The Case of the Green-Dressed Ghost

by Lucy Banks

  “Dinosaurs went extinct millions of years ago,” Kester said, feeling nettled. “Whereas Dr Ribero told me that Bloody Marys only went extinct a few hundred years or so ago.”

  “So you do acknowledge that they’re extinct then?” Serena said, leaning back and placing both feet on the coffee table. “In that case, why would you suggest that the Green Lady is one? Can’t you see how preposterous that is?”

  “What if they weren’t extinct?” he suggested, his cheeks reddening. He didn’t like his ideas to be referred to as preposterous, and her ridicule was starting to make him doubt himself. “What if they’ve just been lying low for a bit, and now they’re back? Or what if this is the last Bloody Mary left in the world?”

  Serena stood up, startling him. The cushion fell to the floor, bouncing like a ball to her feet. “Do you realise how silly you sound?” she barked.

  Kester rose instinctively, feeling threatened. “No, I don’t actually,” he said, as coldly as possible. “Because I don’t think I sound silly at all.”

  Serena eyed him. “Well, you do,” she said. “This conversation is over. I won’t be helping, okay? Not that your plan would work anyway. So you go ahead, fail miserably. It doesn’t matter to me either way.”

  “You really are unpleasant sometimes, do you know that?” Kester flared, placing his hands on his hips. “You put on this act of being mean, but I don’t think that’s really you. Actually, I think deep down you’re just as insecure as I am. I don’t think you really hate me. I don’t think you hate the spirits either, even though you’re always going on about it.”

  She stood straighter, eyes blazing. “Don’t presume to know how I feel about spirits. You have no idea.”

  “I presume something happened to you as a child or something, but I don’t think—”

  “A spirit plagued my house and drove my mother mad. She killed herself. So don’t tell me I don’t really hate them, because I do.”

  He winced. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know that. I wouldn’t have brought it up if I’d—”

  “No, you don’t know much, do you? Despite pretending that you know it all.”

  He faltered, before finally finding his feet and making for the door. “If you don’t want to help,” he concluded, “that’s fine. But don’t pretend it’s because you think my idea is silly.”

  “Why else would it be?” she retorted, her expression unreadable.

  “It’s because you’re scared of what the others think about you,” he said. “You think they’re angry at you, so you’re afraid to show your face. But the mad thing is, they’d be happy to have you back, if you could calm your temper a bit.”

  “Oh, just leave, will you?” she shouted, marching over to the door. She waved down the narrow hallway, staring stonily at the floor. “You don’t know me at all, Kester. So go and pass your judgement on someone else, you stupid little boy.”

  “Fine,” he snapped. “It’s a shame, because we do need you. We need you if this plan is going to work. But I can see I’m getting nowhere here.”

  “Quite,” she hissed, her pointing finger quivering. “Time to leave, I think.”

  “I was going anyway,” he muttered. “I wish I’d never come. Goodbye, Serena.”

  Her expression flickered for a second, before returning once again to ice. “Goodbye.”

  Kester marched down the staircase, clutching hold of the bannister, worried that his emotions were going to overcome him. She called me stupid! he thought, stamping down the stairs. She’s the stupid one! And now she’s going to spoil everything, because we really do need her for this plan to work! He had no idea what he was going to tell Dr Ribero. How could he admit that he’d failed miserably, before they’d even arrived at Coleton Crescent?

  Storming out onto the street, he paced down the hill, heading towards the river. He still had some time before he was due to meet the others at the house, and he desperately needed to come up with another plan.

  But what? he wondered, panic rising in his chest. I’ve given Ribero some hope, how the hell am I going to deliver what I promised, if the person we need the most won’t show up?

  Lost in a trail of despair, he continued his march onwards, oblivious to the rush hour traffic crawling miserably alongside him. Although it was close to six o’clock, the sun still shone over the hills in the distance, bathing the surrounding rooftops in a warm, golden glow. It was a beautiful evening, but he couldn’t take any pleasure from it, not at the moment. He had an overwhelming sense of impending doom, and suspected that he was going to screw everything up royally.

