Page 35 of The Bookshop of Forbidden Books

“Sorry. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Then come to my rehearsals more often. You’ll catch up on all the sleep you’ve missed.” Verner checked the clock. “Time’s up – we’ve got to clear the room for the dance class. So, that drink you owe me?”

“I thought you were buying me one.”

“That was before you came here and snored in my class.”

They walked out through the backstage corridor, passing a line of young ballerinas doing their warm-up exercises. Their movements were strikingly graceful, and Mitch slowed to watch them. Verner pulled him along, and they left through the stage door.

Night was falling over the city, and the sky had turned a heavy grey. Mitch limped as fast as he could to match Verner’s brisk stride.

“You know that private club behind the courthouse? The Anaconda, is it?”

“You mean the Annapurna?” Verner raised a brow.

“That’s it. Annapurna.”

“Used to be a brothel. A bit run-down now, but in its day it had quite the reputation. The rich and powerful flocked there when the former governor was in office. Funny how conservatives always believe their high-and-mighty morals only apply to other people. Anything goes during the week, as long as they pray hard enough on Sundays. Those must have been some confessions.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Come now, you don’t think you can trip up an old fox like me with such a clumsy question, do you? I used to give guitar lessons to the landlady. I did. And wipe that look off your face: I find it frankly offensive that you doubt me. It’s a private establishment, but I can get you in – though at your age, and with your physique, it seems a bit unnecessary.”

“Prosecutor Salinas goes there every Thursday night.”

“Ah. Now it’s my turn to ask how you know that.” Verner stopped mid-step and turned. “You followed him, didn’t you!”

“No… I just happened to see him going inside.”

“You’re a pathetic liar. Good lord, what are you playing at? Haven’t you had enough trouble?”

“Probably,” Mitch conceded.

“If you’ll allow me to give you a little advice – I don’t know what scheme you’re cooking up, but you have your whole life ahead of you. Don’t throw it all away now. And that’s coming from someone who’s made more than his fair share of mistakes. Now let’s go and toast to the future. I know a place not far from here, and their food’s also very good, in case you’re feeling a sudden urge to buy me dinner, too.”

Mitch enjoyed Verner’s company, but the older man delighted in the sound of his own wisdom. When he got into one of his lectures, it drove Mitch up the wall.

They crossed an intersection and headed up the avenue. Verner led them down a side street lined with shops and restaurants, one of which was clearly midway through a major renovation.

Chapter 16

The Catcher in the Rye

Coordinating the various and simultaneous efforts of bricklayers, electricians and plumbers took an incredible amount of energy and patience. But ever since Monsieur Bariquez had deposited Anna’s check, his involvement had dwindled to a few brief, rushed visits. He’d essentially left Anna to act as foreman in his place. She’d found that she actually enjoyed the task, and was proud of the rhythm and rapport she’d built on site. In just two weeks, the place had been completely transformed. The floors were still dusty, but the chaos was over. A wide arched opening had been made in the wall between the kitchen and the dining room. The work surfaces had been prepared, the dilapidated appliances removed. Soon the plumbing would be finished and then the tiler could begin. If things kept moving at this pace, she would be able to start bringing in equipment within a week or two, and new staff try-outs could begin in about a month. Anna was determined to break in the kitchen before she opened her doors to the public.

She did one last walk-through of the site, glanced in a mirror, brushed the dust off her coat collar and shoulders, ran a hand through her dishevelled hair, and left, locking the door behind her. She slipped the keys into her pocket before setting off down the street, whistling.

Ten metres down the road, Mitch froze like a hunting dog spotting his prey. He darted into the recess of a doorway, white-faced, hardly breathing. Verner stared at him, alarmed.

“Are you having a heart attack? Did you see a ghost? I suppose depending on the order they’re not mutually exclusive.”

“Shut up, Verner!”

“This just keeps getting better,” the music teacher remarked, rolling his eyes.

Anna disappeared around the corner.

“This is extraordinary. All that detective work’s gone to your head! Who was that, Mata Hari?”