Donovans 02 - Jade Island

bastards never looked at your face.” Walker had mentioned some other things, too, like how much he admired Lianne’s guts and quick mind…as well as her more traditional assets. Kyle hadn’t liked hearing about any of it. He wasn’t happy that Lianne had put herself at risk.
    “Looks like Ms. Joy is already here,” Lianne said, spotting the petite woman at the end of the dock. A man in a rumpled dark suit and large, black-rimmed glasses stood next to April. A cigarette smoldered between the middle and ring fingers of his right hand.
    “That must be the Chinese jade expert with her,” Kyle said.
    “Is Farmer here yet?”
    “If that was his plane we saw landing a few minutes ago, he should be in the classroom before we are. Of course, we don’t know where we’re going, do we?”
    “Of course not.”
    Lianne straightened her jacket and repositioned the shoulder strap of her small red purse. It matched her shoesand picked up the scarlet trim of her black silk jacket. Slender black pants completed the outfit. Looking at her, no one would believe she was running on a few hours of sleep.
    “All right, let’s get it over with,” she said. “I won’t be able to draw a deep breath until this is settled and the suit is locked up in Vancouver again.”
    Kyle followed Lianne up the dock. He was dressed more casually than she was—jeans, olive-green turtleneck sweater, dark sport coat, and boat shoes. He looked more tired than she did. He had refused Faith’s deft touch with cosmetics.
    Farmer’s personal assistant hurried down from the compound, waved the guard back to his post, and made introductions all around. With the speed of a good executive secretary, Mary Margaret herded them through the playful wind to Farmer’s residence, escorted them to the “theater room,” and turned them over to her boss with another flourish of introductions.
    April and Sun Ming conferred in rapid Chinese at every break in the conversation.
    “They say anything interesting yet?” Kyle asked Lianne under his breath.
    “No. They’re still at the fulsome-wishes-for-mutual-happiness stage. They won’t talk business until they see the shroud.”
    “Thank you for taking the time to come to my island,” Farmer said, pitching his voice to carry through the room. “Please, come forward.” Smiling, he beckoned them down toward the stage.
    Behind Farmer, the forest-green curtains were tightly closed, exactly the way Kyle had left them. He watched Farmer intently. The multibillionaire looked the same as he always did. Confident, even princely in his assurance. If Farmer suspected anything was wrong, he was hiding it magnificently.
    A chill prickled along Kyle’s spine. He wondered whathe would see when the curtain went up, if Farmer had somehow pulled off his own switch.
    “I know you’re as pressed for time as I am,” Farmer said, “so I won’t bore you with details from my own jade appraiser. If you wish, Mary Margaret will give you a copy of the detailed appraisal on your way out.” He reached into the podium and flipped a switch. “Please, look as much as you like. I have an international conference call in four minutes. If you have any questions, I’ll answer them to the best of my ability when I return.”
    The curtains whisked apart as Farmer spoke. He glanced at the stage, frowned, and went to a panel at the side of the stage. He fiddled with the lighting.
    “Odd,” he said. “The color still looks off. Yellowish.”
    Kyle glanced at the burial suit. “Some jade has a yellow cast to it.”
    So did most serpentine, but that wasn’t something Kyle should point out. He was here as Lianne’s assistant, not as an appraiser.
    April and Sun Ming descended on the suit. Lianne was right beside them. Impatiently, Kyle listened to cascades of Chinese.
    “English, please,” he said to Lianne. “I can’t help you in Chinese.”
    “Sorry,” Lianne said without looking away from the suit. “The suit is serpentine, not jade. But that isn’t what makes it…dubious.”
    The room’s acoustics were very good. Though Farmer was halfway up the aisle, he stopped and spun toward the stage at Lianne’s words.
    “What really worries me is that the threads aren’t spun from pure gold,” she said. She flicked her fingertips at the dull threads that held the hundreds and hundreds of small stone plaques together. Time and weather wouldn’t hurt gold, but they were hell on little threads of bronze.
    “Are you