The bell above the door jingled when I entered the shop. A skinny man in his thirties with a pony tail and wearing a Black Sabbath T-shirt watched me from behind the glass counter.
“Buying or selling?” he asked when I approached him.
I gripped the edge of the counter. “Neither. I want to know where you got that leather bracelet in the window display.”
His eyes darted from me to the window and back again. “What bracelet?”
“The one that looks exactly like this.” I yanked up my coat sleeve to show him mine.
“If you already have one, what do you need another for?”
“I didn’t say I needed it. I asked where it came from.”
He frowned. “You have any idea how many people come in here in a week? I can’t remember them all.”
“That’s why you have records.” I pointed to a pad of forms on a shelf
