Page 20 of Glasshouses

His brother shrugged. “I’m sure she’d understand.”

“Is this some kind of racket? You do my roof and now I owe you with interest tripling each week or something?” I tapped my foot, suddenly aware of how high up I was.

Atlas laughed. “Yeah, that’s exactly what it is. You’ve gone a bit pale. Want me to help you down?”

“I’m capable of getting down myself.” Only I wasn’t so sure. “See.” Clearly I was in a contrary mood.

It did, however, get me moving, completely unsure why a stranger who’d been random a few months ago was bothering to fix my roof, for free.

“Taz, can you pass me that?”

I looked up as the unknown voice shouted.

“This?” Atlas waved a tool in his hand.

I landed both feet on the floor, heart racing, but now in receipt of a name, although I wasn’t sure just how useful it would be.

Verity frowned at me when I got back in the car. “That only took you five minutes.”

“It felt like a lifetime.” My heart just about found a regular rhythm. “What’s Taz short for – as a name?”

“Could it be a nickname? Tasmanian Devil?”

“Could be.” This was a potential non-starter. “Anyway, my roof’s fixed. Let’s get to Amanda’s.”

“What do you think we’ll find?”

“I really don’t know. We could find a room full of things to do with her daughter and husband and sons, or there might be nothing from that part of her life. What did the neighbour say when you contacted her?” I figured the route in my head would be quicker than that on the Satnav, so I took a left down a narrow street and narrowly missed an open car door.

Verity didn’t even notice, or if she did, she showed no sign.

“The neighbour said she kept herself to herself. Paid her rent on time, the house was well looked after and the garden was so good, she had Amanda doing hers as well. She mentioned she’d spend a lot of time in the greenhouse and back garden where she grew veg from seed. That was about it – couldn’t tell me about Amanda’s family or anything, just that she worked for an admin firm and mainly worked from home,” Verity said. “Amanda had lived there for about six years. I’ve got one of the PC’s finding out where she lived before, although I’m not sure if it will be relevant.”

“Could be. We know so little about hers and Micky’s associates. What’s interesting is that Amanda, Micky and Lily all like gardening. I know it’s not an uncommon hobby, but I can’t help but wonder - ” I pressed a couple of buttons on the screen in my car and called Carly, the PC who was doing some digging back at the Fishbowl. “Carly, it’s Mia. Did you find out anything yet about the gardening club Micky Mulligan was part of?”

Carly’s voice filled the car. “Nothing of any use. There are two local gardening groups, but Micky wasn’t a member of either. Something else that’s interesting – neither are anywhere to be found on social media. I checked Facebook first, because that would suit their generation and absolutely nothing came up. The only reference on the internet is for the first fire and that’s for Amanda. I couldn’t get anything for Micky.”

“That’s interesting. Not useful, but interesting. Thanks, Carly. Let me know when you’ve got Micky’s will.” I hung up, rejoining the Satnav’s original route only I’d shaved a minute off the time.

I parked opposite Amanda’s house, wanting to get an idea of the person who had lived there. No one had come forward to speak to us about either Amanda or Micky, even though we’d asked for information through the news channels and social media. There was nothing to be found out about them online, which was another curiosity; not many people could claim that.

The house was smart, pretty window boxes dotting colour against the typical red brick. It was what would’ve been a millworker’s cottage, the end of the row, with a small front garden that looked like it could’ve won best in show. The curtains were open, which suggested either Amanda had left that day before it was dusk, or someone had been in and opened them.

Verity opened the door, shouting out our identities in case anyone was inside. The house was still, dust particles catching the light as they drifted down; we’d disturbed the air.

“There’s no one in. Any mail behind the door?”

Verity bent down and picked up a few leaflets and what looked like an electricity bill. “Nothing. Were we hoping for a threatening letter?”

“Ideally. There was no video doorbell.” I opened the door off the hall into the living room. “There’s no TV.”

“Maybe she has it in another room.” Verity followed me in. “There’s nothing out of place.”

“Every cushion’s been plumped. I wish I could be this neat.”

“I will never be this neat. This is the kitchen through here.” She opened the door with a gloved hand.

The kitchen was just as tidy as the living room. I checked the cupboards and drawers, every spoon lined up perfectly in a drawer, nothing out of place anywhere. “Let’s look in the fridge.” I pulled open the door and found a fridge three quarters full, mainly veg that looked home grown and meat from a local butchers. “She wasn’t planning on being away anywhere.” The next cupboard showed me rows of preserved fruits and vegetables, some jams and marmalade, all with handwritten labels on them with the date made and the date to use by.