Some Sailors Never Die by E A Comiskey
Almost a year ago, Richard and Stanley escaped a nest of supernatural creatures posing as nurses at their retirement home. Together with Richard’s granddaughter Burke, they’ve crisscrossed the country on a mission to protect humanity from the things that go bump in the night, but Stanley’s had some mishaps along the way that have left him weak and weary. Burke suggests that a cruise might be just what the doctor ordered, and the two men go along with her plan.
But evil never takes a vacation.
From the moment they board, Richard suspects something is amiss, but Stanley is too tired to care, and Burke doesn’t believe him. When passengers start dying mysteriously, he’s forced to take matters into his own hands, but can he escape the eyes of an over-attentive activities director, a waiter who takes his job far too seriously, and a wealthy widow who’s determined to win him over long enough to find the monster and destroy it before it kills again?
Now doesn’t that sound like a hoot! I love books that do not portray our elders as dithering old things but people that can still pack a punch! That is certainly the case here!
I have an extract from the book for you to have a quick read of so you can make up your own mind about the book.
Richard stared at the ridiculous old man in the mirror. Maybe Captain Roy and Stan’s boyfriend, Gigantor, turned a healthy shade of bronze under the sun, but his own papery old hide glowed a sickly, burnt pinkish brown. In contrast, his hair appeared brighter white than ever. It floated around his head in pathetic wisps he couldn’t even think of as clouds. More like the contrails drawn across the sky by passing jets. The sunglasses Burke pressed him to wear were in no danger of falling off, balanced as they were upon his elephantine nose and ears. A white tee shirt did nothing to hide his sunken chest or swollen gut, but it did manage to highlight the absurdly bright colors ofhis brand-new swim trunks. Yellow and orange. What in the name of all that was holy possessed the girl to buy him yellow and orange trunks? At least his black socks and sensible white sneakers suited him. From toes to mid-shin, he was properly dressed.
“Good Lord,” he muttered, and he swore an oath to his mirror image that if anyone other than his own people were at the pool, he’d turn straight around, put on some real clothes, and spend the rest of the afternoon watching television.
He waited for Burke’s knock on the door and opened it to find her dressed like a tropical dream in a white bikini top and some kind of half-transparent skirt that hung from her hips. Stanley stood next to her in navy blue trunks and a white shirt.
“Really?” Richard threw up his hands. “You got him navy blue and you bought this for me?”
She cocked her head to one side. “Stanley went to the store himself and picked out his own clothes. As I recall, you muttered something along the lines of, ‘This trip was your idea. Just get me whatever you think is right, ‘cause I ain’t spending a whole day shopping at Walmart.’”
Richard pushed past her and peeked in both directions. The coast was clear.
Luck stayed with him all the way to the elevator and onto the ship’s deck. A few folks lay about in the sun, greased up like so many chicken breasts in a fryer. He carefully avoided eye contact and made it all the way to the bubbling hot tub next to the pool. Blessings from Heaven! Not another soul to be found.
He perched on the edge of a lawn chair to untie and remove his sneakers and socks. He tucked the latter inside the former and planted his feet wide on the hot boards of the deck. No-slip strips made of something resembling course-grade sandpaper scratched his soles. Both hips and both knees snapped like dry sticks when he pushed up from the too-low chair. He edged over to the side of the water and dipped a foot in.
Hot!
His nose twitched with the smell of bleach.
Burke and Stanley were talking to each other. He couldn’t hear them over the racket of the jacuzzi jets, but Stanley didn’t look happy. Of course, that was nothing new. Guy resembled Droopy dog every day. The two of them settled into lounge chairs.
Fine with Richard. Let the rest of them fry under the sun. He intended to boil himself in this chemical soup and enjoy every last minute of it.
Clutching the silver rail, he maneuvered down four steps and sank onto his butt on the concrete bench. The steaming water bubbled all the way up to his shoulders. His muscles melted like butter in a cast-iron skillet. With his head resting against the edge of the tub and his eyes closed against the sun’s assault, his mind began chewing on the events of the past few days.
He mentally retraced every step. First, they boarded. Nothing weird there unless you count Julia standing in the shadows making eyes at innocent travelers. There was the stupid safety spiel with the lovely French girl, Nikki. Dinner was strange, but not in a supernatural sort of way. The skinny waiter, Terry and Val, Ed and Annie, and Julia struck him as weirdos, but they all walked in the sun and ate mashed potatoes and seemed human enough. ‘Course, witches were human, more or less.
Some tiny synapse in the farthest back corner of his mind threw up a flare of an idea in the dark sky of his thoughts. He’d seen something at dinner that night that did strike him as odd, but he couldn’t quite remember what it was. He tried to catch the thought, but it fluttered around his mind like a hummingbird on crack. Better to move on. Maybe it would come to him if he didn’t focus too hard on it.
On their first full day aboard the ship, they’d seen the two women arguing in the hall. The girl Isabelle compared the ship to a live-action version of a TV crime drama, but that could be explained by what they learned from Valerie about the deaths aboard the Diversion. Then again, the natural death of an old fogey was hardly the makings of TV crime drama. The ghost hunt turned up bupkis and just about did ol’ Stanley in, even though the ship was as empty of spirits as an exorcist training camp. Lunch with Ed and Annie turned up the tidbit about that crazy old bat, Julia.
His thoughts began to drift apart like wisps of clouds painted across the clear blue sky. Probably, it would be a bad idea to fall asleep in the hot tub. He could slip under, or drown, or have a heat stroke and end up back in Everest or someplace similar, wishing he’d drowned. He forced his eyes open and sat up.
Julia grinned at him.
“Argh!”
“Hello, Darling. You seemed to be on the other side of the universe. I was starting to wonder if I should be worried.” She sat perched on the edge of the tub with her feet in the water, an exotic bird with a distinctly predatory aura. The emeralds on her fingers and ears matched the deep greens in the peacock pattern of her swimsuit with its tiny skirt that did nothing to hide the shapely curve of her thigh. She stepped into the water and cozied in next to Richard.
He jumped up and searched for Burke and Stanley. They were gone. Vanished. Left him there to fend for himself with this she-wolf. Ungrateful, unloyal, thoughtless couple of…
“Richard? You are all right, aren’t you?”
Her fingers brushed his leg, just north of the knee.
Richard stumbled away from her tentacles. “I’m fine. I was fine. Now my whole train of thought derailed. That’s what I get for wanting to relax in peace for a few minutes.”
“Peace is overrated, Richard. Seek excitement.” Her foot hooked his ankle.
Richard was all the way back to his room when he realized that he’d run away so fast, he’d left his socks and shoes by the pool.
He could call Burke and ask her to pick them up.
He thought about trying to explain.
Forget it. He’d find some new shoes in one of the little shops. And if he couldn’t find any, so be it. He’d go to dinner barefoot before he went up to the pool again.
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