  Just like I always do, he thought, stepping off the pavement and onto the river path. Oh Mother, you always thought I could achieve something, but now look at me. I’ve messed it up again.

  Serena’s angry expression, her quivering finger pointing at the door, still loomed in his mind, making him feel even more frustrated. He kicked at the gravel, nearly lost his footing, then wished he hadn’t bothered, especially when he spotted a pair of teenagers sniggering at him from higher up the riverbank.

  Maybe I could just leave, he thought, looking at the steep hill ahead. He could see Coleton Crescent even from all the way down here; an austere curve of pristine white houses, glistening in the gentle sunlight. The sight filled him with dread. Maybe I could just go to the train station instead. No one would realise until it was too late. I could just go back to Cambridge, and never come back.

  It was a tempting thought. After all, he reasoned, what could I offer now? My plan has already failed. If indeed it would have worked anyway, which I very much doubt. At least if I leave, I won’t have to face them. I won’t have to see their disappointment, when they realise that I really am as utterly useless as I look.

  Kester sank down on to the grass with a sigh, startling the swans nesting down by the waters close by. He didn’t have a clue what to do. He rested his head in his hands, keen to block out the world, if just for a little while.

  Suddenly, a wet ball wedged its way into his palm, snuffling around like an insect. Kester squeaked, startled out of his morose daydreams, and looked around, trying to identify the culprit.

  “Ugh, it’s a rat!” he squawked with fright, recoiling as he spotted the thin brown creature, which was currently still nosing around his trousers. He hated rats. They filled him with utter revulsion, with their nasty little dark eyes and slippery fur. He bit his lip, edging away from the squirming creature, which seemed to have developed a dreadful obsession with his leg.

  “Oh my goodness, I am so sorry!”

  He followed the source of the female voice to an equally female person, who was presently perfectly silhouetted by the sun at her back, framed like an ancient goddess in front of the fierce light.

  “Er, that’s quite alright?” Kester grunted, scrambling to his feet. He looked down at the rat, which rather confusingly was on a lead. Even more confusingly, it looked as though it had been stretched to roughly the same length as a ruler. Then he realised, with considerable embarrassment, that it was a ferret.

  “I hope Thor didn’t scare you!” she said. Her voice sounded vaguely familiar. Kester squinted harder, then smiled.

  “You’re the girl from the library!” he exclaimed. “Anya, wasn’t it?”

  She nodded, then stepped to the side when she realised the sun was making him squint. “That is right. I am surprised you remember. You must have a good memory!”

  “You’ve got a ferret,” Kester commented, aware that he was stating the obvious. He pointed at the creature on the ground, which was still sniffling around at his feet, as though convinced he was stashing away a delectable treat in one of his shoes. “Not a rat. Sorry about that. I just noticed it was small and brown, then jumped to conclusions.”

  Anya giggled. “That’s okay. He looks quite like a rat, I think.”

  “Did you say he was called Thor?” Kester sai
d, raising an eyebrow. “That’s a big name for a little fellow like that.”

  She giggled again, a sound that edged its way into Kester’s ears, tickled his heart, then nestled in his belly like warm butter. She really was rather pretty, in a quirky kind of way. Why is she bothering to talk to me? he wondered, suddenly feeling self-conscious. He was fairly certain that he was a bit sweaty, and started to panic that he had moist patches under his armpits. Quickly, he crossed his arms, then realised that it made him sweat even more, so unfolded them again, keeping his arms pinned tightly to his torso.

  “What are you doing down here?” she asked, looking out over the river. “Are you going for a walk?”

  Kester shrugged. “I was thinking about going home, actually.”

  Anya smiled. “You live round here, then?”

  “No,” he continued, “I meant, going back home to Cambridge.”

  She frowned. “Oh, but that is a long way away, isn’t it? Is that where you live?”

  “I think so,” he said sadly, gazing back up at Coleton Crescent.

