The Ghost of Mistletoe Mary (6 page)

“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.”

“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.”

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.”

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.

“By the way,” Aaron said as he scooped up another healthy bite of guacamole. “I checked and no Jane Does fitting Dowling's description have shown up dead or at County Hospital in the past few weeks.” He popped the chip into his mouth and groaned with satisfaction. “Best guac in the city,” he said after chewing and swallowing, “but don't tell my wife I said that. At home I claim hers is the best. It's close, but not as good as this.” He reached for another chip.

“What about the kid?” Jeremiah asked after taking a swig from his beer. Both of them had abandoned the delivered glasses and drank straight from the bottle. “I heard she has a daughter somewhere.”

Aaron shook his head. “Had a daughter. Name of Cheryl.”

“Had? Was the kid taken away from her?”

“No, but should have been.” Again Aaron shook his head. “The kid died at around two years old. Pneumonia and overall neglect. The kid died while left with a crackhead babysitter while Mom was out turning tricks.”

The news took Jeremiah back and stopped the chip he was about to eat midair. Remembering it, he popped it into his mouth and chewed while he considered this new information. “Now that's interesting because Mary has been telling people that her daughter was coming to take her off the streets. She was going to live with her in a big fancy house. I spoke to one girl just today who claims she met the daughter briefly.”

“Maybe she had another that we don't know about. She could have popped it out and gave it up for adoption, especially an illegal adoption.”

“The girl who met her thought her name was Cheryl and made no mention of there being another kid.” Jeremiah took another drink of beer. “She said Mary only talked about a Cheryl.”

Aaron pointed at the papers in front of Jeremiah. “No mention of any other kid there, just the one who died.”

Jeremiah shrugged off his leather jacket and draped it across the seat of the empty chair next to him. “Are you sure the kid died?”

“Yep. Mary Dowling was charged with child endangerment and involuntary manslaughter. She was convicted of child endangerment only, got off with two years' probation because of her age, and sentenced to mandatory rehab. Which, apparently, didn't stick.”

“It usually doesn't in these types of cases,” Jeremiah said sadly.

Carlos delivered their food and the two men were silent while they filled the fresh warm tortillas with perfectly grilled fish and vegetables and took their first bites.

“You know, Jeremiah,” Aaron said after swallowing his second bite, “if this Mary is pretty far gone, she could have forgotten that her kid died and really thinks whoever is visiting her is Cheryl all grown up.”

Jeremiah wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Yeah, that's what I'm thinking. But why would someone track down a used-up junkie and pose as her long-dead kid? And who would do it? What is the motive?”

“Beats me. Maybe Mary was mixed up in something and became a liability so they killed her? But what use is an old pro on drugs? Find that out and you might find the killer, providing this Mary is dead.”

“I was told even her pimp kicked her to the curb recently. She had worked for Ace, a pimp running girls out of the Hi-Life Diner. Know him?”

Aaron nodded. “I know of him. He's a slippery SOB. Everyone knows that diner is his base of operation, but there's never been proof enough to shut him and it down.”

“He owns a warehouse over on Stanford Avenue by the Salvation Army,” Jeremiah told him. “He houses his girls in apartments above it. That might be his real base of operation. I was told he kicked Mary out of her digs there, too.”

“I'll run that info by Vice and see what they say. I've already put out a call to a buddy in that department to see what they know about Mary Dowling.”

“Thanks, Aaron, I really appreciate it.”

“What's Red's interest in this? Mary wasn't a vet.”

“True, but he thinks she's been bothering one of his clients, an old demented guy named Bucket.”

Aaron was about to shovel some rice into his mouth and stopped. “I know Bucket. He's the old guy with the scrawny dog usually on San Pedro, right?” He shoved the rice into his mouth.

“Yep. Both Bucket and his dog are on their last legs and lately Bucket has been ranting about Mary being dead. Red is hoping I can find Mary and prove to Bucket that she's okay so he'll calm down before he gets hurt.”

Aaron swallowed the food in his mouth and pointed his fork at Jeremiah. “But you think she's dead, don't you?”

“I do.” Jeremiah poured some beer down his throat. “Whether or not she was working for Ace any longer, she was a known fixture downtown, but people haven't seen her since just after Thanksgiving. She was telling everyone she was going to live with her daughter, but we both know that's impossible.”

