The Case of the Deadly Doppelgänger

by Lucy Banks

  Blimey, is there anyone who this genie hasn’t taught? he wondered. “Thank you,” he replied, fighting to regain control of his voice. “She was pretty amazing.”

  “You indicated on your application form that you are a spirit door-opener, like your late mother?”

  Kester took a deep breath. “Well, that’s what Dad says, anyway,” he replied, choosing his words carefully. “I think so. I’ve managed to properly open the spirit door once before, but to be honest, I’m not sure I’ve got much control over it.”

  The Djinn paused. “Interesting. And you worked on the Bloody Mary case in Exeter? The spirit hidden in Robert Ransome’s oil painting? Your father’s agency received a lot of publicity for it.”

  He nodded. “Yes, I helped get rid of that spirit.”

  Dr Barqa-Abu stiffened, spinning back to the screen with horrifying speed. Her pointed features once again came into sharp focus. “We do not use terminology like that. Spirits are not lesser creatures, to be simply got rid of. We are not inferior beings. Do you understand?”

  Kester’s eyes widened. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

  She retreated, hulking to the back of the room, her black, empty eyes scorching right through the screen into his own. “Very well. Do not make the same mistake again. I do not tolerate spiritist comments.” She paused, still glaring. “Let us continue. I would like you to tell me why you’re interested in the business studies aspect of this course.”

  He swallowed, fighting to compose himself. “My father wants me to take over the family business one day.”

  “The family business?” Again, the Djinn shot forward, and Kester backed away, starting to wish he’d never answered the call. This was going about as badly as he could have imagined, and he’d already been prepared for it to go appallingly. “Surely you mean Jennifer Wellbeloved’s family business? After all, it was her family who built it up all those years ago. Your father merely stole it, like a magpie.”

  “Technically, he was given it by Miss Wellbeloved’s father,” Kester mentioned, then shut his mouth when he saw the hostility in the Djinn’s eyes.

  “Humans,” she muttered. “A thoroughly patriarchal species. It is a shame. I always felt Jennifer would make an exceptional agency owner. Your father, on the other hand—”

  “Hey, my father’s okay,” Kester said, bristling instinctively. “He is a bit of a hothead at times, but his heart’s in the right place.”

  Dr Barqa-Abu let out a brittle whistle of noise, which might have been a laugh. “Remember, I taught your father,” she replied. “I know what he is like. I remember him well.” She straightened, then fixed Kester in her gaze once more. “So, you want to learn business studies in order to take over a business that is not yours to take, is that correct?”

  Kester hung his head. “Well, I think so. But I don’t feel comfortable with the idea that we stole it off Miss Wellbeloved. She’s so nice.”

  The Djinn paused, as though mulling over his answer. “You are interesting,” she said finally, shifting at such a rate that she was almost invisible. “Certainly your previous qualifications are impressive, if not rather unusual in our industry. A degree from Cambridge University is a significant achievement.”

  Kester watched as the mist sloped around before solidifying once more into a vaguely human shape.

  “However, I am concerned at your lack of experience,” she concluded and leaned in to study him better. “Most of my students have been immersed in the supernatural for years. They have grown up among spirits. They understand this world. I sense no such understanding in you.”

  Kester nodded. “That’s probably true. But I’m a fast learner.” Why am I fighting my corner here? he wondered, bemused at his own words. I’m not even sure I want to do this course!

  Dr Barqa-Abu tapped what may or may not have been her chin, thoughtfully looking into the distance. “Very well,” she said finally. “One final question. Why do you really want to study this course, Kester?”

  He took a deep breath. That’s a very good question.

  “I want to make my mother proud,” he blurted. Dr Barqa-Abu went still, her features now clearer than ever before, listening intently to his reply. “I want to make my father proud too. And I want to do the right thing. I think this is the right thing.”

  “Do you?” She paused and studied him with fierce intensity.

