked daytime. At least I never saw her around at night.”

“And she was the one who actually shot you?” he asked.

Mary nodded.

Jeremiah stood up. “Mary, thank you, you've been a big help. Now will you do something else for me?”

“What's in it for me?” the ugly ghost asked with attitude.

“Eternal peace,” Granny snapped.

“Granny's right,” added Jeremiah in a softer voice than he'd been using with her. “We're done here. You're done here. Go with Granny, she'll escort you to the other side where maybe you'll find the peace you never had on earth.”

Mary looked at Granny and Jeremiah, then nodded to Granny. “Guess I am ready for some real peace. Let's go.”

As soon as the ghosts had disappeared, Jeremiah returned to Lizzie's room. “Sorry, but I have to go,” he told them. He looked at the scared look on Lizzie's face. “Lizzie, you'll be fine with Detectives Wilcox and Ornelas, and I'll come back to visit you. Okay?”

With a scared look on her face, Lizzie bravely nodded.

It didn't take long for Jeremiah to reach Skid Row from the hospital. There was no guarantee that Beth Jenkins would be hanging out where he'd last seen her, but like most people, the people on Skid Row were creatures of habit, and with Mona tied up, he knew she wouldn't be busy as a drug runner today.

He found Beth on San Pedro almost in the same place, hanging out with one of the other women she'd been with the day before. There was no sign of Carmen, then he remembered that Carmen had a job.

“Hey, ladies,” he called as he got out of his SUV and approached them.

“Jeremiah,” Beth said, giving him a nod. She wasn't wearing her field jacket, but a shorter black jacket of thinner material. The other woman acknowledged him but remained silent. In her hands was a lit joint. As before, there was no attempt to hide it.

“Have you seen Carmen?” he asked, knowing full well they hadn't today.

“She's working,” Beth told him. She seemed fidgety. “She works in some sweatshop down on Central.” The woman
handed her the joint and she took a hit.

“Could you pass along a message to her for me?” he asked.

Both women nodded. “Sure,” Beth said. “What is it?”

“I know she's friends with Bucket. Let her know he's in the hospital. He's not doing well.”

“I heard that pathetic dog of his died,” the other woman said.

“Yes, and Bucket's not too far behind Lola. I just wanted Carmen to know, that's all.”

“Sorry to hear about Bucket,” Beth said, the sentiment seeming genuine. “He was a crazy old coot, but usually pretty nice to people, unlike most down here.”

Jeremiah thanked them and started to leave, then turned around. “Beth, what happened to your jacket? Don't you usually wear a field jacket?”

“It was stolen last night,” she said. “This is all I got now.” She pulled on the front of the thin jacket she was wearing.

“Get yourself over to the Angels office,” Jeremiah told her as he continued to his truck. “I'm sure Red can hook you up with another, if you want one. That jacket doesn't look like it will keep you very warm.”

She nodded. “I might do that. Thanks.”

When he was back in his truck, he drove several blocks until he was out of sight, then pulled over and called Audra Wilcox. “Hey,” he said when she answered. “Have you gotten any ID yet on those clothes from the shooter?”

Audra snorted. “You're kidding, right? Have you forgotten how long it takes to get stuff like fingerprints and DNA run? Or are you watching too many
CSI
reruns now that you're retired?”

He chuckled back. “Sorry, I should have known better. Anyway, I've been thinking about that jacket and I think I recognize it.”

“Who do you think it belongs to?”

“A vet named Beth Jenkins. She's about Greta's size with very short brown hair. She hangs out on San Pedro. I just saw her and she claims it was stolen yesterday.”

“Maybe she was your shooter from last night and not Greta Miles,” suggested Audra.

Jeremiah knew from Granny's information that wasn't the case, but said, “Might be worth checking out.” Jeremiah had to feed the information to Audra carefully, making it sound logical how he came to reach his conclusions. “She told me yesterday she has a new part-time job. Maybe she's one of Greta's drug runners and loaned the jacket to Greta.”

“Thanks for the lead, Jeremiah.”

“Go find Beth now,” he told her, “before she gets worried and rabbits. She seemed a bit antsy to me.”

“Got ya. We're leaving the hospital now.”

He ended the call and pulled his vehicle back into traffic, turning it toward the Angels office. It was just past noon and he knew an attractive woman he wanted to take to lunch to make up for missing their date the night before. The police could handle everything else from here on out.

The sun shone brightly as a handful of clergy and a few dozen people gathered to pay their respects at the Evergreen Cemetery in the Boyle Heights area of Los Angeles. A large grave, already covered in soil and a few flowers, including some bright red holiday poinsettias, was the centerpiece of the gathering as the clergy took turns saying prayers for the dead.

Jeremiah stood off to the back under a large tree with Rose, her arm threaded through his. With them were Jeff Sloan and Elizabeth Thompson. He'd invited Sloan and Lizzie out with them today, but hadn't told them where they were going.

“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 it a try again.”