Moonspender by Jonathan Gash Read Free Book Online Page A

scarlet
tables might be daft enough to hire me.
    "You needn't crawl, Lovejoy." She was still mad at me
for hating her grottie caff. "It's just that this place is intended for
the upper bracket."  And you're not in that class , she
carefully didn't add, but the words rattled about the office just the same.
    "Which raises the question of me." I smiled my
groveler's smile.
    "Your performance on television, Lovejoy." She swung her
chair. It was one of those that businessmen use, so they can turn their backs
on visitors without having to move. She didn't go quite that far. "Was it
genuine, or rehearsed?"
    "It wasn't a performance." Her skepticism narked me.
"They slung me out." I was indignant.
    "I noticed you'd been replaced for the second half" Her
interest was showing so I melted a bit. "Do you want a job?"
    Suddenly I saw it all. This Suzanne was the person Sykie wanted
hooked! I grinned jubilantly. I'd fallen on my feet, actually done what Sykie
wanted. "Yes. What is it?"
    "I want you to find a genuine antique, for the
restaurant." I tried not to wince, imagining a Sheraton chair or an inlaid Ince and Mayhew table among this load of crud.
"For a raffle."
    "Eh?"
    "You see, Lovejoy, a restaurant needs a gimmick. They've all
been done a thousand times, the Saxon Axe Bar, King Alfred's Kake Kitchen, Ancient Brit, Quaker's Retreat, all the local
history tinseled up."
    "And you think an antique. . . ?"
    Her eyes were glowing, lovely behind the curved lashes. "Each
table is numbered. A fanfare, a drumroll, and presto! The lucky table wins an
antique!" She was so thrilled she almost applauded herself. "Isn't it
a wonderful opening?"
    Which meant the place hadn't opened yet, that only the workmen had
so far glimpsed the monstrosity. Thank God for that.
    "When's the off?"
    "Saturday. What do you have in stock, Lovejoy?" She was
out of her depth. "I could call at your showrooms—"
    Showrooms? "Er, yes," I said. "But it's more usual
for the purchaser to simply say what's in her mind. Then I'd know what items to
arrange in the, er, warehouse." I waxed eloquent. "You see, stock is
continually changing."
    "Business," this dear innocent agreed with a grave
frown, "is business. Yes, I do understand, Lovejoy." The contractors
must have rooked her rotten over that garish hangar of a restaurant.
"Though Major Bentham advises us on the financial side of things."
    Just as this particularly nasty penny dropped—the galloping major
her friendly treasurer—I heard a real frightener. It was a long gravelly sound,
with strangled barks, then rising to a bubbly gasp. Mrs. York went pale.
"Heavens!" she whispered. "What was that?"
    I knew, and opened the door. Tinker was at the far end of the
restaurant between Geoffrey and the major.
    " 'Ere, Lovejoy," he wheezed, recovering from his cough.
"They just nicked me."
    "It's all right. Tinker," I called, and said to Mrs.
York, "Thank you. I'll select a number of pieces and have my assistants
display them in the, ah, display rooms."
    "This lout's another one, Suzanne," called the gallant
officer. He could have made ten of Tinker, and held him by the scruff" of
his neck. Enough to make anybody cough.
    "Who on earth. . . ?" Mrs. York was peering anxiously at
the trio.
    "It's all right, love," I said smoothly. "One of my
messengers. We use all sorts of disguises. Mr. Tinker is a Sotheby's undercover
man. Not a word, mind."
    "Of course." She sounded doubtful so I made a swift
good-bye.
    By the time I reached them Tinker was puce and could only point to
his throat where the huntsman's big hand gripped. Geoffrey was standing
stolidly by, embarrassed.
    "Half a sec, Tinker." I looked around, pulled a chair
close, stepped up, and swung a foot in an arc and up, kicking the major in the
belly.
    His chin came forward and caught the chair back. I actually heard
his teeth rattle. Blood spouted from his mouth as he slumped, going, " Ergh ! Ergh !" as he fell. I
heard somebody scream—probably dear old Candice; it seemed