  “That’s a shame.” Anya grasped his hand, then pumped it energetically. “It was nice to have met you. It’s nice talking to someone clever. I hope your journey back is okay, right?”

  Hang on, did she just say that it was a shame I was going? he thought, blinking with confusion. Why would she say that? Maybe she didn’t mean it. She was probably just being polite.

  “That’s very kind of you,” he said aloud, removing his hand. The warm press of her palm still lingered in his own. “I’m not sure I’m very clever though.”

  “Well, you should let me know if you ever decide to come back to Exeter,” she said. “I’m part of a book club, we are looking for new people to join us. Perhaps if you ever move here for good, you could join?”

  Kester gawped. The ferret started to run up his trouser leg, but he scarcely noticed. “Um, yes,” he agreed, fighting to get his brain to function properly. At present, it seemed to have turned into some sort of gooey mush. “Yes, that would be nice. I’ll let you know.”

  “Do you think you might come back then?” she asked.

  He paused. Will I be back? Should I even go? His gaze travelled up to Coleton Crescent, then back to Anya. He nodded. “It might happen.”

  She smiled, then started to walk in the opposite direction, dragging Thor out of his trousers.

  “In fact, I might not go back at all,” he called after her, in a moment of bravery. She looked over her shoulder and grinned, giving him a wave. Kester started to grin himself, feeling a lot better than he had done five minutes ago.

  Maybe she just felt sorry for me, he thought, with a little smile. He carried on walking towards Isabelle Diderot’s house, without really realising he was doing so. But it’s still nice that a pretty girl pities me. At least she noticed me. That’s a start.

  It was only after he’d passed the iron footbridge and started to head up the narrow steps that he realised what he was doing. Turning the corner, he saw the house standing in the middle of the elegant terrace, so seemingly innocuous on the outside, concealing the creature that lurked inside with a veil of normality.

  I appear to have decided to stay after all, he thought to himself with a rueful nod. That’s somewhat surprising.

  It was still early. He leant against the iron railings, eyed the black door across the road, then settled himself in for a wait. He was glad he was early. It gave him a valuable twenty-five minutes or so to think of a new plan. However, if the blankness of his mind at present was anything to go by, inspiration was highly unlikely to come.

  Oh boy, he thought, casting a glance down to the river below, which twinkled in the sun like a sparkling silver road. I’m in trouble.

  Chapter 15: Chaos at Coleton Crescent

  “What do you mean, the plan’s gone a bit wrong?” Pamela said, placing the mug back on the kitchen table, which definitely still had an unpleasant odour of Kester’s stomach contents about it, despite its innocent appearance under the light of the chandelier.

  Kester swallowed. He’d put off telling them straight away, hoping that an alternative plan would spring to mind. But the fact was, without a young, unmarried woman to lure the Green Lady from her painting and into the mirror in the hallway, he didn’t know what else to do. All the sites he’d looked at indicated that it needed to be a young woman, though he supposed they could try it with Pamela, and see if it worked. Not that he held out much hope. Pamela was definitely the wrong side of fifty, and didn’t look like the marrying kind, plain and simple. And from what he could tell, the Green Lady wasn’t stupid.

  “We kind of needed Serena to get the Green Lady to go into the mirror,” he offered lamely, as the hot tea misted his glasses. “And Serena wouldn’t come. She said I was being ridiculous.”

  Mike paced up and down the tiles. “Well, it is a bit farfetched, mate,” he said, as tactfully as possible, which in Mike’s case, wasn’t very tactfully at all. “I mean, it’s like saying a dinosaur has come back to life or something.”

  “Why does everyone keep saying that?” Kester snapped, running his hands through his hair. “It’s not the same at all.”

  “No,” Dr Ribero agreed. “It’s more like saying Queen Victoria isn’t actually dead. More like that. The Bloody Marys have been extinct for about a couple of hundred years, that’s all.”

  “A couple of hundred years is bad enough,” Mike said. “At the end of the day, extinct means extinct. It doesn’t matter if it’s a few hundred years or a few million.”

