Page 74 of The Bookshop of Forbidden Books

“I read your recipe. It’s amazing. Why did you wait so long to start your own restaurant?” Mitch asked, wrapping his arms around her from behind and gently taking away the sponge.

Anna stiffened, then turned around in Mitch’s arms. Looking straight into his eyes, she told him what no one other than José had ever known.

“Because I was assaulted. By a police officer. Outside my workplace. I wanted revenge, and I kind of… killed him. Which delayed my plans a bit.”

Mitch was speechless. He had no words for the pain that ripped through him for the woman he loved. His eyes welled up. He held her tightly in his arms, and the tenderness of his embrace momentarily pushed away the shadows, the misery, the past.

“So,” he whispered after a while, “did you also kind of kill Salinas… to avenge me?”

“Mitch, we need to find a culprit who will clear our names. Fast.”

* * *

Anna closed the restaurant and took Mitch back to her place. This time, it wasn’t about taste-testing a new recipe. She had him take a seat in the living room and stood opposite him, leaning against her china cupboard, staring at him intently, like she was trying to decide once and for all which of his ears was bigger.

“What’s wrong?” Mitch finally asked.

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“I’m okay. I promise.”

“Mitch, we’ve discussed this: you’re a terrible liar. Don’t misunderstand me; it’s one of the things I love about you. But it’s time you told me the truth. When I asked you how someone could have got into your bookshop without breaking in and setting off the alarm, it almost made you sick. Because someone immediately came to your mind. It was written all over your face. Even bigger than 1Q84 on the cover of the Murakami you sold me,” she finished, taking the book out of a drawer in the china cabinet.

Mitch’s eyes widened. “You kept it all this time?”

“I’m a very loyal friend. I’m loyal, period. Now answer the question.”

Mitch bowed his head, accepting defeat.

“I’d given a copy of my keys to Madame Ateltow, and she knew the alarm code. She didn’t want to prepare her lectures at home, I don’t know why, so she’d come during my lunch break sometimes and practice down in the cellar. But it can’t be her.”

“Why not?”

“Because when something seems too awful to be true, it usually is,” he said, trying not to look even more depressed than he already was.

“Hate to break it to you, but I’m pretty sure that saying applies when things are too good to be true.”

“Logically, it should work both ways. She was the person who encouraged me to see the bigger picture. When that bill was passed, the only way I could think of to get around it was to lend banned books out instead of selling them. Some resistance, right? Good God, Anna, she was my literature teacher. And what a teacher… books were her whole world.”

“Didn’t she recently switch from books to music?”

“I don’t think that’s very funny.”

“Too bad, I thought it was pretty clever.”

“Listen, maybe the best thing would be to speak to her directly,” she proposed carefully, trying not to aggravate him further.

“Accuse her directly, you mean?”

“That’s not what I said. But you could look at it that way. Look, it’s getting late, and I really need to work on a recipe. Two a day – that’s the minimum if I want to open on time. And I lost a lot of time today. That isn’t what I meant,” she backtracked hurriedly, “just that I missed a few hours of work. I’d love a hand.”

Mitch limped into the kitchen, tied on an apron, and waited for instructions. Meanwhile, Anna hadn’t moved.

“What are you doing?” she called after him.

He looked at her, deadpan.

“Did I say something about cooking?” she asked innocently.