The Ghost of Mistletoe Mary (4 page)

Granny looked down at the cell phone screen. “You need me to spy on those folks in the booth?” she asked. He nodded as he chewed on a strip of bacon. “You gonna tell me why or what we're looking for?” she prodded.

After wiping his hands on a napkin, Jeremiah picked up his phone and typed in,
Not here.
He put the phone back down on the counter and went back to finishing his breakfast.

“Gotcha,” the ghost said with a determined jerk of her chin.

Turning his head slightly, Jeremiah watched as the ghost sashayed in her pioneer garb with its ankle-length homespun skirt and long-sleeved blouse over to the booth with the man and woman.

While Granny spied for him, Jeremiah finished his breakfast. He'd just pushed his plate away when Mona returned with the coffeepot and refilled his mug. “You a cop?” she asked without ceremony.

The question should have surprised Jeremiah, but it didn't. He knew he still looked like a cop and always would. His military and police training were too ingrained for him to be anything else. “No,” he answered honestly. He studied the bloated face of the waitress, wondering if he should tell her the truth or try a ruse, but one look into her small dark eyes let him know that while she may be slow-moving physically, her mind was quick and she was observant. “I'm a PI. I'm looking for a missing woman.”

“A runaway?” Mona asked with no emotion in her voice. “We don't get many of those down here. They mostly hit Hollywood. They end up down here when they hit bottom, like that piece of trash over there.” She indicated the woman in the booth with the red hair.

Jeremiah glanced that way and saw that the man was talking to the woman and the woman looked bored. Granny was
almost perched on top of the table listening. “Not a young woman and not a runaway,” he told Mona, turning back to her. “Do you know a woman called Mistletoe Mary?” he asked in a low voice.

Mona's eyes widened with surprise. It was the first emotion he'd seen from her. She snorted, “Who would pay a private dick to find her?”

Jeremiah pulled his coffee close. “I'm doing it for a friend. Have you seen her?”

“Not lately,” Mona told him. “She used to work down here but she got too old and sick.”

“I'm told she used to work for Ace and that Ace works out of this diner.” He remembered that Carmen claimed the diner was owned by Ace's family. “You related to Ace?” he asked.

“He's my brother,” Mona admitted. “But you don't want to go messing with him. He kicked her to the curb a few weeks, maybe a month back. He ain't had nothing to do with her since.”

“I have no intention of messing with him,” Jeremiah assured her, “but I'd like to ask him a few questions. See if he knows where she might be.”

“Dead most likely,” Mona said with another small snort. “She was a drunk and sick, both in the body and the head. That's why Ace cut her off.”

Jeremiah nodded his head in the direction of the booth. “Is that woman there called Lizzie?” When Mona nodded, he added, “I hear she's friends with Mary. Maybe when her John leaves, I can buy a few moments of her time.”

Mona put down the pot and leaned forward on the counter, displaying copious breasts barely held in check by the neckline of her shirt. “That ain't no John. That's her daddy. He comes here a couple times a month to buy her breakfast and try to talk some sense into her.” She straightened up. “Breaks my heart, but nothing I can do about it.”

Jeremiah fixed his eyes on hers. “Breaks your heart so much you and Ace run girls out of here?”

Again Mona bent over, but this time she wasn't as friendly. “Listen, mister. Ace might be my brother, but I have no part in whatever business he's in. I need to make a living just like the next person. I run the Hi-Life and that's it. It's an honest business that my brother would ruin if I ran him off.” When he didn't say anything, she added with narrow eyes, “Do you understand me?”

Jeremiah nodded. He understood perfectly. “Where's Ace now?”

“Sleeping. He probably just got to bed an hour or so ago. Won't be up until after noon.”

“Where does he crash?”

Mona straightened. “I ain't telling you. He's my brother. And you may not be a cop, but I'm betting you once were. Black or not, you're covered with cop stink.”

Jeremiah reached into his zippered pocket and pulled out a ten-dollar bill. He placed it on the counter and pushed it toward Mona. “What are my chances of getting some one-on-one time with Lizzie over there after her father leaves?” Then he tacked on, “Without Ace knowing.”

