Page 17 of The Bookshop of Forbidden Books

“That story, yes. Exactly.”

“No,” Mitch replied. “Haven’t had the time, and you said it was just a legend, anyway.”

“Now, isn’t that strange.” The tic had reached his mouth now, his upper lip twitching toward the tip of his nose. “Because I thought I saw you spending quite a bit of time down the coal hatch back there. Heard what sounded like hammering, too.”

“You’ve been spying on me?”

“No, just happened to be passing through.”

“Through the courtyard?”

“I still put my garbage back there,” the man said. “I live in the building just behind here.”

“I didn’t realize that.”

“So, were you hammering?”

“I believe I’ve already answered that.”

“Well, that’s even stranger, then.” The man sighed. “Too bad.”

He went back to pacing between tables, whistling louder each time he paused, feigning interest in a book cover. If he’d been auditioning for the part of a low-level crook in an old B-movie, he’d have got the job hands-down.

“What do you want?” Mitch demanded. He’d never known anyone so irritating.

“Oh, just to make a little deal of my own. Seems only fair. You see, I need a place to store some things I’m quite attached to, and it would be very convenient to have them right below my apartment. I could rent that room from you, for a tidy little sum.”

“Rent a room that doesn’t exist? Now that’s strange,” Mitch retorted.

“Look, let’s stop beating around the bush. Who were all those people who came in here the other night, and where did they go after you closed up?”

“So, you are spying on me. Fine. Those people, as you call them, were students who came to attend a reading I held here. I moved the tables to make room.”

“They must have been packed in like sardines. How exciting those readings must be. Maybe I’ll come along next time – you know, as your neighbour.” His arrogance was starting to grate on Mitch’s nerves.

“If you’re a student, sure.”

“Watch your tone. I might start to think you don’t actually want to help me.”

“What is it you need to store, exactly?”

“Oh… just some old bits and pieces. At my age, you get sentimental. I’ve accumulated a lot of things over the years, and I’m not ready to get rid of them just yet.”

“I thought we were going to stop beating around the bush,” Mitch snarled. “You know perfectly well that room exists, because you used it yourself. I’m guessing that wherever you’ve been storing your ‘merchandise’ recently isn’t working for you anymore – I don’t want to know why – and you thought the cellar of my shop would make the perfect hideout. Sorry, but my answer is no.”

“You’re going to regret this, make no mistake. If you change your mind – like I said, my windows look right out onto the courtyard – just give me a whistle.”

The antique dealer winked – another tic, perhaps – and sauntered out the door.

Mitch was left feeling unsettled. The discomfort lasted all afternoon. He considered telling Mathilde about it, but in the end thought it might be better to talk to Verner.

* * *

The music teacher was surprised to find Mitch waiting for him outside the conservatory at the end of the day. They walked to a nearby café and sat on the terrace where, over a beer, Mitch told Verner about the visit he’d had that morning.

“And he said you’d regret it?”

“Those were his exact words.” Mitch nodded, studying his palms like a solution might be found between his life line and his fate line.