  “Yes.” Once he’d said it, he realised that it was the truth. Only, he hadn’t really appreciated it until now. “Yes, I want to do something that makes a difference in the world. And I think this does.”

  The genie reclined and folded a pair of tiny skeletal hands over what might have been her stomach. Then, she started to shift again, and the hands vanished into the smoky vapours of her body.

  “Thank you, Kester.” Her voice was impassive, revealing nothing. “I will review your application and this interview. Then I will let you know my decision. It has been most interesting talking to you.”

  “You too,” Kester said as he pushed up his glasses. “Thank you for your time.”

  The mist softened a little around the edges before swirling into invisibility. “Thank you. Goodbye, Kester.”

  The screen went dead immediately. Kester let out a low whistle. He felt as though he’d just been involved in a fight with a heavyweight boxer and had somehow managed to avoid being knocked out. Well, that went horribly, he thought and flung himself against the pillow. I could be wrong here, but I’m fairly sure I won’t be offered a place on the course. He bit his lip, surveying the dirty ceiling above his head, not quite sure how to feel. In the end, he decided to not feel anything about it at all. It was the simpler option. There were far too many things for him to worry about as it was.

  His phone vibrated against the bedpost, startling him. He reached over, hoping it was someone he could moan at. He fancied a big moan about things. I hope it’s Anya, perhaps she’ll cheer me up, he thought, then glanced at the screen. Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

  Miss Wellbeloved. Hmm. What’s gone wrong now? He sat up. “Hello?”

  “Kester, have you had your interview?” She sounded worried.

  “Yes, I’ve actually just finished.”

  “Great. Strange things are afoot. We need you up here.”

  He flicked his legs over the edge of the bed and let them dangle in the air. “Where? Grace McCready’s house?”

  “Yes. We’re here at the moment.”

  “Is she giving you all a hard time?”

  Miss Wellbeloved sighed. Kester could imagine her right now, running her hands over her hair, as she always did when she was anxious.

  “No, Kester. She’s not giving us a hard time. Because she’s not here.”

  Kester frowned. “How are you in the house then? Did her daughter let you in?”

  “No. There’s no one here at all.”

  “Hang on, you’ve lost me.” He cleared his throat. “What’s going on?”

  There was a scuffling noise, then a gruff snort echoed down the line. “Kester, get over here now,” Larry ordered, sounding breathless. “The house is completely empty; it looks like the place has been ransacked or something. The door was wide open. We need all hands on deck, so stop sodding around.”

  Crikey, Kester thought. Does that mean our spirit has struck again?

  “Okay, I’m on my way,” he replied, then jumped off the bunk bed and grabbed his jacket. His mind was racing. What could it mean? If the spirit was going to kill her, why not just do it in her house? Unless this is just another false start and doesn’t mean anything at all.

  The hotel hallway was silent, apart from the dim, faraway tick of an unseen clock. Kester paused. He couldn’t shake off the feeling of disquiet—a sense that something bad was going to happen, and soon. Suddenly, his skin prickled, and he had the uncomfortable sensation of being
watched.

  Don’t be silly, he told himself, clutching the bannister. It was horribly sticky under his fingers, so he swiftly let it go again. You’re not missing anything, and nobody is watching you. You’re just feeling jittery because it’s already been a long day and it’s not even lunchtime yet.

  A low creak made him look up. The front door was opening. Have the others come back to hurry me up? he wondered, then realised that was impossible. There was no way they could have made it back down the hill and along the promenade in such a short space of time. He waited at the top of the stairs, feeling oddly apprehensive. After all, who was likely to come to this hotel? He knew there were no other guests but them.

  It’s probably the owner, he thought, then immediately hoped not.

  The door shuddered on its hinges before flying open and smashing into the umbrella stand. Kester’s mouth fell open.

  Surely not, he thought with disbelief. He rubbed his eyes, then looked again.

  “What a ridiculous door, eh? How is anyone meant to get in with such a foolish door?” The owner of the familiar voice stalked into the reception area, then caught Kester’s eye.

