Page 62 of The Bookshop of Forbidden Books

Taken aback, Mitch found he was suddenly having trouble swallowing his eggs. He set down his fork, wiped his lips, and turned to Anna.

“Really?” he asked, feigning interest. “So she rats me out to Salinas, only to poison him five years later?”

Anna shrugged, as if it were obvious.

“I’m trying to be funny, Mitch.”

“If you knew Madame Ateltow, you’d find this theory laughable too,” he said, managing, this time, to keep the eggs down.

“Her, or her lover,” Anna persisted dryly.

“I wouldn’t bet on them having got to that stage yet. But why would he?”

Anna turned to the sink, scrubbing plates while her mind raced. Solving problems was her thing – and she had a foolproof method: define the question, test every possible answer, even the improbable ones. Plane crashes were rare, but they still happened. And when Anna was thinking, she couldn’t sit still. Even as a little girl, she’d paced the room while reciting her lessons aloud.

“Can’t you sit down?” Mitch almost pleaded.

“No. I need to think.”

Sighing, he looked down at his plate, waiting for the storm to pass.

“OK, so,” Anna went on, “let’s say Madame Atelsomething makes a deal with Salinas to get him off her back, never imagining you’d end up with a major sentence. She lives with it – until you reappear. Then the guilt comes roaring back. She can’t bear it, so she goes to see Salinas, pretending to have another tip, and poisons him. There’s your motive. By the way, what were you even doing at his house on the day of the murder?”

Mitch shook his head, incredulous.

“Did you come up with this scenario all on your own?”

“Where’s the dishcloth?”

“On the chair. Right in front of you.”

“It’s… not impossible I read something similar in a graphic novel at the dentist’s.”

Mitch got up, grabbed the dishcloth, and handed it to her, realizing there was no way out of this conversation except through it.

“Your theory could just as well apply to Verner,” he said. “Or Madame Bergol. Orrealizing”

“Mathilde,” Anna cut in, clearly pleased to save the best for last.

“Or any of the students.”

She rinsed her soapy hands, dried them and looked at him with an odd expression.

“What did I say?” Mitch asked uneasily.

“None of this explains why the police only found two books in your back room, and not the hundreds in the secret room. Why wasn’t it mentioned by whoever turned you in?”

“If we rule out the antique guy, because he didn’t know about the room – or at least about what it contained—” Mitch began.

“We’re going in circles,” she interrupted. “None of this adds up.”

Mitch put his arms around her.

“Anna, you can’t let this turn into an obsession. Your restaurant has to be your priority. I don’t want to be the one who distracts you from it.”

“Unless,” she went on, ignoring him, “Salinas’s killer wasn’t just a one-time informant, but a regular one.”

“And what would that have to do with me?”