She cups her face. ‘It’s already working! Mind control is alive and well.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Just let me do the negotiating.’
‘Fine,’ I say, shaking my head as I peruse a stamp collection on display. My eyes almost fall out of my head when I see the price. Maybe they’re rare? What would I know.
‘OK,’ he says from behind the counter. ‘I’m happy to take the lot. Would three hundred euros suit?’
Manon was right! How does she know these things? ‘Three. Hundred…’ My sputtering comes to an abrupt halt when Manon digs an elbow into my ribs.
‘Three hundred will get you the vintage magazines, and that’s being generous. Now, are you going to make a serious offer or should we contact a professional who knows the real value of treasures such as these?’
The man gives her a slow, understanding smile. ‘I see you’ve got some experience in the trade.’
‘Oui. I also have experience in how to dissolve a bod?—’
It’s my turn to jab Manon in the ribs so she doesn’t finish that particular sentence. Next minute we’ll have thegendarmesknocking on our door. And really, we haven’t figured out what the hell is buried in the bathroom of suite seven yet so it’s best if we don’t have an unexpected visit from the authorities.
We do a deal that is way more substantial than expected and I have a newfound respect for my cousin.
The locksmith arrives, a tall gangly man with spiky hair and a smile that almost swallows his face. ‘I’m sorry it’s taken so long to get here. Work has been hectic. It seems like most of Paris is being renovated and keys are nowhere to be found.’ He takes brisk long strides as I struggle to keep pace with him.
‘It’s suite nineteen,’ I say, attempting to mount the stairs three at a time like he easily does. ‘Go ahead.’ Doesn’t he know I’m a romance writer, not a runner? Gah.
Manon pops up behind me. ‘Who is that?’
‘The locksmith.’
She rubs her hands together. ‘Finally. All will be revealed.’
We catch up to the locksmith, whose smile has disappeared as he bends his tall frame to study the lock, and he makes tutting noises that imply this isn’t going to be straight forward.
‘Pas possible.’
Not possible? He hasn’t even tried lock-picking tools!
‘Should you try with a tool of some sort?’ I mean, I don’t want to tell the guy how to do his job, but if I were a locksmith I’d start there.
‘I could, but I risk damaging the vintage locking cylinder. This one is rare indeed. I respect the design too much to interfere with it. Paris is full of antique locks like this and they need to be preserved. Protected. We don’t know what techniques were used to make them, so I cannot pick it for fear I’ll ruin the workmanship.’
‘Erm…? I understand your reservations. As far as locks go, it’s, uh – lovely? However, what’s behind the lock is far more important to me. Can you at least have a gentle go at opening it?’
His aimable expression turns stony. ‘I cannot! And no self-respecting locksmith would dare tamper with it.’
‘I see,’ I say, clearly not seeing. ‘How do you propose we get into this room then?’
‘Sledgehammer?’ Manon says.
‘Withoutcausing further damage,’ I clarify.
He slips his phone from his overall pocket and takes some pictures of the lock. ‘I suppose I can investigate, look through some vintage lock blueprints, but I can’t promise anything.’
I nod. ‘OK, that would be great.’
He lopes off as fast as he arrived.
‘So is that a no to the sledgehammer?’ Manon asks.
