Sorry for no graphics tonight. I’m on my iPad waiting for Fern to get off work so we can head out to Big Basin. First, though, let’s catch up with an old friend…
“Skip? Got a moment?”
“Yeah, Eddy,” Skip closed the door of the Sheriff’s department Ford Explorer he was about to climb into. “Of course. What’s up?”
“Sorry, Chief, I know you’re on the way out, but, uh, I don’t really know how to ask about this…”
“Oh, goddamnit, Eddy. Not you too!”
Eddy held out his hands. “It’s not me, Skip! But, you know, word gets around…”
“No shit,” Skip said with a deep sigh.
“My wife begged me to ask if you could do her a favor.”
“Marissa? What’s she want in all this?”
“It’s actually her cousin…”
“Is he…” Skip drew a finger across his throat.
“No! No, Diego’s cool. No, he’s living with in this house up on Ridgecrest with a bunch of guys.”
“Okay…”
“And they’re convinced there’s this…”
“Ghost.”
“Ghost. My wife heard that…”
“I can see them…” Skip added, “and maybe I could stop by…”
“Would you?” Eddy said relieved the question was out there.
“Jesus Christ, Eddy.” Skip took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair and sighed. He thought for a moment then said, “Yeah, that’s fine. I can stop by…”
“Tonight? I can text you the address.”
Skip laughed. “Do you want me to bring them pizza, too?”
“They’re more the tamales type…” Eddy smiled.
“After this they’d better be bringing me tamales!”
“I’m sure Marissa will. Thank you, Skip.”
“Hey, Eddy?” Skip stepped closer to the deputy. “Not a word of this, okay? It’s bad enough that rumors are getting around. Shit’s already rolling downhill…”
“Yeah, yeah, Skip. Not a word. I’ll make sure Marissa doesn’t say anything, either.”
“Please,” Skip opened the door to the Explorer.
“Oh, one more thing, Skip?” Eddy stopped him.
“What now?”
“Maybe, you know, don’t show up in uniform… if you know what I mean?”
“No need to make anyone nervous. I’ve got to go take care of Milo. I’ll change and then head over there in,” he looked at his watch. “Hour? Hour and a half? Let ‘em know I’m coming?”
“Thanks Skip!”
“Pork, Eddy.”
“Skip?”
“Tamales. The pork tamales Maria makes.”
“You got it, Skip.”
An hour and a half later, Skip led Milo across a collapsed section of Ridgecrest Drive. Five or six winters ago the hillside above the highway slid, blocking the main thoroughfare for days and taking a good chunk of Ridgecrest Drive down with it. The pace of road repairs — especially in this unincorporated section of rural west county — ran at a glacial pace, and as Skip led Milo across the narrow strip of asphalt that still remained over the chasm he wondered if it would ever get repaired.
Skip knew the address Eddy had texted him. He knew it personally because he and Milo walked this way at least once a week, and he knew it professionally because about a dozen laborers at any given time shared the three bedroom house and packing that many people into that little floor space eventually caused the kind of problems you call the sheriff over… Or the kind of non-problems the white vacationers in the surrounding AirBNBs called the sheriff over, more often than not.
As Skip approached, three men stood on the porch, two smoking cigarettes. “Evening,” Skip said. “Is one of you Diego?”
The two men smoking looked at each other then one said, “No. No Diego here.” The third man laughed.
Skip rolled his eyes. “Eddy sent me. Eddy Rodriguez?”
“Oh, I’m Diego,” said the one who had just denied being Diego. “This is Jesus. Thanks for coming, Sheriff.”
Skip stepped up on the porch, “It’s just Skip tonight, Diego.” He shook both men’s hands. He turned to the man not smoking, “You must be the problem around here.”
Diego and Jesus looked at each other confused.
“You can see me?”
“Yeah, I can see you.” Skip looked at the confused faces around him and said, “It’s your ghost.”
“No shit? He’s right here?” Jesus said.
“No shit,” Skip said looking at the ghost, “You’re right here.”
“I didn’t mean any trouble,” the ghost said.
“I’m sure you didn’t.”
“I just… can’t go until I know my sister is okay.”
“Your sister?”
“I had money I’d saved. I was going to mail it to her in Juarez, but…”
“…But you died.” The ghost nodded. “What’s your name?”
“Enrique. Enrique Perez.”
Skip turned to Diego. “Who is Enrique Perez?”
Diego shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Did he live here?”
“I haven’t lived here that long…”
Jesus punched Diego in the arm, “Yeah, I remember that dude. I told you about him. He died in that car accident in Windsor last year?”
“Oh, you mean the guy with the head and the…” he motioned with his hands around his head in a flattening gesture.”
“Yeah! That guy!” Jesus said.
“Yeah, I’m that guy,” Enrique said sadly.
“What’d you do with his stuff?” Skip asked.
“Uh… I think Raul boxed it up… Might be in the attic. He didn’t leave any forwarding address or anything…”
“Yeah, my stuff is in the attic. That’s why I hang out there.”
“Let me guess, you guys hear a lot of steps and stuff from the attic?”
“Oh shit,” Jesus said. “That’s Enrique? No shit!”
“Enrique,” Skip turned to him. “Is everything up there for your sister?” Enrique nodded. Skip took out a small steno note pad and a pen. “Alright, what’s her address?” Skip wrote it down, tore the paper out and handed it to Diego. “Send his stuff to his sister at this address. Everything. Do it, and Enrique is out of here. Got it?”
“That’s it?” Diego asked.
“Yeah, that’s it. Don’t forget. Enrique knows me now and he’ll tell me if you don’t.”
“I will?” Enrique asked.
Skip gave him a barely perceptible nod. “If that happens I’m coming back in the Sheriff’s truck. Got it?”
“I’ll go talk to Raul now. I’ll get it off tomorrow, okay Skip?”
“Good.” Skip started to walk off the porch.
“What am I supposed to do now?” Enrique followed him.
“Nothing. Be a good ghost. Be a fucking Casper the Friendly ghost. If Diego doesn’t take care of that,” he threw a glance over his shoulder and Diego nodded and headed inside, “you come find me.”
“Oh, okay….” he said hesitantly.
“And don’t go down by the river.”
“No way,” Enrique said, eyes wide. “That’s where La Llorona lives.”
“Yep,” Skip said. “Have a good night, all,” and Skip and Milo headed for home.
