The Case of the Green-Dressed Ghost

by Lucy Banks

  “I did wonder whether it was a good idea bringing him tonight, Julio. For some reason, I think that spirit has selected him as a focus. That’s not good. He has no experience with these things.”

  Kester allowed himself to be carried back to the kitchen, where he was lowered onto the nearest chair.

  “What the hell happened to him? Don’t tell me he had another silly little wobble.”

  “Serena, not now.”

  Kester suddenly felt a rush of cold air enter his lungs, piercing him back into consciousness. He wheezed, rearing backwards as though an electric current had passed through his spine.

  “Ah!” he cried out, then promptly vomited his half-digested tea and cake on to the table.

  Serena screamed, hastily side-stepping the drips of bile as they plopped off the tabletop. Even Mike looked lost for words as he surveyed the foul-smelling mix, his mouth a perfect circle of surprise.

  “Oh my goodness,” Pamela exclaimed, finally breaking the silence. She leapt up and reached for the kitchen towel. “Kester, what happened to you, my dear?”

  “She . . . she had me; she wouldn’t let me go,” he rattled, feeling his lip start to tremble. “She pinned me with those eyes, oh they’re terrible . . .”

  “See, I told you he wasn’t cut out for this,” Serena said. However, when Kester looked up, he could see concern in her eyes, concealed behind her sneer.

  Pamela started to mop up the mess, while Kester stared at the ceiling and struggled to understand what had happened. His stomach rolled, bringing a fresh wave of nausea.

  “Why is she going for me?” he asked weakly, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Why not Mike? Or someone else?”

  As though in answer to his question, the lights above them flickered once more, and the chandelier began to swing.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, love, can’t you just piss off?” Serena shouted. She glowered at the rest of them, shrugging. “I can’t help it; this spirit is getting right on my nerves. Just let me go in there and try and drag her out. I’ll bet I can manage.”

  “Serena, you absolutely cannot manage,” Miss Wellbeloved snapped, eyeing the ceiling apprehensively. The lights dimmed, before sputtering out completely. Kester sobbed; he felt as though his mind was about to explode with the horror of it all. This is the worst night of my life, he thought as he struggled to stop himself from screaming. This is like a nightmare, and it just won’t stop.

  “I do not think we are getting anywhere tonight, are we?” Dr Ribero said reluctantly, a dislocated voice in the darkness. “I feel perhaps we should go home, review our strategy tomorrow, yes?”

  “I certainly think we need to get Kester home,” Pamela agreed, placing an arm around his shoulders. “I think this spirit is locking on to him for some reason, and he hasn’t got the skills to protect himself.”

  “I didn’t want to come anyway,” Kester said with a low moan, pressing his face into his hands. “I never want to do this again. Please, please let me go.” Things seemed even worse than before, now that everything was dark, and felt eternally grateful for the solid presence of Pamela’s arm.

  Dr Ribero sighed, a protracted exhalation that pierced through the black. “Mike, you and I will stay here, see if we can have one last attempt at getting her out.”

  “I’ll stay too,” Miss Wellbeloved said. “I’ve got a few ideas that might work.”

  “Pamela, you get Kester back to your place, get him to bed. He has had a rough time of it. Serena, you go too. Call up your fancy man, see if you can get your hot date.”

  “Why do I have to go?” Serena flared. “I haven’t had a go yet!”

  “You are too angry, too aggressive,” Ribero retorted. “You will only make things worse. Go. Have the evening off. I will still pay you overtime, don’t worry.”

  “I don’t care about that,” she snapped back. “It’s more the fact you’re trying to get rid of me that’s upsetting me.”

  “Serena, let it go,” Miss Wellbeloved advised.

  “It’s always you guys, ganging up against me,” she retorted. Kester could hear the click of her stilettoes, pacing across the kitchen tiles. “It’s not fair.”

  “We will talk tomorrow,” Dr Ribero said, in a voice that indicated that the conversation was closed. “For now, off you go. Go on.”

