The Case of the Green-Dressed Ghost

by Lucy Banks

  I take it you have now read the letters attached to this one, and now know the truth about your father. I am so sorry I did not tell you sooner. There was too much to reveal, too much that was strange and unbelievable, and the longer I left it, the harder it became. Soon, it was easier not to tell you anything at all. But perhaps I was wrong to leave you in the dark.

  I hope that you will visit your father, Julio Ribero. I have discovered that he is still running his business from the same location—99 Mirabel Street, Exeter. There, you will find him, and you will also find Jennifer Wellbeloved—a dear lady that I once did a terrible wrong to. I only pray that she can forgive me for what I did. I am sure they will be kind to you once they know who you are, even Jennifer. They will tell you everything you need to know.

  All I will say is have an open mind. Julio runs a strange business. I was once a part of it. And the gift I have, I believe you have inherited. When you were a boy, you used to see openings to the spirit world all the time. It frightened you. I told you it was your imagination, but I was not being truthful, my darling. I told you to block the spirit doors, and I should not have done so. It is your gift to control, not mine. I apologise, my love.

  I read this letter back now, and know that it sounds confusing. The cancer is making me feel so old, and it is so difficult to concentrate. There is nothing worse than feeling your mind start to unravel. I hope it will never happen to you.

  Go to Dr Ribero. Sell the house if you need money. The southwest is far lovelier than here anyway. The sea air will do you good. Julio will help you. Despite what you may think from reading the letters, he is not a bad man. Indeed, he has a wonderful heart. It is just his brain that isn’t always very reliable. He will help you to understand your gift, but do not let him pressurise you into doing anything you feel uncomfortable with. Julio gets carried away and forgets himself sometimes. Be firm with him. And remember, he is your father, and he owes you much.

  Know that I am always with you, in your heart. I think exciting things are ahead, my darling—if you seize the opportunity. I love you and I am so proud of you.

  With love,

  Mother x

  Kester paused, placing the letter very carefully back on the bed. He smoothed it, touching the places where the pen had dented the paper. Then, with animal ferocity, he started to sob. It was as though she had been speaking to him out loud, as though the separation between them was as thin as the paper the letter had been written on. But the separation was there. It was total, undeniable and irresolute, and nothing could ever unite them again. The weight of the knowledge crushed him, squeezing the breath from him, and he howled, the pain of missing her raging out for the first time since she’d died.

  After a while, he composed himself. He wasn’t the type to allow emotions to take control for too long. It was his mother’s Germanic practicality. Perhaps those tears were a little bit of Argentinian emotion bursting out of me, he thought, wiping his face. Maybe I am more like Ribero than I realise. The room had gone dark; the sun had set, casting long shadows across the thick carpet and past the door. He felt suddenly, uncomfortably alone.

  Kester tiptoed to bed, turning on every available light-switch in the process. Then, quite surprising himself, he pulled out his mobile phone and located Pamela’s number. He didn’t want to call her, especially given the late hour. Instead, he sent her a quick text message, informing her that he would be coming back to Exeter within a few days.

  Putting down his phone, he nodded, knowing it was the right decision. There was nothing for him here. Whereas in Exeter, there was a father, some pretty interesting people, and a highly attractive green-dressed ghost awaiting him.

  Chapter 9: Back to Exeter

  Kester’s first job the following morning had been to call the estate agent to put the house on the market. His second job was cancelling the newspaper delivery. The third, letting his neighbour, Miss Winterbottom, know he was leaving, which caused her to sniff and offer him the largest slice of her freshly baked apple cake.

  After he had done these jobs, and eaten the cake, he booked a train ticket and turned his attention to packing. He soon realised that most of his books would have to stay put for now, unless he wanted to break his back carrying the case on the London Underground. The same went for his collection of rare coins, which he supposed he’d have to either sell or put into storage for a while, or at least until he was set up in Exeter.