“Any description of this bogus daughter?”

“Girl I talked to a few hours ago said she was average height and build with brown hair about chin length. Wore sunglasses, even at night.”

Aaron snorted. “That could be anyone. Could be a wig, too.”

“Now that I know about the daughter being dead, I'm sure Mary had to either be mixed up in something or saw something.” Jeremiah bounced more ideas off Aaron. “But if she saw something, she would have been put down sooner than later. According to Red and this girl, Mary had been crowing about her daughter for a few weeks. I'm betting Mary was being used for something.”

“Maybe a drug mule of some kind?” Aaron suggested. “Could be she was delivering the drugs to customers downtown. Those people have to get it from somewhere.”

“But would you trust your product to a junkie with a fried brain?”

“Not really,” he admitted, “but drug dealers are pretty creative. They might even have been using her without her knowledge. Maybe this so-called daughter was really a drug dealer trying to get Mary to do her a favor and using the promise of getting her out of there as the carrot for cooperation.”

Jeremiah had to admit that was a very plausible theory. “I'll have to find Mary, dead or alive, and that fake daughter.”

They were almost done with their meal when Granny popped up next to the table jumping up and down with excitement. “I found her!”

Jeremiah whipped his head around to her, then remembered Aaron was with him. The detective swung his head in the same direction, but saw nothing. “What's up?” he asked Jeremiah. “You look like you've seen a ghost.” He laughed and finished his beer.

Jeremiah chuckled. “No, nothing that bizarre. Just thought I saw someone I know walk by.”

“Bizarre?” Granny asked, hands on hips. “I'm bizarre?”

Jeremiah ignored her even though he wanted to hear what she had to say. He finished his last bite and pushed his plate aside.

“Do you want to hear this or not?” asked the impatient spirit.

Without saying anything, Jeremiah gave her a single nod while staying fixed on what Aaron was saying about getting back in touch if he found out anything.

“Like I said,” Granny continued, “I think I found Mary. At least I found a body.”

Jeremiah nearly levitated out of his seat with both excitement and frustration, torn between wanting to hear what Granny was reporting, and listening to other theories by Aaron so not to rouse his friend's curiosity.

“She's in that building behind Bucket's spot,” Granny told him. “I went back there and tried again. It took me a bit to get my bearings, but I was finally able to get a fix on the inside. There are about three different businesses behind those boards. There are a couple of small stores, mostly empty except for shelves and rats, and one of them washer places. I think you call them a laundromat.”

Carlos came over and asked if he could get them anything else. They both declined and asked for the check.

“Hey,” said Granny, finally looking around, “I know this place, and isn't that Carlos the waiter?”

Jeremiah shot a quick look at Granny, hoping to convey to her to wait until they were alone. She misread it and thought he wanted her to continue.

“Anyway, I think it's called a laundromat. It's one of those places where there are lots of really big washers and dryers lined up against the walls. I've only ever been to one once. Archie got sick on Emma's quilt in Julian and she took it there to wash it because her washer wasn't big enough. Anyway, there was nothing there either that I could see but old broken machines and a bunch of blankets in a corner. I think someone's been living there.”

Jeremiah thought he was going to go insane trying to focus on Granny and Aaron at the same time. His brain
ping-ponged between the two, trying to absorb the information being thrown at him, until he thought he might tell them both to shut up until he could straighten it all in his head. It was times like this, he could feel his age. Now and when he rode too many hours on his motorcycle.

Granny continued, paying no mind to Jeremiah's growing frustration or looks her way conveying for her to wait. “I've smelled death before and I'd bet anything a dead body is in that place somewhere. I can't be sure it's Mary, but it is near Bucket. I looked around but couldn't find the stiff, but it's there and I'm not talking a few dead rats either.”

“I need to shove off,” Jeremiah told Aaron. When Carlos presented their check, he pulled out his wallet and paid the entire bill. Aaron protested. “Nah,” Jeremiah told him, “I've got this. Payment for your help.”

“Thanks,” Aaron said. “I'll keep asking around about Mary Dowling. You never know what could pop up.”

“Ain't that the truth,” Granny quipped, looking at the detective as if he could hear her.