  “You’re unbelievable,” Serena muttered. Without another word, she stalked angrily towards the hallway. Kester could just about make out her silhouette, flouncing towards the front door.

  Pamela eased Kester out of his seat, leading him, meekly as a lamb, down the hallway and out into the fresh air. It was raining, but this time, he welcomed the moisture on his face. It revived him, and he instantly felt more human.

  “That was the worst experience I’ve ever had,” he said as he staggered down the steps and towards the car. “How can you all do this for a job? I think the stress would kill me.”

  Pamela unlocked the car with a chuckle. “You’d be surprised,” she answered. “Sometimes, even the most awful things aren’t really that bad once you get familiar with them. Give it time, love.”

  Kester didn’t reply, but silently vowed one thing. Whatever the consequences, he was never joining in a ghost hunt ever again.

  Chapter 11: Research

  Telling his father that he didn’t want to join in any more supernatural activities was actually far harder than he had thought it would be.

  Last night, lying in bed, watching occasional passing headlights trace beams across the ceiling, he had been adamant. Never again would he put himself through such a torturous experience. Dealing with the supernatural was obviously not his speciality, regardless of who his parents may be. His nerves simply couldn’t cope with the pressure.

  At around two in the morning, when sleep continued to elude him, he had started to plan out how to break the news to his father. Around fifteen minutes later, he had decided that the doctor would not be angry. After all, Kester had effectively managed to ruin the entire investigation, albeit accidentally, so Ribero would probably be relieved to hear that he no longer wanted to take part. By 2:45 a.m., he had come to the conclusion that the doctor would be positively delighted at the news, and, with the matter settled firmly in his mind, finally drifted off to sleep.

  However, sitting in Ribero’s office the following morning, trying not to breathe the nicotine-filled air too deeply, he realised he’d misjudged the old man’s reaction. Ribero’s face fell, much like a puppet whose strings had abruptly loosened, and he slumped in his armchair. The cigarette, forgotten in the ashtray, smouldered like a carbonised stick insect.

  “Why not?” he asked eventually, meeting Kester’s gaze. “Can you tell me that?”

  Kester shifted on the swivel chair. “I’m not cut out for it,” he said, deciding to be as frank as possible. “I think last night proved it, didn’t it?”

  “How?”

  He was taken aback by the question. “Well,” he began slowly, “I made a mess of things, didn’t I?”

  “You made a mess of the kitchen table, that is true,” the doctor said. “I think that smell may linger for quite some time, even though we used quite a lot of disinfectant. But you did not make a mess of the observation. These things happen from time to time.”

  “Well, I don’t think it’s the career for me,” Kester persisted. “I was terrified last night. I couldn’t cope with that stress on a regular basis. It was awful.”

  The doctor exhaled and scratched his chin. The alarm clock ticked quietly. For a while it was the only noise in the room: a tiny, ominous sentinel to the growing awkwardness, which swelled like an over-stretched vacuum cleaner bag.

  “What, you are planning to run away again, is that it?” Dr Ribero barked, looking up. “Is that how you normally deal with problems? Run away and hope they don’t follow you, yes?”

  “No,�
� Kester said defensively. “Anyway, I never said I wanted to run away. I just don’t want to see any more ghosts.”

  Dr Ribero clucked like a nettled bantam hen. “But this is a supernatural agency! What else are you supposed to do? That’s like working in a restaurant and saying you never want to smell food, no?”

  “I haven’t actually signed a contract,” Kester muttered, “so technically, I don’t work here yet anyway, do I?” His father’s thunderous expression made him wish he’d kept his mouth shut. This isn’t going well, he thought. He held his hands up placatingly, trying to avoid any confrontation. “Isn’t there anything else I could do?” he suggested. “Admin work? I’m good at sorting through paperwork.”

  “Admin? Admin?” Dr Ribero’s face grew more purple by the moment. “No son of mine will do a woman’s admin work!”

  “This is the twenty-first century,” Kester pointed out. “Men do admin jobs too, you know.”

  Ribero shook his head, struggling to maintain composure. “No, that will not work. That will not do at all.”

