Love, Death, or Mermaid?

By D.H. Willison

Opportunity knocks on the humblest of doors. But it knocks only once.

 

When an overheard conversation leads to a hunt for a long-forgotten pirate's treasure in the sunny tropics, Herbert can't believe his luck. With shipmates including the charming if somewhat feline-featured Katie, a suave and dapper captain, and a hyper-competent crew, such an opportunity seems too good to be true.

 

And we all know how that usually turns out.

 

He soon discovers that said adventure vacation of a lifetime comes with minor downsides, such as being hunted by giant sea monsters. Including an alluring—if somewhat bloodthirsty—mermaid. Additionally, the term 'lifetime' refers to a significantly shorter time-frame than he envisioned.

 

Set sail on the high seas of Arvia! (Must supply own cutlass.)

 

A stand-alone novella for adult or young adult readers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D.H. Willison
• Release date: Nov 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201751715

Book preview

LOVE, DEATH,

OR

MERMAID?

D. H. Willison

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons or mermaids, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

No humans were harmed in the making of this novel.

Copyright © 2021 D. H. Willison

All rights reserved.

Cover art by Papaya

ISBN-13: 9781668549223

Edition 1.01

To Claudia and Aunt Nan. Support, patience, and a high tolerance for my quirky humor.

What more could one ask for?

Chapter One

Arden’s Alehouse. My refuge in these cold winter months. And some of the cooler spring months. And on occasions… oh never mind.

The door creaked behind me, slamming shut. I pushed my way past heavy curtains, hit by the scent of cigarette smoke and stale peanuts. And the glare of a half dozen patrons who don’t seem to appreciate the refreshing blast of winter Milwaukee air. Not my fault Arden is too cheap to install a decent set of winter doors. I hung a puffy olive jacket on a peg under a lighted Schlitz sign and took a seat at the table next to the corner booth. It was Thursday, the bar was only a third full, and Arden shouldn’t mind me taking up a table.

Yup. Arden’s Alehouse. My winter refuge. Decent beer, decent heating, decent food. Well, OK, let’s leave it at ‘food,’ and move on.

Pat’s supposed to be here already, growled a man from the corner booth.

Maybe he’s having second thoughts.

"The deal was for four of us, he can’t have second thoughts."

I shouldn’t listen in. But if they’re gonna be this loud…

A dark-haired woman stood up. I’ll call him, you got a dime?

The waiter thumped down a mug of light beer and bowl of Arden’s two-alarm chili. I’m not sure if the ‘alarm’ pertains to the fire department or health inspector, but for twenty-five cents…

What a square. The woman from the next table plopped onto the avocado-green vinyl upholstery of the booth. No answer. He backed out for sure.

Being a good listener is a good thing, right?

"Who backs out of a trip to hunt for pirate treasure. Now what do we do?"

Pirate treasure?

I wiggled as close as I could without drawing attention to myself.

Maybe it’ll be OK. My contact said something about bending the rules to get us there. And three out of four isn’t bad, so if we… The man who I now noticed had the build of a grizzly bear locked eyes with me.

I coughed, spat half a mouthful of light beer across the table, and choked on the rest. He must have noticed me looking at them. So much for being Mr. Sneaky.

I wiped a dribble of beer from my chin. Sorry. I, uh, kinda just overheard. Whatcha guys up to?

Nothing that concerns you, said his companion, a dark-haired man whose slightly less intimidating build was more than compensated by eyes which bored into me like a wolf.

Don’t think I’d like to meet either of them in a dark alley. Or even a well-lit one for that matter.

We were working on…

A film, yeah, it’s a film about searching for pirate treasure, said a deeply tanned woman with straight black hair in a ponytail. She was slim, wore an orange tube top that must have been frightfully drafty, and seemed far too healthy for this particular venue.

She, on the other hand, I wouldn’t mind meeting in a dark alley.

Really? I straightened up and wiped off the rest of the spilled beer. A film? Like, a real film?

A documentary, said Mr. Grizzly Bear. Kinda boring, actually.

I glanced from face to face, hoping for the hint of a smile. Or any expression friendlier than an interrogation. Hey, it’s OK, I was just curious.

Mr. Grizzly Bear whispered something to the woman and glared back at me. You… happen to know anything about treasure hunting?

Like using a metal detector at the beach?

Not quite like that, but… Mr. Grizzly Bear looked me up and down, his sharp eyes contrasting with a wide grin, like a car dealer sizing up a trade-in Pinto.

You can’t be serious. Mr. Wolf Eyes didn’t approve.

Why not? When she gets here, we can at least ask, right?

Mr. Wolf Eyes rolled his eyes and shrugged.

Have a seat, said Mr. Grizzly Bear. The name’s Sonny.

I grabbed my bowl and mug, and plopped my lanky frame between them, feeling like a minnow in a shark tank. I’m Herbert.

I’m Marcella, said the woman. Marcella Sirena, but you can call me Marcy. The quiet fella is Logan. Don’t mind him, he’s more bark than bite.

We’re off on an expedition. Can’t tell you exactly where, but we’ll be roughin’ it. Sonny lowered his voice to a whisper. And there’ll be pirate treasure.

Sounds too good to be true. I’ll bet it’s expensive.

Maybe, said Marcy. There’s no guarantee.

Really? I couldn’t think of anything better to say. All my life I’ve spent too much time listening, and not enough talking. I took a long swig to otherwise occupy my mouth.

We’ll be gone a week, maybe two, said Sonny the Bear. But I may just hold off verbalizing my catchy nicknames for now. Can’t say where. You up for that kinda thing?

This was awfully vague. What should I say? Can you tell me anything more? Oooh, that was good. I rewarded myself with another long swig.

You know that show where they investigate strange phenomena, said Sonny, Like bigfoot.

Or the Bermuda triangle, said Marcy.

Oooh, I love that show, I blurted.

Marcy snickered.

Bermuda? Is it actually in Bermuda? Two weeks in Bermuda sounds expensive. They still haven’t mentioned cost. Maybe they’ll forget to ask until we’re already there? Too much to hope for. I took another swig, realizing it was nothing but air after putting the mug to my lips. I raised a hand to order another.

So that’s about all we can tell you, said Sonny. We’ve made a deal, an’ maybe we can get you in on it. We’re going someplace very remote—

-But warm, it’s summer there right now, said Marcy.

Yes, nice and warm, said Mr. Wolf Eyes. Logan! That was his name. But dangerous. Remote and dangerous. You gotta be ready for real action.

He looks tough enough to me. Sonny slapped me on the shoulder. As tall as you are? You look like a pro basketball player.

Volleyball. In high school. Junior varsity. But close enough.

The point is, you can handle yourself, right?

The waiter slapped a fresh beer on the table.

I took a long swig. An adventure vacation. Someplace far away. It had to be terribly expensive. What’s the old expression? If you have to ask, you can’t afford it. I gotta keep ‘em talking about something else. So, you say it’s dangerous? Like hang-gliding or something?

Yeah, pretty much like that. Logan lifted