  Kester gawped.

  His father beamed, swung his fedora off his head, and placed it on the reception desk with elegant precision. It rested on the side like a small mountain, resolute and wonderfully symbolic of the man who owned it.

  “Hello there, Kester.” He gestured, and Kester obediently descended, still unable to find quite the right words to express his surprise.

  “What are you—?”

  Dr Ribero silenced him with a shush of the lips and a knowing look. “I know, I know. I have been absent for much of this project. But,” he continued as he wrapped an arm around Kester’s shoulders and pulled him tight, “now I am here. And now it is time for us to wrap this case up, right?”

  Kester stared at him, then slowly started to grin.

  “It definitely is.” He returned the embrace, patting his father gently on the back, surprised at just how glad he was to see him. “I was on my way out to do just that.”

  Ribero nodded, then extended a hand in front of them to lead the way. “Let’s get to work then.”

  “Are you . . .” Kester paused, not quite knowing what the right choice of words was. “Are you sure you’re okay? I mean, that you’re well enough to—”

  “Ah, I am fine,” Ribero interrupted grandly. “And now I am here to solve the case for you all, yes?” Without waiting for a response, he guided Kester towards the door. “Now, shall we?”

  Kester gestured politely, mimicking Ribero’s suave movement. “After you,” he replied, and delivered what he hoped was his most dashing wink. “I insist.”

  Ribero chuckled. “See? You grow more like me every day.”

  Let’s hope that’s not too true, Kester thought with a wry smile. I think there’s only so much Argentinian fire I can safely handle.

  Chapter 18: Scottish Connections

  After an energetic pant up the hill and a quick-fire recap of all the recent developments of the case, Kester led his father down the narrow road that led to Grace McCready’s house. Ribero surveyed the property with distaste, observing the tumbledown brickwork, mossy roof, and bin bags spewing out over the garden, and shook his head in disbelief.

  “I don’t understand this,” he concluded as he strode down the path, stepping over a rotten pile of potato peelings. “The English, they say this is quaint and charming, right? When, actually, it is just smelly and unpleasant.”

  “I don’t think many people would call this house quaint and charming,” Kester said, eyeing a nearby gull, which was studying the rubbish at their feet with interest. “It may well have been nice a few decades ago, but Grace and her daughter clearly haven’t looked after it.”

  “It’s probably difficult without a man in the house,” Ribero declared with a note of smugness. “The ladies struggle with even simple DIY tasks, right?”

  I wouldn’t try saying that to any of the ladies you work with, Kester thought. He could imagine the fury on Miss Wellbeloved’s, Pamela’s, and Serena’s faces at the mere suggestion that men were superior in any way. Perhaps one day Dad will embrace gender equality, he thought with a wry snigger. But then again, perhaps not.

  The front door was wide open. It looked horribly like an open mouth, agape at their arrival. They stepped inside and peered into the gloom.

  “Anyone home?” Kester called. He craned his neck up the staircase. Mike’s head immediately popped over the top bannister.

  “Glad you could make it, mate,” he began, then faltered to a halt as he spotted Dr Ribero. “Crikey!” he exclaimed with an expression that was half-shocked, half-delighted. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “Yes, yes, I have been unwell,” Ribero retorted as he strode up the stairs. “Let us not make a great big thing of it, okay?”

  Mike saluted, and stood to one side. “Right you are, sir. The others will be happy to see you here.”

  “Well, most of the others,” Kester muttered. He wasn’t looking forward to the inevitable meeting between his father and Larry Higgins.

  Serena, Dimitri, and Luke emerged from one of the bedrooms, closely followed by Pamela, who looked worried. They stopped at the sight of Dr Ribero, mouths open in collective speechlessness.

  “Hello Julio,” Pamela said, recovering first. “We weren’t expecting you. Not that it isn’t lovely to see you, of course.”

  Ribero rapped the bannister impatiently, then gestured at the other two. “Who are these people?”