  However, in spite of the burden of responsibility, he felt excited, though he still questioned the sanity of his decision. He couldn’t quite believe how bold and decisive he was being. It was as though someone else had stepped into his skin, making him unusually proactive; he felt worried that the sensation might leave him as swiftly as it had arrived.

  Although the thought of leaving the house was upsetting, he knew it was time to go. Walking around, taking in the floral wallpaper, the gilt picture frames, the little oval mirrors hanging over every gas heater, he realised that his time here had come to an end. It was his mother’s home really, and like her, it had become ghost-like—a faded memory of itself. If he remained here, he suspected he would start to disappear too, and absorb into the fabric of the house like lingering smoke.

  After the estate agent’s visit, he accepted the terms, happily signed the documents, left them the keys, and made towards the station, ready to start afresh. He felt surprisingly cheerful, in spite of everything, and the feeling didn’t diminish, even after several hours on the train. The sun poured relentlessly through the windows as he whizzed from cityscapes to verdant fields and hills, as though spurring him on in his journey.

  To his surprise, he found Pamela outside Exeter’s St David’s station, waiting for him next to her rustic Ford Fiesta. She waved, and he waved back, grinning. It felt good to be back again. It wasn’t just the city; it was the whole experience—the excitement of the new.

  “We thought you might be back, but hadn’t realised it would be quite so soon,” she said, crushing him against her ample bosoms as she drew him in for a hug. “You just couldn’t stay away, could you?”

  Kester smiled, piling the suitcase into the boot, which groaned under the weight. “I don’t know what it was,” he replied. “I got home, and it didn’t feel much like home anymore. So I thought I’d better come back and see if I could make my home here instead.”

  Pamela clapped her hands, clearly delighted. “Well, as I said,” she beamed, “you’re welcome to stay at mine as long as you need to. It’s comfier than a bed and breakfast anyway.”

  “Well, if you don’t mind,” Kester said. “I don’t want to impose on you.”

  “Oh, you silly boy,” Pamela said, squeezing herself into the driver’s seat. “It would be a pleasure. I get lonely by myself, even though Hemingway is excellent company. But you can’t have much of a conversation with a dog, can you?”

  Kester agreed that the statement was true, as he climbed into the car to join her. The overwhelming smell of the air freshener caused his eyes to water, but still didn’t manage to conceal the distinct odour of wet dog coming from the back.

  “The others are all at the office,” Pamela continued, reversing at an alarming rate and nearly knocking over a pensioner, who proceeded to shake his walking stick at them angrily. “Did you want to come back with me and chat things through with everyone? Or did you want to go back to mine and freshen up?”

  “I presume Dr Ribero is having his afternoon nap, isn’t he?” Kester said, raising an apologetic hand to the old man, who was still mouthing obscenities at them, his whiskery face red with anger.

  Pamela chuckled, completely oblivious. “He’ll be up in ten minutes though. You know what he’s like, very punctual with his sleeping.”

  “Mind out for that bollard.”

  “Yes, I saw it, thank you anyway,” she cheerily replied, sailing the car out of the car park and bouncing over the kerb instead. “Let’s get
back and have a nice cup of tea at the office then.”

  Instead of parking near the front of the offices, Pamela squeezed her car down a minute alleyway, which led to an equally tiny carpark. Kester looked around with mild confusion, trying to get his bearings, then realised they were at the back of the building. Peering up, he could see that the back wasn’t in any better state than the front, with peeling whitewash paint, crumbling brickwork and an iron escape ladder that looked as though it had definitely seen better days.

  However, inside, Kester was surprised. “It’s much nicer than your front entrance,” he commented, as they climbed the stairs.

  “Oh, nobody ever goes in the front entrance,” Pamela said, grasping the stair rail to haul her considerable bulk upwards. “Mind you, no one ever comes this way either, apart from us. We don’t get many visitors.”

  “Why was the front door open when I first came here then?” Kester asked.

  She looked over her shoulder. “I don’t know. It shouldn’t have been. Maybe the lock’s broken. We should probably look into that.”

