Free The Chinese Alchemist by Lyn Hamilton Page B

for the Cottingham, just as you did for that private museum in Boston. I’m sure the Cottingham is lucky to have you no matter what the circumstances. It’s too late for Dory, so let’s just talk about something else.” It was the best I could do.
    “Thank you,” he said. “Dory was certainly very nice when I went to visit her a couple of weeks before she died. It was just before you and I headed for New York for our first futile attempts to get the box. She served me tea and cookies, and we had a lovely chat. She even sent me home with a care package, a box of homemade cookies and some of her own blend of tea. She used it to treat her arthritis, but she said it was good for almost all that ails you. I went to personally invite her to a reception we were having for donors. If she blamed me, she gave me no such indication, but I suppose she might say something to you and not to me.”
    “She never said a bad word about you to me, Burton.” That was indeed true. “I doubt she said a bad word about you to anyone. She was not the sort of person to do that. She was a classy lady.”
    “She was,” he agreed. “Now as you’ve already requested, let’s talk about something else. I got a seat on the plane tomorrow, so this is my last evening here. I know this place that serves fabulous food. Let’s go eat.”
    I’d had enough of Burton for one day, but there didn’t seem to be a polite way to get out of it. I could hardly say I had other things to do, when clearly I didn’t. Reluctantly, I went with him. He ordered, not even bothering to ask me if there was anything I wanted. However, he knew Chinese food as well as he knew Chinese art. Platter after platter of food arrived in front of us, all really delicious. Over the course of the meal, I discovered that Burton could be quite amusing when he tried. I may have even found myself warming to him just the tiniest bit. He had the good grace to make fun of his health fetish, which he had to, really, when I asked him what on Earth he was doing as he proceeded to wipe down the chopsticks. In some cases, cleaning the chopsticks might be a good idea, but these had come in sealed packages, the kind you actually have to tear open to use. I tried more or less unsuccessfully not to laugh. Heaven knows, I try to be careful when I’m traveling. If I find myself some place that I think doesn’t measure up from a sanitary standpoint, I won’t eat anything that doesn’t have steam rising from it. It’s my number one rule. I’d sized this restaurant up pretty quickly and decided it was okay. Burton, however, was taking no chances. When he put disinfectant drops on the spotless serving spoons, though, I got the giggles. Even he started to laugh.
    When I’d managed to get my hilarity under control, I got around to a question I was determined to ask. “You speak Chinese, don’t you? Mandarin?” I asked when I’d eaten as much as I possibly could.
    “Yes,” he said. “Also a little Cantonese.”
    “So what did that guy in black, the one who has enough pull that he avoids spending time looking at videotapes and being questioned with the rest of us, say to the doorman?”
    “The guy with the expensive shoes? He said something along the lines of ‘Grab the young man’ or something. Why?”
    “Well, what would you say under those circumstances?”
    “ ‘Stop, thief,” I guess. I’ll grant you it was a little ambiguous, but really, wouldn’t you think the doorman would grab the guy with the silver box under his arm if that is indeed what the guy said?“
    “I don’t know. The two were about the same age—David and the thief, that is.”
    “Where are you going with this, Lara?”
    “Promise you won’t laugh? I think there is a possibility that the man in black was in on the theft.”
    “Whoa!” Burton said. “Chinese army. Be careful.”
    “You’re not planning to discuss this with them, are you?”
    “Of course not, but why would you think such a thing?