Donovans 02 - Jade Island

of jade that Wen had agreed to part with for charity—a rather ordinary Ch’ing dynasty shoulao, or sculpture of an old man with a walking stick—had been bid up to a surprising seven thousand dollars before the gong sounded. The Shang dynasty bracelets had gone for six thousand dollars. Each. The Warring States buckle she had admired had sold on a preemptive bid of five thousand dollars.
    The Neolithic blade was next up for auction.
    Breathing a silent prayer that the bidding wouldn’t go beyond four thousand dollars—preferably twenty-five hundred—Lianne sat back and tried to get a feel for the bidders who were interested in the blade.
    The minimum opening bid listed in the catalog was one thousand dollars. Three paddles went up at once, beginning the auction. A single glance told Lianne that the eager paddles belonged to bottom fishers, not serious bidders. The real bidders would be like her, waiting to see who was earnest and who was simply using the auction paddle to fan his face.
    “Fifteen hundred,” the auctioneer said, scanning the crowd.
    Two paddles lifted, then a third. The last one belonged to Charles Singer, the owner of an excellent jade shop in downtown Seattle.
    “Two thousand.”
    Singer’s paddle lifted, along with two others.
    “Twenty-five hundred.”
    Again Singer raised his paddle. Only one other person was bidding against him now.
    “Three thousand.”
    No one raised a paddle.
    “Come, now, ladies and gentlemen,” the auctioneer coaxed. “This is a very fine example of Neolithic artistry.The stone fairly glows with mystery, immortality, and six thousand years of secrets. Surely that’s worth at least fifty cents a year to a discerning collector?”
    The audience laughed. Singer raised his paddle in the manner of a man who knows he is paying too much but is willing to do it for charity.
    “We have three thousand dollars. Will someone bid thirty-three hundred?”
    Singer’s paddle remained in his lap.
    Kyle and Lianne raised their paddles simultaneously. So did a man in the back of the bidding section.
    “Excellent,” purred the auctioneer. “I just knew this room was full of civic spirit.”
    The crowd laughed while the bidding quickly rose to thirty-nine hundred dollars. Singer and the man in the rear of the section went head-to-head for another five hundred dollars’ worth of bids. Then Singer dropped out, leaving only the anonymous man, whom Lianne couldn’t see.
    “Forty-five hundred. We have forty-five hundred. Do we have forty-six?”
    Lianne held up her paddle. She could just barely afford forty-six hundred…if she ate oatmeal for a month and her car stopped using gas and her panty hose didn’t run.
    “Forty-six. We have forty-six hundred. Do we—thank you, Number One-oh-six. You are a man of civic virtue. We have forty-six hundred. Forty-six hundred. Going once. Do we see forty-seven hundred?”
    Kyle looked at Lianne for the first time since the blade had gone up for auction. Behind her professional calm he sensed a seething kind of despair.
    “Going twice at forty-six hundred. The next bid is forty-seven hundred, ladies and gentlemen.”
    In silent question, Kyle touched Lianne’s wrist. She let her paddle drop into her lap. She was through bidding. She should have been through at four thousand.
    “Going—”
    Kyle flicked his paddle into an upright position.
    “Thank you, Number One-ten. We have forty-sevenhundred. Forty-seven hundred looking for forty-eight. Do we have forty-eight?” the auctioneer asked, looking toward the back of the bidding section. “Forty-eight, thank you. I’m waiting for forty-nine.”
    “Fifty-nine,” Kyle said.
    “Fifty-nine. I heard clearly? Fifty-nine hundred for the Neolithic blade?”
    Kyle lifted his paddle in confirmation.
    There was silence, then a scattering of applause. Though the money was less than many of the other articles had brought that night, the bidding on the blade had been more competitive, thus more entertaining.
    As the gong sounded, ending the bidding on the blade, Lianne closed her eyes and wondered what she would do if she looked in Wen’s vault and discovered that a very, very fine Neolithic blade was missing.
    Wen wouldn’t have sold it. The more she thought about it, the more certain she was. Though far from his most valuable piece, the blade was one of Wen’s most cherished possessions. It was simply, incredibly, good. Even if he had needed cash desperately, there were other jades that