I smacked his shoulder. “You couldn’t pretend to be sensitive to my pain for another minute or so?”

“Sorry, kiddo. But what about my pain?”

I knew he was kidding, trying to coax me out of my funk, so I tried to smile. “I’m just glad the book has resurfaced.”

It was his turn to sigh. “I guess you’ll contact Emily now.”

“I will.” I folded my hands on the table. “Look, she might not even want it back. She could be married with a kid by now and not even give a hoot about the book or Max.”

“It’s possible,” he said, his tone skeptical.

“Tell you what,” I said. “Once I find her and let her know the book’s been recovered, I’ll ask her to consider donating it to the Covington.”

Buoyed by the possibility, he nodded. “I would appreciate that. Thanks.”

“I just wish I knew where to start. I must have an old phone number for her, but she might’ve moved away by now.”

“Google her,” he said. “Or check Facebook.”

“Yeah. Or maybe I’ll just call Information.”

“You’re so old school sometimes.”

I smiled as I covered the book in its tissue wrap and slid it into my bag.

“Be careful with that,” he said, watching my moves. “If I told you what I paid for it…” He shook his head in misery.

“So tell me.”

With a look of disgust, he said, “Twelve thousand. And I considered that an awesome deal until you came along and popped my beautiful balloon.”

“You’re insured,” I pointed out. “It’s a write-off.”

“You’re a cold woman, Brooklyn Wainwright.”

It felt good to laugh.

“As soon as you leave,” he said as he walked me to the door, “I’m going to call Joe and have a little talk with him about conducting better due diligence on his clients.”

“I’ll be glad to tell him for you,” I said, “because I’m driving over to see him right now.”

“You are?”

“Yeah. I want to find out who sold the book to him.” I figured that even if Joe didn’t get the seller’s real name, he would at least be able to give me a description of whoever had sold the book to him.