“I take it you two are BFFs,” I said.
“We met in school—Syracuse University,” India said. “I’m from Arizona, and she’s from Southern California. We shared a blanket at a football game one day when the wind was waffling off Lake Ontario at about a thousand miles an hour. Huddling together to keep warm, neither of us could believe that it could get that cold for that length of time. I’ve been trying to get her hooked up ever since.”
“Cooper,” Perrin said. Her face was now scarlet.
She was saved from further embarrassment by the ringing of her cell phone. She answered it, pivoting away from us at the same time. A moment later, she turned back.
“Mr. Gillard is here,” Perrin said. “So is Mr. Donatucci. I’ll leave you two alone. McKenzie, I’ll…”
She brought her hand to her temple as if she were suddenly experiencing brain freeze.
“I’ll bring him back to your office,” India said.
Perrin gave her a waning smile and nodded. She quickly retreated from the room. India watched her go, actually took a couple of steps as if she meant to follow her.
“McKenzie?” India said.
“Yes?”
“Can you help her?”
“I can try to retrieve the Lily. Beyond that…”
“Rumor has it that Derek Anderson wants the board to replace Stewart with some blond bimbo he’s been seeing. Losing the Lily might be just the excuse he’s looking for.”
“That’s what I heard, but the board can’t blame her for the theft, can it?”
“She hired Patrick Tarpley when no one else would, so yeah, I bet they can.”
“I thought his credentials were impeccable.”
“No one’s credentials are impeccable. I would think you of all people would know that.”
“I suppose I do.”
“Something else—Stewart genuinely cared about Tarpley. The fact he stole from her hurt. The fact he was killed, I think, hurt even more.”
“There’s nothing we can do about that.”
“What can we do?” India turned toward me. “What can I do?”
“Let’s say, for argument’s sake, that I’m walking down the street and a guy comes up to me and says, ‘Psst, buddy? Wanna buy a jade lily?’ How can I tell if it’s the real thing and not a counterfeit?”
“There are a number of tests we can perform—Mohs Scale of Hardness, microscopic test, density test, calcification test, patina test. We can examine the workmanship such as the carving technique and the depth of incised and relief lines, tools and abrasion signatures, art style—”
“India?”
“Yes?”
“Let’s assume I’ll have a couple of minutes with it tops. Let’s also assume that I’m as dumb as brick.”
“Oh, McKenzie.” A shy light flickered in her eyes as she gave my wrist a squeeze, and I felt a sudden surge of electricity that traveled up my arm and then down through my legs. “I’m sure you’re at least as smart as Carrara marble.”
Where did that come from? my inner voice asked. And then, Maybe if she did take off her glasses and let down her hair …
India’s eyes darted across her work area as if she were searching for an answer. She found it in the form of a 10-power magnifying glass.
“Here,” she said.
I took the glass. India reached for the spinach green brooch she’d been examining before.
“Here,” she said again.
I took the brooch.
“Hold it up to the light and look at it through the magnifier,” she said. “Imperial jade is somewhat translucent. See those little veins, almost feltlike fibers that seem intertwined?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a good sign. If you see anything resembling layers, then you’re looking at jadeite that’s been doubled or even tripled.”
“I don’t get—”
“That means the thin layers of jadeite were glued together.”
“Okay.”
“If you see air bubbles, that means it’s counterfeit.”
“Okay.”
“Something else—notice how the jade feels smooth and soaplike to the touch? That’s a good sign, too. What else? True jade will scratch glass, even metal.”
“Do you want me to scrape it across a windowpane?”
“God, no! McKenzie. Are you kidding?”
“What, then?”
“It’s a frickin’ work of art!”
“Sorry.”
“Here.” India took the jade brooch from my hand, turned it over, and picked up a pair of scissors. “Gently take the blunt end of a scissors or a knife and gently, gently now, draw a line. Please, McKenzie, at the bottom of the piece, at the base of the Lily. Do it there. You’ll get what looks like a scratch, a white line. See?” She showed me the back of the brooch. “Gently wipe it off. It should be—the white line should be residue from the knife. If it comes off, it’s real jade. If the scratch remains, it’s a fake.”
I took the brooch and repeated India’s experiment. It worked just as it had with her.
“Cool,” I said. “But…”
“What?”
“How will I know if it’s the actual Lily and not a fake made of real jade?”