It was not the worst possible job he could have to do for the organization, Bertrand knew, but it was a tedious one. Every VFD store had its disadvantages, but in most of them there was at least the chance of meeting some interesting regular customers once in a while. But no one ever visited a jewelry shop without hidden intentions.
He heard the bell ring, and a short, curly haired woman entered the shop and walked to him.
"Excuse me. Can I talk to Mr. Snicket?"
"I didn't realize it was a sad occasion." Bertrand replied, almost without thinking. The standard reply. The standard professional smile.
"I'm sorry?" The woman asked in confusion.
He blinked. She was not one of them. But if she was not, then what business could she have with Snicket?
"Who told you to come here?" He asked, suspicious.
"I was informed he worked here." The woman said, subtly avoiding the question and instead answering something else.
Most people when asked a question they don't want to answer will either change the subject, admit they don't want to answer it, or lie. The first two options raise suspicions, and the later depend on the skill and willingness to create a lie. Depending on the question and on the lie, it may stretch, building up a castle of cards until the wind blows it down.
Answering another question instead is a safer choice sometimes, but you have to be subtle enough to not have the other person realize it. Bertrand would know it. He used this strategy often, and many people didn't require him to specially subtle. He was not one of them.
"I'm afraid not anymore." Bertrand said. It wasn't exactly a lie.
"Do you know where I can find him?" She asked.
"Who are you?" At this point, more than for safety reasons, Bertrand was curious. This woman was not one of them, but she was good at revealing only what she wanted to.
"Will my answer change your answer?" She asked back, without missing a beat.
That was a very interesting question. Bertrand made a mental note to remember it in the future when needed. Right now, it didn't make things easier for him.
"I don't like sharing information on my coworkers to strangers."
"I thought you said he doesn't work here anymore."
Damn, she was smart. Bertrand had not realized his slip until she pointed it. There were many ways he could answer that. Some would be more useful to her than others.
"Does he need to work here for us to be coworkers?" He said. Again, his implication was not a lie. He wanted to see what she would do with that information.
She raised an eyebrow, almost as if praising him for the way he avoided her question. He felt a bit of pride in that.
"So you do know where to find him."
Observant.
"I could pass a message." By now Bertrand had already given up in trying to deny any connection to Snicket. She had earned that much information. "But I will need a name."
She smiled, and reached for her purse. She handed him a business card that had her name and a phrase that didn't mean anything to him. He wondered if it was a code of some sort.
"I think Mr. Snicket will need a phone number to get back to you."
Maybe he wouldn't, not really. But Bertrand wanted to see if he could get some other bit of information from her, or if she would even realize what he was trying to do.
She smirked, proving she clearly did.
"I don't like sharing my number with strangers."
He felt like laughing at himself. He really had done that to himself. If this was some sort of game, then she had clearly won. It was strange. He wasn't used to being beat at it.
"What if said stranger met you after his shift ended and took you for a cup of coffee?" He offered, throwing away any bit of dignity he had left. He had a feeling that once she got what she wanted she would disappear, and he didn't like the idea. He needed to know more about her.
"If he answered a couple of questions during that, then he wouldn't be a stranger anymore." She paused. "And I prefer tea."
"Me too." He replied. "I am finished in thirty minutes."
"See you, then."