  The entire office was still musing over the problem come lunchtime, which was a quiet affair, as each member of the team tucked into sandwiches behind their computer screens. Kester started to wish he’d never brought it up. There was a distinct air of disappointment in their dealings with him; a sense that they’d expected better, and that he’d let them down. Feeling rather guilty, not to mention a huge failure, he huddled in the corner of the room, trying to make himself as unnoticeable as possible.

  It was Pamela who suddenly came up with the solution at just past three, right after Dr Ribero’s nap had ended.

  “Research!” she exclaimed suddenly, whirling a finger in the air like a mini tornado. The others peered over their computer monitors, and looked at her as though she’d gone temporarily mad.

  “What on earth are you wittering on about?” Serena asked, resting her chin on her hand. “What the hell is ‘research’ meant to mean?”

  “That’s what Kester can do!” Pamela said excitedly. “Research! He’s an academic, it’ll come naturally to him!”

  Serena rolled her eyes at the others. “Research what, exactly? The theory of relativity? Holidays in Spain? How not to throw up on someone’s kitchen table? What’s he meant to be actually researching?”

  “Well, he could start delving into the history of this bloody Green Lady painting, for starters,” Pamela continued. “That might come in useful.”

  “I really don’t see how,” Serena said. “Does anyone else?”

  Kester sat up straighter. “I do like research,” he said. “And I am very good at it. When I was at university, I got the highest marks in my year for my dissertation. My lecturer said I was like a dog with a bone.”

  “More like a lemming with a cliff,” Serena muttered.

  “Well, there you go then!” Pamela said. “Jennifer, what do you think?”

  Kester waited anxiously to see what Miss Wellbeloved would say. He felt oddly excited. Research was something he felt comfortable with. Research was something he could do. In fact, he loved it. Nothing filled him with more enjoyment than rifling through old books and hunting out secrets. I could bury myself in the nearest library and never meet another spirit ever again! he thought, with deep satisfaction.

  “Do you know,” Miss Wellbeloved said slowly, scratching her head. “I think that’s quite a good idea.”

  “That’s great!” Kester exclaimed.

  At that moment, Dr Ribero swept out of his office, resplendent as a lion visiting his pride. “What is great?” he demanded, hands on hips. “What has been decided in my absence, eh? What are you all plotting out here?”

  “Kester. Research job,” Miss Wellbeloved explained. “He’s good at research apparently. He can start investigating this painting, see what he can find out.” She looked at the doctor, then shrugged. “It can’t hurt to try, can it?”

  Dr Ribero twirled his moustache as he pondered. “It might work,” he admitted. “This is a strange case. Perhaps delving into the history of that Green Lady portrait might assist us, that is true.” He scrutinised Kester’s face, then pointed a finger in his direction. “But we cannot pay you much, okay? This is a very basic job, so you earn basic wages, yes?”

  “Suits me,” Kester said. He didn’t really care much about what he earned. Apart from books, he never spent much anyway.

  “You can carry on living at mine for free anyway,” Pamela said kindly. “If you just give me a little amount towards food and bills each week, that would be more than enough.”

  “That’s brilliant!” Kester smiled. “Can I do that then? Can I start researching the case?”

  The others looked at each other, then at Ribero.

  “Ah yes, why not,” Ribero said, a hint of a smile playing under his moustache. “If that is what you are good at, then let us see how you get on. And if you don’t find anything, perhaps you can start again as a proper member of the team.” He caught Miss Wellbeloved’s eye and added, “I mean, someone who goes on observations and deals with spirits. You know what I mean.”

  Kester knew exactly what he had really meant, but he wasn’t too bothered. I’ll show him, he thought, with sudden energy. I’ll prove that I’m not just a useless lump.

  “When can I get started then?” he asked.

  “No time like the now,” Dr Ribero said, looking at his watch.

  “No time like the present,” Miss Wellbeloved automatically corrected. “The library is still open, and it is only five minutes from here. You just walk down Gandy Street, turn the corner and you’re there.”

