Page 42 of Glasshouses

“I don’t think so. I’ve had my ideas stolen before, but you just make what you were going to do even better. I’ve heard of some deliberate attempts to spoil people’s gardens but I don’t know whether they were true or just myths. I keep myself to myself and just get on with it. I love my job, Mia. I love making things grow and places look pretty; it brings so much pleasure and pride to people and I love how that feels.” She sunk her head back down into her hands, her shoulders dropping and I could tell she was crying.

I nodded to Lachy to pass the tissues that were on the table behind him, curious about how she’d used my first name.

He looked around and then stared back at me, expression completely clueless.

I looked at Lily and back at him. Still clueless.

“Could you pass Lily the tissues, please?” I said it quietly, keeping the irritation out of my voice.

He caught on, moving round quickly and passing her the box.

She took one, dabbing at her eyes in a manner that was lady-like, folding neatly, blotting under her eyes. “Genuinely, I don’t know anyone who’d do that. I don’t even know who’d have my address apart from Tabby and my healthcare team. My business is registered to a different address.”

“So the other angle on this, Lily, is that it’s connected with the murder of your mother. Have you had any contact recently from anyone associated with your childhood or The Holding?” I watched her carefully.

“No. Not to my knowledge. I’ve had no contact with Amanda Goodhew since the night someone set our house on fire.” She was sitting up straight now, her shoulders back, palms flat on the table. “I needed to move on. You’ll have done your digging and you’ll know I didn’t have a happy childhood. My parents were not warm and loving like parents should be, like I’m sure yours were, Detective.”

“Is that why you didn’t tell the police your version of events from the night of the fire?”

She pressed her lips together.

“Lily, I want to find out who killed your mother and the man who was in the house with her, and I want to find who threw the brick through your window. I believe you have knowledge that can help us.” I sat back; took a sip of the water I’d nabbed from the fridge and let the silence hang there.

The white walls seemed to close in, light from the window dimming. I kept my breathing slow, aware of it, aware of my own tension, aware that the room was full of secrets and half-truths.

Lily had probably undergone more therapy than most people. She’d shown that it had been successful otherwise she wouldn’t have been released. She would’ve learned to match someone else’s breathing when she was in hospital as a way of regulating her emotions, calming herself down.

I saw her shoulder drop, her eyes finding mine. I couldn’t tell how much control she was showing. “I’m glad Amanda is dead. I never wanted to see her again; I want to leave what happened in the past and have my life the way I choose to make it.”

“What about The Holding?”

She sighed, looked away. “The Holding was where I learned what’s now my trade. I hated my childhood; I was expected to work on their land the way they wanted to, which was slow and old fashioned. We weren’t meant to use the internet or technology, and resources were pooled. The Holding likes the idea of being self-sufficient, and it was based on goodness, helping people, providing a community. I may have come into contact with its members because our paths crossed. They would cultivate some of the plants I’d use for people’s gardens; I’d buy from their nursery, but I doubt they knew who I was. In fact, I was sure they didn’t recognise me.”

“Do you have names of the people you bought from?”

“David and Marie Stride were the people who ran the nursery. They were involved when I was a child but I didn’t have much to do with them. Can I ask a question?”

“Please, go ahead.”

“Who is the beneficiary of my mother’s will? I am not expecting it to be me, nor would I want it.”

“If you are the beneficiary, what would you do with it?” I asked. We had both Micky Mulligan’s and Amanda’s wills now, after a lot of chasing.

“I would donate it to charity.”

I nodded. “Noble. The house – or what remains of it – is left to The Holding. Your mother also had a small savings account, half of which is left to you. The rest goes to The Holding.” We now had details of someone linked to The Holding that were traceable.

She looked genuinely shocked.

“The will was recent. It was written just over a year ago, so I’d say your mother was thinking of you, Lily.” I stirred it up.

“It would be the first time.” She paused, staring at the floor. “I knew she’d leave something, but I thought it would be her favourite ornament, nothing monetary.”

I waited for her to add more, wondering if I’d see any more of her inner child that felt neglected, but she didn’t. I wasn’t surprised. “Lily, what did The Holding involve?”

“People opted in to their way of life. It was like a church, but with no deity or services. The members met most days, but it didn’t matter if you couldn’t go; you could spend as much time there as you wanted. They had land and grew their own crops and fruits, but also grew plants to sell to provide an income for what they needed to buy. Some of the older members would leave their homes to The Holding, for them to sell, I suppose in return for looking after them. My dad was one of the senior members and he was keen for us to have more involvement; I know he’d discussed opening a school for children to have a more practical education. My parents spent a lot of time at the centre and we had to as well.” She said more than I’d expected. “Our lives were very basic because that’s how my parents thought it should be.”

“And you didn’t like that?”