The Sleepers of Erin (Lovejoy, Book 7)
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Lovejoy, the connoisseur of antiques and all-around scamp, embarks on a madcap search for a priceless Celtic antique.
Half a jump behind him are a couple of mayhem-minded antiques dealers, a woman of extraordinary beautiy with brains to match, and a motley crew of "interested parties," including the police. Assault, false arrest, kidnapping, blackmail, and murder all add to the high cost of finding and keeping an antique that only Lovejoy can recognize. With time out, of course, for a romantic interlude every now and then, Lovejoy nobly fights to hold on to the treasure—and his life.
Ted, the White Hart barman, fished Tinker from the maelstrom of the taproom. ‘Tinker? Lovejoy. Get me a lift, sharpish.’ ‘Here, Lovejoy,’ he croaked tipsily, peeved. ‘What were all that?’ ‘Never mind. Hurry. Try Helen or Maud or Margaret. Anybody but Patrick.’ He would scream the house down at the first sign of aggro. I’m going to bend Clarkie and Sam.’ ‘Oh Gawd—’ I said, ‘You heard,’ and went to brew up while waiting, but my tea bags had been nicked. Bloody police. Nobody thieves like them.
damage – after all, Goliath got done the same way – then suppressed the twinge. The sod had nearly killed me. ‘Lovejoy!’ He yelped and backed away, leaving Sam to rot and trying to shield his eyes against the light. I whirled the sling and gave him the next stone in his midriff. He folded with a whoof and fell to his knees on the tarmac, groaning. ‘Don’t move, Clarkie.’ Loading the biggest stone I had, I stepped up to Sam and kicked him as insurance before carefully toeing his knife away
nodded. The bag clonked against his thigh as he picked it up and walked towards the door. ‘For Christ’s sake!’ Sam squawked, but he trotted obediently after Clarkie. Smiling, I shut the door gently behind us and crossed the gravel with them to where their old van was parked. They must have left it in a lay-by up the lane towards the village until Sal left. ‘Now, lads,’ I said as the engine coughed into action. ‘You two nellies leave this place alone, right?’ I shook a warning finger at them as
next. You have to smile at some antiques. Pewter’s a lovely metal, only now coming back into welldeserved popularity. If you were starting a collection of antique pewter, though, I’d go straight for ‘pewter specials’, as they’re called in the trade, meaning pewter items a little different from the average. Caitlin’s dish was essentially a plate, but nearly two inches thick. You can always tell these rare and highly sought hotwater dishes because they are lightweight for their thickness, and they
genetic structuralism fit in . . .’ I closed my eyes and ears to the racket and the yelling. Sinead said we would do a roadside stop for coffee beyond Delvin and work out the route. Gerald kept on bawling theories of Milton. The van bucketed on southwest down the road. Thinking back, the bloke fighting so desperately for control of the white Ford had looked very like that Johno Storr bloke, but I couldn’t be sure. ‘. . . And what of Hill’s Third Culture theory?’ Gerald was demanding of the