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don’t sell books to
bookstores — even quaint, old bookstores in the heart of
Paris.”
    “ No, this is
before . . .” the bookstore owner pointed at the
walls. “I gave him an appraisal. Quite a lot of money, actually. He
wanted to think about it, speak with his ex-wife. He was supposed
to come back. He was supposed to bring the book. I’d called my
buyer while the soldier was in the store. ‘I think I have it,’ I’d
said. He was excited, happy. I was expecting the soldier
to . . . My buyer . . . my
buyer . . . he . . . was expecting me
to give him the precious book, but I . . . couldn’t.
The soldier never came back.”
    “ What do you mean?”
Dominic asked.
    “ He and the girl, your
niece, and the boy from Mexico, they came in with the book. They
wanted an appraisal. The soldier was getting married, and
. . .” The bookstore owner nodded. “I took the book to
the back and called my buyer. It was the book he’d been looking for
all those years — the book with the writing in two hands. It was
the book he wanted, the book he’d waited for. I knew I could sell
it for a good price, so I offered the soldier a good price. After
all, he was getting married. But, of course, Americans don’t trust
the French — even honest businessmen like myself are suspect. They
wanted to think about it. They were supposed to come
back.”
    The bookstore owner stood
up. He went to Dominic and leaned close.
    “ They were supposed to
come back,” the bookstore owner said in a low voice. “They were
supposed to bring me the book.”
    “ What happened next?”
Dominic asked.
    “ My
buyer . . . he became . . . agitated.
Paranoid. He was sure the book had fallen into the ‘wrong hands,’”
the bookstore owner said. “He started threatening me. He thought
I’d sold it to someone else. He decided I’d taken it to the
authorities. He was . . . horrifying. Crazy. My
mother is old. I am all she has,
and . . .”
    “ What did you tell him?”
Dominic asked in a low tone.
    “ I . . .
Nothing,” the bookstore owner shook his head with such violence
that sweat flew off the ends of his hair. “Nothing.”
    The bookstore owner’s hand
unconsciously went to his heart.
    “ What did you tell him?”
Dominic repeated the question in the same low tone.
    “ Nothing,” the bookstore
owner said. “I had lots of business, busy bookstore. I can’t track
every . . .”
    “ WHAT DID YOU TELL HIM?”
Dominic yelled.

Chapter Four

    The bookstore owner
blinked. Dominic shrugged and put his hand on the door’s
handle.
    “ I . . .
he . . . The girl . . . she and the
Mexican boy came in a lot,” the bookstore owner said. “They liked
to look at ancient maps. The boy from Mexico, he liked old
churches. He bought old guides to ancient churches. They would go
out and find these churches — ruins, really. They brought me photos
and . . . I start getting the maps out when I saw
them coming up the hill from Le Fée
Verte . She . . .
I . . .”
    “ You told him to find her
at Le Fée Verte ?”
Dominic said.
    “ I . . .
didn’t know he’d . . .” the bookstore owner said. “I
didn’t know. I didn’t know. I didn’t know.”
    The bookstore owner’s
voice rose with hysteria. His hand rubbed his heart.
    “ You have to believe me,”
the bookstore owner said. “I didn’t know.”
    “ I don’t believe you,”
Dominic said. “I think the man who wanted the book terrified you. I
think you told him where to find her to get him off your back. I
think you didn’t care about her or the boy from Mexico or Sergeant
Tilly or any of them. You cared only that this terrible and
frightening man was off your back. Better he takes his rage out on
them than on you — right?”
    “ They betrayed me,” the
bookstore owner said. Enraged, his entire body flushed red. “They
were supposed to come back! Don’t betray
yourself , I thought when I saw the book.
Don’t let them know how