Part 2: The Old Print Shop

The next morning I asked my neighbor, Mr. Bell, whether he remembered a print shop on our street. He had repaired bicycles there for thirty years and knew most of the old businesses.

“There was one across the corner,” he said. “Closed before your bakery opened. The owner retired.”

“Did anyone named Rose work there?”

He thought for a moment. “A woman named Rose used to collect proofs. Her sister ran the press for a while. I don't remember the sister's name.”

I showed him the marks on the receipt. He recognized the square as an old printer's registration mark, the kind used to check whether layers lined up. He did not know what the other shapes meant.

At noon, Adrian came into the bakery alone. He asked whether Rose had left anything behind. I showed him the receipt but did not hand it over until he explained why he wanted it.

“She asked me to bring it back if you still had it,” he said. “She remembers drawing it and says she was trying to show you something.”

I gave him a copy and kept the original in a folder behind the counter. “She said the building might remember it.”

Adrian looked at the row of shapes. “She and her sister had a habit of making puzzles for each other. I thought it was a game they invented for me.”

He asked whether Rose could visit again. I said she was welcome during opening hours, but I wanted to speak with her directly about what she needed. She was a customer, not a problem to be managed between two other people.

He nodded. “She doesn't like being discussed as if she's not there.”

“Neither do I.”

The next afternoon he brought her to the bakery. Rose chose the table near the window and ordered tea. Adrian asked whether she wanted him to stay. She said yes, but only if he stopped checking his phone every thirty seconds.

I placed the receipt on the table. Rose traced the triangle. “That's the roof,” she said. “The circles are the two windows. The square is the press mark.”

“Which building?” I asked.

“The print shop. My sister painted it on the wall after we moved the press.”

Adrian leaned forward. “Moved it where?”

Rose tapped the square. “Behind the wall. There was a room for paper.”

I did not assume she meant a hidden room existed in the current building. The premises had been renovated several times. I asked whether she had a photograph or a record that could help us understand the layout.

She smiled. “I have a box of photographs. Adrian thinks it's only old receipts.”

“I said it was mostly old receipts,” he replied.

“Then we'll look at the rest.”

We agreed that Rose and Adrian would bring the box another day if she wanted to share it. I would ask the building owner for any old plans before touching a wall. A mystery was more enjoyable when it did not begin with damage to someone else's property.

After they left, I looked at the bakery's brick wall. A shelf of flour stood where Rose's drawing placed the second window. I had never noticed that the bricks around it were a slightly different color.