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what I meant. You’d have arranged for insurance, of course. Still, it must be upsetting.”
    There was no way to break this gently, much as I wanted to spare Amy any trouble. “Don’t worry about me, Amy,” I said. “The auction house could be in some difficulty. Legally they’re obliged to return my client’s money because the title wasn’t cleared. Have you thought about what you’re going to do?”
    â€œWhat do you mean? The theft happened after you left here. We’re not involved.” A hint of worry darkened her eyes. “What are you trying to say?”
    â€œA claim’s been made the book was stolen before it went on the auction block. There’s an Interpol file on it.”
    â€œNo way. I checked that personally. It was completely clean.” She smoothed her brown hair in a nervous gesture.
    I wanted to reassure her if I could. “Apparently, the Interpol alert came in right before the auction. You couldn’t have known.”
    â€œOh no—are you serious?” She bent over her laptop and frantically punched keys. I could see apprehension clouding her face as she found and digested the Interpol report. When she turned around her voice quavered. “I cleared that bloody thing.… They were about to offer me a permanent position. I’ll never get another job in this field.” She put her head in her hands and valiantly tried to hold back a sob.
    â€œNot your fault, Amy. You couldn’t have known about the report. Besides, these things don’t always become public.”
    She lost the battle with her emotions; when she looked up, I saw her lovely blue eyes brimming with tears. “You know what it’s like. The office gossips feed on stuff like this. One of the interns is a nephew of the owner and he’s thoroughly pissed he’s not getting the job. Wait until he hears.”
    I touched her shoulder reassuringly. “I’m getting that book back, Amy, and nailing the asshole who stole it from me. I’ll do anything I can to help you. But you’ve got to tell me what you know. The thief said his name was Gian Alessio Abbattutis. He might be a nut job or maybe a descendant of the author. Or just got a kick out of using an alias. I have a feeling that book’s at the center of a family dispute. What can you tell me about the author? I’ve never heard of Abbattutis. It’s not exactly a household name.”
    â€œJohn, that’s a pseudonym. The author’s real name is Giambattista Basile. A celebrated member of the Spanish court at Naples and later awarded a title—the Count of Torone. He had a great sense of humor and loved anagrams. If you check all the letters you’ll see Gian Alessio Abbattutis anagrams almost perfectly to the author’s actual name.”
    So Alessio’s use of the name Abbattutis turned out to be a perverse kind of joke. “Why would the real author use a pseudonym?”
    â€œIt was pretty common to do so in those days and Basile’s writing contains some pointed satire directed toward powerful political figures. Maybe it was self-preservation. He was far ahead of his time because he wrote in the Neapolitan dialect—instead of classical Latin—horrifically hard to translate properly. That’s why the book remained obscure until the twentieth century. The anthology’s a collection of fairy and folk tales. It’s often compared to Boccaccio’s Decameron .”
    â€œWell, that’s fitting. The guy who stole my copy looked like he walked right out of one of those old stories.”
    Amy raised her eyebrows. “The entire book includes some of the earliest versions of fairy tales every kid knows,” she went on. “Like ‘Puss in Boots.’ Some of the stories are pretty violent and there’s tons of sexual innuendo, not kid stuff at all. The book’s structured with a wraparound story like the one in