  “Probably,” Kester agreed. Out of breath at the top of the stairs, he once again vowed that he really should try to get in shape. However, this was a vow he made at least once a day, and so far he’d done nothing to make it happen.

  Pamela threw open the door at the top of the stairs, leading them into the familiar darkness of the upper landing. Kester stumbled after her as she danced her way to the office, like a newborn lamb following its mother.

  “Look who I’ve got here!” Pamela exclaimed, gesturing to Kester as though he were a prize display at an exhibition.

  Serena glanced up, rolling her eyes. “We know you’ve got him, Pamela. You told us you were going to collect him, remember?”

  Mike jumped out of his seat, covering the office floor in two huge strides, and pumped Kester’s hand. “Hello again!” he exclaimed. “Didn’t expect to see you back so soon! What made you change your mind?”

  “Ah, well, you know. The house just didn’t feel the same when I went back,” Kester bumbled, feeling rather overwhelmed.

  Miss Wellbeloved rose slowly from her desk, the ghost of a smile tightening her lips. “Glad you decided to come back,” she said. “I think Julio was quite morose at the prospect of you going.”

  Kester swallowed, remembering the letters he’d found in his mother’s room. Why is she being nice to me, when my mother had an affair with her ex-fiance? he fretted. If I was her, I wouldn’t want anything to do with me.

  “It’s nice to be back,” he stuttered. It was true. Although he’d never visited Exeter prior to this week, it already felt strangely like home. “Is Dr Ribero awake yet?”

  “You know, you’ll have to start calling him dad, won’t you?” Mike said amiably. Miss Wellbeloved winced, then straightened her features.

  “His alarm went off a few minutes ago, so we can safely presume he’s in there having his usual mid-afternoon smoke,” Serena declared, hammering away at her keyboard as though it had personally insulted her.

  With a dramatic crash, Ribero’s office door swung open, revealing the doctor himself, arms outstretched and a grin wrapped round his smouldering cigarette holder.

  “Aha!” he cried out, plucking the cigarette from his mouth and waving it in the air, smoke billowing like the trail of a spectral snail. “I knew you would come back! Hello there, my boy!”

  “Hello,” Kester said uncertainly, giving a little wave, then feeling a bit silly and putting his hand down again. However, in spite of his awkwardness, he liked their obvious pleasure at his return. It certainly made him feel a good deal more wanted than he had felt when he’d first come to the office a few days ago.

  “And now you are coming to Exeter to stay, yes?” Ribero continued, fixing him with the full force of his dark, South American gaze, as though daring him to disagree. Kester shrugged, then hastily changed the gesture to a nod.

  “I think so,” he said. “I’ve arranged for the house to be sold.” Then he remembered who had bought the house, and added, “If that’s alright with you, of course.”

  “Ah yes, but of course. It was your mother’s house, now it is yours. That is how it should be,” Ribero declared, waltzing across the room with all the loose-limbed elegance of an ageing leopard. He stood in front of Kester, then grasped him by the shoulders, planting a whiskery kiss on each cheek.

  “I am glad you are here,” he said, suddenly looking serious. “Plus, I think we may need your help with this difficult case, no?”

  “You mean the Green Lady painting?” Kester asked.

  “Yeah, it’s proving a lot more bloody tricky than originally thought,” Mike said with a grimace. “It’s a real case of all hands on deck with this one.”

  “As long as you think you can stop yourself from going all soppy over her again,” Serena interrupted, with a frosty grin. “You were practically dry humping the canvas last time.”

  “Oh Serena, really,” Pamela chastised. “That’s unkind. It’s not Kester’s fault that the spirit was having a peculiar effect on him.”

  “I certainly wasn’t doing any dry humping, thank you very much,” Kester said, with as much dignity as he could muster.

  “Well, something was clearly going on in your pants, that’s all I’m saying. Honestly, you couldn’t have looked more excited had you—”

  “Serena!” Miss Wellbeloved and Pamela exclaimed in unison.

  Mike laughed loudly. “Serena’s just jealous. She doesn’t like ladies that are more attractive than she is.”

