Nine Liars (Truly Devious, #5)(67)

“This is a ha-ha,” he explained. “It’s a kind of garden architecture designed to keep animals out—in this case, the sheep and deer—without affecting the line of the vista. The point is that you can’t see them. I suppose that’s why they’re called ha-has? Sorry, I should have warned you. This way.”

He guided them toward the drive, to where the lawn gave way to a line of trees where the ground was littered with a rich, soft layer of golden brown.

“Back in the day,” Sebastian said, taking a high step over a fallen branch, “we had a head gardener named Chester. He was about a hundred and sixty when I was born. His father was one of the original gardeners. He grew up here and knew every corner, every plant. He tried to teach me about them when I was a child. I had little interest in most of them, but I always had a thing about mushrooms. They’re the odd little children of the forest. I suppose I related. There . . .”

He squatted down and pointed to a toadstool with a bright red cap and white spots.

“That,” he said, “is called fly agaric. Very common. Pretty. Your basic Alice in Wonderland mushroom, or if you like Mario games, that’s the kind of mushroom they’re indicating. Mildly psychoactive.”

David regarded the mushroom with interest.

“Believe me, I tried all the ones that I thought were magic,” Sebastian said, noting this. “Threw up quite a lot but never poisoned myself, which is lucky. Once he realized I was eating the mushrooms, Chester made sure I knew what was what. Over here—they’re often over here—yes, there’s one . . .”

He tromped over to a nondescript bit of fallen leaves and vegetation, knocking some aside with a stick. He indicated a plain brown mushroom with a thick stem.

“Amanita phalloides. Death cap. Doesn’t look like much, but it’s very dangerous. Absolutely will kill you. They think this is what killed the roman emperor Claudius. It’s always the quiet ones, you know? This boring-looking mushroom is the deadliest thing around. You’re a detective. I thought you’d like to know the deadly things of the woods.”

Stevie did, in fact, want to know that kind of thing, and she appreciated that Sebastian understood that.

Sebastian took them up the gravel drive, and then along an ivy-covered high brick wall, and through a gate into an elaborate garden, full of sections of flowers, a fountain, a pathway, and a burbling tiny stream that trickled through it.

“We’re more famous for the gardens than the house. They were designed in 1910 by my great-grandfather, Sylvester Holt-Carey, who was mad as a bag of gravy about gardens. Had squadrons of gardeners make the place, got cuttings and plants from all over the world.”

They could see through the sitting room window. Theo was standing and speaking to someone. She saw them go by and raised a hand. Sebastian raised a hand in greeting back. They passed through the formal garden, through a kitchen garden, and then to the back of the house. Unlike the front, which had a clear, rolling path, this garden immediately put up several walls of greenery, some low, some high. This was another mansion, just outdoors and made of organic materials, rooms and rooms of plants, fountains, trees, and paths. Now she knew what they all meant about the back gardens—the whole thing was a confusing maze of plants and path and wall and border. If Sebastian left them alone in here, it would take them a half hour to find their way out.

They entered a perfect circle, walled with tall topiary yew trees, with a small pavilion and a burbling lion’s head fountain.

“I’ve partnered with an organization that works with people who are struggling with addiction. We host at least four retreats a year here to help people get away for concentrated therapy. My goal is to turn it into a residence where people can be treated—a proper home for people who need it. I just have to make the house work for itself a bit longer to get all the repairs done so the floors don’t cave in. It’s not very restorative to have an entire bedroom land on you. This space is particularly good for meditation. Many of our guests have said so.”

“Can I ask you something?” Stevie said.

Even though she had only just met Sebastian, and he her, there was no time to waste.

“Please do,” he replied.

“Is Angela the type of person who goes away and doesn’t tell anyone?”

“No,” he said. “Ange has her moments of spontaneity, but she wouldn’t go away and leave everyone worrying. She was texting us that very night, said she wanted to meet us all. Here, in fact.”

He pulled out his phone, navigated to the text chain he wanted, and passed it to Stevie. Stevie did not mention she had seen this exact chain before, and having it handed to her made questioning that much easier.

“What did she mean about the button?” Stevie asked.

“I have absolutely no idea. I assumed that was an autocorrect.”

“When did you last see Angela?”

“At a party,” he said. “A few weeks ago. At Peter’s house. Yash and Peter won an award for their show, Fish in a Barrel. It’s a comedy panel show about current events. Don’t know if you’ve ever seen it. It’s very good.”

“How did she seem?”

“Utterly normal,” he said. “Much fun had by all. I only drink tonic water and I’m early to bed, so I left first, with Theo. But Ange was there and in fine form.”