Free Murder on the Silk Road by Stefanie Matteson Page B

difference between Larry and the others is that he never got over his Roy Chapman Andrews fixation,” said Dogie. “RCA collected Oriental art, Larry collects Oriental art; RCA lived high on the hog, Larry lives high on the hog. Wait till you see Larry’s camp—I guarantee you, it’s a sight to behold. Have you ever been to one of Larry’s camps, Peng?”
    “Yes, in Argentina,” the Chinese paleontologist replied. “I think it is of great benefit to a paleontological expedition to have Mr. Fiske as a member of the team,” he added, with a twinkle in his eye.
    “Larry always makes camp on the site,” Bert explained. “Even when it’s not entirely necessary, like here. And his camps are … Well, let’s just say that when Larry goes into the field, he doesn’t skimp on the amenities.”
    “When Bert and I go into the field, what do we take, Bert?” asked Dogie as he slurped up some noodles.
    “A two-man tent, maybe. Usually just a bedroll and an air mattress. A tent for our equipment, which consists of a couple of folding tables and a couple of folding chairs, a Coleman lantern or two, a camp stove …”
    “Don’t forget to mention the most important piece of equipment—a cooler for the beer,” volunteered Dogie.
    “A cooler for the beer,” repeated Bert. “When Larry travels, he travels like a British lord on safari. China plates, silver knives and forks … A cook, of course. He always has a cook, and a couple of retainers. What else, Dogie?”
    “The silver tea service,” Dogie replied. “Larry always serves tea on the dot of four.” He pretended to drink from a teacup, genteelly raising a pinkie on which he wore a turquoise-and-silver ring.
    “I like the crystal decanter of brandy myself,” said Bert. “There’s nothing like a brandy and a cigar under the desert stars.”
    “I try to live up to the standards set by my hero, the great Roy Chapman Andrews,” Larry explained. “And I quote: ‘I don’t believe in hardships. They’re a great nuisance. Eat well, dress well, and sleep well, whenever possible.’”
    “Sounds good to me,” said Charlotte.
    “Speaking of eating well, this is delicious,” said Bert. He waved his chopsticks at the main dish of noodles and sauteed mutton with vegetables. “Don’t you want some, Larry?” he asked, nodding at Larry’s empty plate.
    Larry raised a hand in demurral. “No, thanks. I already ate—a couple of sand grouse that I shot this afternoon. Prepared to perfection by my cook. Tétras au vin à la Dijonnaise . With tarte aux abricots for dessert.”
    “I haven’t the faintest idea what it is he ate, but I can tell you one thing: it had to taste a damned sight better than the chuck we’ve been gettin’ for the past couple of days,” said Dogie. “What’re we havin’ for lunch tomorrow?”
    “A surprise,” Larry replied mysteriously.
    After the usual fruit for dessert—not apples this time, but the luscious local melon and plump green seedless grapes—Victor came over to their table to announce that the staff of the guest house would be putting on a show, and directed them to a terrace outside the dining hall. As they filed out, Charlotte found herself walking next to Orecchio. The two of them were right behind Dogie and Larry. Dogie was grilling Larry, trying to get him to reveal the nature of his find. “Have patience, my friend,” Larry was admonishing him. “I’m sure you can wait until tomorrow to find out.” Leaning closer to Dogie, he added: “I can tell you one thing, though—it’s a find that’s not going to make the rock jock very happy. In fact, it’s going to blow his precious catastrophe theory right out of the water.” From her position behind Dogie and to his right, Charlotte could see the twinkle in the corner of his eye as Larry imparted this confidence. She wasn’t sure if Orecchio had heard it or not.
    On the terrace, which was covered by a grape trellis, Charlotte ended up sitting next to Ned,