  “That’s Luke and Dimitri,” Kester said, quickly trotting up the stairs. “They work for Larry Higgins.”

  His father stiffened. “I see.” He studied Luke with confusion. “Luke? Are you a man, then?”

  Kester nudged him in the ribs. “He will be soon.”

  Ribero frowned. “But hang on a minute, that is an impossibility, yes? That does not make any sense. Why would you—”

  Luke stepped forward and pumped Ribero’s hand energetically. “I have heard so much about you!” he exclaimed, eyes shining. “It’s awesome to finally meet you. The great Ribero!”

  Ribero looked mollified, though still rather confused. “Well, yes, I am the great—”

  A low murmur of conversation from along the corridor interrupted them. Miss Wellbeloved emerged from another room. Larry followed behind, hand clasped on her shoulder. They seem cosy all of a sudden, Kester thought and watched his father’s reaction. This should be interesting.

  Miss Wellbeloved looked up, spotted Ribero, then blinked, looking like an owl that had been pushed off its perch. “Goodness me,” she murmured and pressed her hand to her chest. “I didn’t know you were joining us, Julio. You might have warned us.”

  Ribero’s jaw tightened. He smoothed his moustache between his fingers, then glared at Higgins down the fairly sizeable length of his nose. “Yes, it is clear you were not expecting me,” he muttered, shooting poisonous looks in their direction.

  “Good god, the prodigal Argentinian returns,” Higgins blustered, recovering his composure. “I thought you were still cowering back in your little office in Exeter.”

  Mike let out a low whistle. Kester shook his head at the others in silent apology. I should have known this would happen, he thought, wondering if it would be possible for the rest of them to sneak downstairs and simply let Ribero and Higgins have a brawl up here by themselves.

  “I see that you and Jennifer are getting along like a house on fire, yes?” Ribero seized the bannister, then drew himself up to his full height, eyes brimming with righteous indignation.

  “I’d hardly go that far,” Miss Wellbeloved said quietly. She stepped forward and gave Ribero a quick hug. “Calm down, Julio. You’ve only been here a minute and you look as though you’re about to combust.”

  Higgins and Ribero glow
ered at each other. The hostility was so palpable that Kester felt almost suffocated by it. It hung in the air, as dense as the smoke emerging from one of Ribero’s cigarettes. The others shifted uncomfortably.

  “Shall we go back downstairs?” Serena said, her voice cutting through the quiet. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not entirely happy roaming around a complete stranger’s home.”

  “Yes, I agree,” Miss Wellbeloved said, casting a worried look at Ribero and Higgins, who were stood like two gunslingers at dawn, attempting to glare the other into submission. “And I’m deeply concerned about the state of the property. We should consider calling the police.”

  Kester glanced into the bedroom closest to him. It looked alright to him, apart from the damp wallpaper and the cupboard door hanging off one hinge. “What’s the problem with the house?” he asked. “This room looks alright.”

  “It’s only the lounge, really,” Miss Wellbeloved said as she shepherded them down. She concluded by giving Ribero a prod in the ribs, which startled him out of his venomous glare. “Come on you two. You can continue this fight when we find the next available children’s playground to drop you off in.”

  “It’s also the atmosphere,” Pamela whispered, following them down the stairs. “There’s some dreadful residual energy. There isn’t any spirit activity here now, but I guarantee you there has been in the recent past.”

  Dimitri sniffed, then whirled around like a crow in flight. “The air stinks of it. It is very worrying.”

  “There’s only one reek in here,” Dr Ribero muttered and flicked a thumb back in Higgins’s direction.

  “Excuse me, I will not tolerate you calling me a ‘reek’, thank you very much.” Higgins drew himself up to his full height, chest heaving like a bullfrog. “You’ve absolutely no right to come storming in here and start throwing insults around—”

  “But there is so much of you to insult, Higgins! You provide such a huge target for my insults, it is difficult to resist. Look at you, you elephant of a man. You have grown so fat!”