Mona picked up the ten and deposited it somewhere under the folds of her apron. Then she pulled his meal ticket from
her pad and placed it in front of him, making it clear the ten was over and above the price of his meal which was only $6.99 with coffee. He put another ten and a five on the counter and said, “Keep the change.”

Again the money disappeared. Mona left and returned with the coffeepot. As she refilled his mug, she said, “Her daddy should be going soon. He never stays much past the meal. I'll make sure Lizzie sticks around. She's got a sweet tooth. I'll take her a piece of cake.” When she finished pouring his coffee, she carved off a large piece from the chocolate cake under the plastic dome, placed it on a plate, and put it on the counter. He started to pull out more cash to pay for the cake, but Mona shook her head. “This is on the house. It's two days old and will be tossed later today anyway.”

Jeremiah was relieved at the gesture. He was bleeding money and had just started his investigation.

Soon after, the man at the booth shoved some money across the table at Lizzie, which she scooped up. Then he got up and came to the counter and stood just a couple of stools down from Jeremiah. He caught Mona's eye, making sure she saw the twenty he put down on the counter before leaving. Jeremiah watched him walk out with rounded shoulders and tears in his eyes. His child was lost to him and there was nothing he could do, but he wasn't about to stop trying.

As soon as Lizzie's father was gone, Mona picked up the big slice of cake and delivered it to Lizzie's booth. Jeremiah took the cue and followed her with his coffee mug. One the way he passed Granny returning to the counter. He gave her a nod that turned her on her heels back to the table.

“This gentleman's bought this cake for you, Lizzie,” Mona told the woman in the booth. She put the cake down in front of the woman, cleared the breakfast dishes, and returned to the counter.

“She's looking at that cake like it's a bear trap, ready to snatch her,” Granny noted.

“I'm done for the night,” Lizzie said to Jeremiah without looking up from the cake. Her voice was low but determined, like a warning growl.

“I'm not here for that,” Jeremiah told her. “I'm a private investigator. I want to ask you about your friend Mary.”

“I don't have any friends.”

“Sure you do,” Jeremiah said to her in a soothing tone. “You've got your father. Isn't that who just left?”

“Yep,” Granny confirmed. “That was her daddy. And she has a son, too. A little boy named Ryan, according to her father.”

“And you have Ryan, don't you?” Jeremiah said to her, thankful for the feed from Granny.

Lizzie's face shot up to stare at Jeremiah. Under all the garish makeup and mop of shocking red hair was a face younger than he'd expected. But she did look used up. Under her dull blue eyes were deep dark crescents, both from being up all night and from drug use. Her skin was sallow, her cheeks hollow, making her long nose seem longer and thinner. At one time, Jeremiah thought, she must have been pretty with full cheeks and a youthful spark in her eyes.

“How do you know about Ryan?” she hissed.

“And her daddy wants her to come home,” added Granny. “Said he'd help her get off the drugs so she can be a good mother to Ryan.” The ghost sniffed. “Broke my heart hearing him plead with her to come home in time for Christmas. Said it would be the best present in the world for Ryan.”

Jeremiah folded his hands on top of the table and leaned forward. “I heard that man say something about him and how he wants you to go home and be a proper momma to him. Sounds like a good plan to me.”

“You don't know nothing,” she hissed again.

“Listen, girl,” Jeremiah said, keeping his voice even and paternal, “I know your friend Mistletoe Mary is missing and might be dead.”

“You've been talking to that crazy man Bucket,” she said with a sneer. “Mary's not dead. She left to live with her daughter. Everyone knows that.”

“Did you ever see her daughter? Can you describe her?” he asked.

Granny got up and started pacing, clearly upset by the girl. “That poor little boy. He needs a mother.” Jeremiah shot the ghost a glance, but didn't make eye contact.

Lizzie thought about the question. “Yeah, once. No, wait. Twice, I think. Yeah, two times.”

Granny stopped pacing and stood by the table listening. She said to Jeremiah, “You are going to tell me what this is all about, aren't you?”

Without looking at the ghost, he nodded slightly. Of Lizzie, he asked, “When was this? Do you remember?”

“A week or two before Thanksgiving, but I don't remember the exact day,” she answered. She picked up the fork Mona delivered with the cake and cut off a large piece with the side of it. “We were on a corner by one of the bars working.”

“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.”