  Kester sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve messed it up again. I feel really awful about it. And I haven’t got a Plan B either. Sorry.”

  “To be honest, you never really had much of a Plan A, either,” Mike added, patting him sympathetically on the back. “But I can see why you got excited. The mirror connection was a bit of a red herring, I think.”

  “You do not know that for sure,” Dr Ribero berated, rapping at the tabletop with a fingertip. “Stranger things have happened, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know. We deal with strange for a living,” Mike said with a gruff laugh. “But no one’s seen sight of a Bloody Mary for centuries. And they were the kind of spirits that really didn’t like to lie low. It seems unlikely that they’d have managed to remain hidden for so long.”

  Pamela gave a low whistle. “So,” she said seriously. “What are we going to do?”

  Miss Wellbeloved, who until then had been sitting quietly in the corner, raised her head. “Perhaps we should just go home again,” she suggested, staring out of the window. “There’s not much point being here, is there? I’ll call Infinite Enterprises in the morning, ask them to arrange for their team to come and sort it out.”

  “No,” Ribero barked, pushing his chair back and rising to his feet. He prowled across to Miss Wellbeloved and placed a hand on her shoulder. “No, we are not giving up, Jennifer. Come on. We have been running this agency too long to just give it all up.”

  She looked up, giving him a weak smile. “Exactly,” she said. “We’re probably at retirement age anyway. So, what does it matter now? Perhaps it’s easier just to admit defeat.”

  Ribero retreated a little, eyes widening. “I don’t think you really mean that,” he said. “I think you are just feeling a bit tired, yes?”

  “I’m utterly exhausted,” Miss Wellbeloved answered, with a humourless chuckle. She reached out, taking him by the hand. “I think perhaps it’s just time to know when to quit. Let’s face it, we’ve been struggling for years now.”

  Kester coughed, feeling utterly wretched. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled again. “I feel responsible.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Miss Wellbeloved said, shaking herself. “You’ve tried to help, and I’m grateful to you. You even gave us a bit of hope for a while, and that was nice while it lasted.”

  Kester gulped, f
eeling even worse than he had done previously. Gosh, he thought, I’ve only known them all for a few days, and already I’ve completely ruined their business. That must be a record.

  “Shall we go then?” Mike said. “Doesn’t seem like much point sitting in here, does there?” He glanced at his watch, before adding, “and Chef Maestro has only just started. If I leave now, I’ll only miss a few minutes.”

  “Can’t you just watch it on catch up?” Pamela suggested.

  Mike shook his head. “It’s not the same,” he said, lifting up the equipment bag and throwing it over his shoulder. “It’s the live finals tonight. I want to see if Sheena manages to win.”

  “She was doing very well, wasn’t she?” Pamela agreed, hoisting her considerable bulk off the chair. “That cake she baked last week was amazing, a real work of art. I loved those little chocolate flowers she added.”

  “Yes, anyway,” Dr Ribero interrupted, glaring from under his heavy eyebrows, which were twitching in their direction. “I have not yet said we are going home. You are jumping over the gun a little, yes?”

  “There’s no point us staying, is there?” Mike said, looking around them, as though an answer would present itself from one of the kitchen cupboards.

  “Well, that depends whether or not you have given up, doesn’t it!” Dr Ribero said, his voice rising.

  “I was rather under the impression that we all had,” Mike retorted. “Haven’t we?”

  “I think we might as well go home,” Miss Wellbeloved agreed, standing up.

  Dr Ribero’s shoulders slumped. He turned, fixing his gaze on Kester. “Have you any other ideas?” he pleaded, reaching out and resting a hand on Kester’s arm. “Any other plans that we could try?”

  “I did wonder if we could use Pamela to lure the Green Lady into the mirror,” Kester offered, without much conviction. The others all looked at Pamela with varying degrees of scepticism, depending on how polite they were. Pamela didn’t seem to object. Indeed, she looked fairly sceptical herself.