  “If you’re attracted to half-crazed murderous spirits, then that’s fine with me,” she spat back.

  “As opposed to half-crazed, murderous humans like yourself, you mean?”

  “Ah, let us stop this nonsense,” Dr Ribero barked, flapping a hand at them all, as though putting out a fire. “All this silliness with dried out humping and murder. We need to discuss the case, not this.”

  “Down the pub then?” Mike suggested.

  “Ooh, that sounds like a good idea,” Pamela agreed. “Fat Pig?”

  “You certainly are,” Serena said.

  Pamela pummelled Serena’s arm, smiling. “You just can’t stop yourself, can you love?” she replied. “I suppose if we named a pub after you, we’d have to call it the Long-Faced, Mardy-Arsed Cow. Which doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.”

  Mike roared with laughter, much to Serena’s irritation. However, after a few seconds she joined in, albeit rather stiffly.

  After gathering all their belongings, they headed out of the office, down the alleyway, and onto the high street, past rows of overstuffed vintage shops and tiny cafes. The mid-afternoon sun blazed overhead, baking the worn pavements and glinting off shop windows. Kester trotted dutifully behind them, feeling like the runt of the litter, struggling to keep up. Suddenly, the team turned into an alleyway, moving pack-like from the busy street to the quiet of the narrow path beyond. At the end, Kester could quite clearly make out the antique pub sign, hanging still on the breezeless day, complete with brightly coloured pig painted upon it.

  Mike punched open the door, striding inside like a lord returning to his manor. “Afternoon, Bill,” he announced without preamble, saluting the barman. “I see you’re a bit quiet today.”

  The man behind the bar looked up and grinned. He was a generously proportioned chap, with the general physique of a woolly mammoth, not to mention a verdant ginger beard that jutted proudly in front of him like the prow of a ship.

  “Hello there, my good man!” he said jovially, leaning across the bar. “We’re only quiet because it’s early in the day, and only people like you start drinking at this hour. I see you’ve brought your compadres with you?”

  “Yes, it’s a team-building exercise,” Mike replied. Kester looked curiously around the room. He didn’t visit pubs very often. His experience
s with pubs in the past had been almost entirely unpleasant. On one occasion, he had been slapped around the face by a pensioner who’d been irritated by his lack of desire to enter into a drinking contest. On the other, he’d managed to get his foot caught up on a table leg, causing the entire table, not to mention its contents, to crash to the floor. He’d been slapped that time too, by two very large, very angry young men. Or rather, punched quite hard in the belly. Whichever way you looked at it, it hadn’t made for a great experience.

  Thankfully, this pub was unthreateningly small. Indeed, it looked almost like someone’s lounge, complete with iron fireplace, squidgy window seat, and smart floorboards. It had been crammed to capacity with a variety of wooden tables and chairs, all practically knocking into one another. Kester could imagine the atmosphere being quite intimate when full. However, at present, they were the only ones there, so instead, the room looked a little forlorn.

  “What can I get you to drink?” the barman continued, scooping up a beer glass in readiness. Mike frowned diligently over the selection, before pointing to one directly in front of him.

  “Make mine a large, dry white,” Pamela bustled. She pointed at Serena. “I suspect this miserable young lass will make do with a fat-free gin and slimline tonic.”

  “No, I’ll just have a diet coke, thank you,” Serena snipped. “It’s a bit early in the day to be drinking.”

  “Never too early for drinking,” Mike declared, taking a reverent sip of his drink. He exhaled enthusiastically, smacking his lips. “That’s a good one, that is.”

  “Yeah, it’s a nice little local ale,” Bill agreed, smoothing down his sideburns. He hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his waistcoat. “I suspect as it’s a nice day, you’ll be wanting to sit outside, ladies and gentlemen?”

  “That would be very nice, I think,” Dr Ribero said. “Make the most of this lovely weather, yes?”

  After pouring the rest of their drinks, Bill diligently strode over to unlock the stained-glass door, waving them outside.