  Kester scooped up his satchel and rose to his feet. “Leave it with me!” he declared, a beaming smile on his face. Mike chuckled and saluted him, and Pamela and Miss Wellbeloved smiled. Even Serena managed to offer the ghost of a forced grin.

  “You go find something good, okay?” Dr Ribero said, with a big thumbs up.

  Kester nodded. Oh, I certainly will, he thought with sudden determination. If mum managed to be a success in this bonkers agency, I’m going to make sure I am too. Just in a totally different way.

  “Kester,” Miss Wellbeloved called out as she scurried to catch up with him. “Might I have a quick word? I’ll walk over to the library with you, I could do with some fresh air.”

  “Yes, of course,” Kester held the door open for her. I wonder what she wants to chat about?

  Miss Wellbeloved waited until they were outside to begin speaking. “I wanted to ask you how you were finding everything,” she said, as she started to cross the car park. “How has it been for you?”

  “Um, fine, I suppose,” he said. He wasn’t quite sure which part she was referring to: the supernatural side of things or his relationship with Ribero.

  She coughed, looking concerned. “It must be difficult for you. Finding out that you have a father.”

  Kester followed her along the alleyway and nearly tripped over a sleeping cat as he passed. “I suppose so,” he said, then paused. “I suppose it’s been difficult for you too though, hasn’t it?”

  There, now it’s been said aloud, he thought, studying Miss Wellbeloved’s expression. The older woman grimaced, then nodded.

  “I wasn’t sure whether you knew or not,” she whispered, aware of a pair of students walking in the opposite direction. Kester waited until they’d passed before continuing.

  “I found some letters, back at my old house. From Dr Ribero to my mum. They said that you and my dad were going to be married.”

  Miss Wellbeloved took a deep breath, patting at her chignon. “Yes, that’s right. But that was a very long time ago.” They stepped out on to the main high street, and she picked up her pace. “Gosh, it must have been over thirty years ago. It’s terrifying how fast life slips away from you.”

  “It must have been horrible at the time.”

  “Yes. Y
es, it was.”

  Kester didn’t know what else to say. He felt sorry for the older woman, who had shown him nothing but kindness, in spite of his dubious origins. My mother stole her husband-to-be, he realised, and there’s not even a hint of resentment towards me. How does she manage it?

  “Do you mind me asking something?” He caught up with her, keeping pace with her long strides.

  “Of course not. Fire away.”

  “Why did your father give the agency to Dr Ribero? I could understand it if you and he were married, but—”

  Her mouth twitched, and she looked up at the sky, as though seeking inspiration. “Everyone thought we were going to get married,” she started. “The venue was booked, I’d bought my dress, I think we’d done the table plans. That’s why my father signed the agency over. He believed that the wedding would go ahead.”

  “And when it didn’t?”

  Miss Wellbeloved’s jaw tightened. “Regrettably, my father was very ill at that time. He died shortly after it all happened. So he never changed the name on the business deeds. It automatically became Julio’s.”

  “But that’s awful!” Kester stopped in his tracks, open-mouthed. “That means my father basically stole your family business!”

  Miss Wellbeloved chuckled, tugging him out of the path of a woman steering a pushchair. “It wasn’t like that at all, don’t worry. Julio was . . . very apologetic. He wanted me to have the business back. But my father was rather old-fashioned. He didn’t think women were capable of running companies. So I respected his wishes and let Julio keep it.”

  Kester shook his head. “Wow,” he breathed. “You are far more forgiving than I would have been in those circumstances.”

  “Oh, make no mistake,” she said, her eyes hardening. “I found it very hard to forgive. Remember, your mother was one of my best friends. We’d all met at university; Gretchen and I had shared a room. She knew how much I loved Julio.”

  He swallowed. “I’m so sorry. I feel so awful about it all.”

  She leaned against him and squeezed his arm. “Don’t be silly. It’s not your fault at all. Believe it or not, I don’t really blame your mother either. Or Julio. Love does strange things to us all.”