In any gathering of mystery writers, Tim Dorsey would be the resident jester, providing more laughs per page than virtually anyone else. His amiably psychopathic protagonist, Serge Storms, is a modern-day Don Quixote, tilting at the windmills of politics, ageism, sexism and any other –ism that happens to catch his fancy. In his latest adventure, No Sunscreen for the Dead, Storms invades a Florida retirement community in the wake of a very public sex scandal featuring a 68-year-old retiree and her much younger boy toy. There are two reasons behind Storms' invasion, one being that he is perversely fascinated by this salacious news item, the other being that he wants to find an interesting place to live out his golden years. He has all the necessary gear for that, including plaid shorts and knee-length black socks. And the white belt, without which the ensemble, well, c'est incomplète. As the plot develops, Storms gets conscripted into the investigation of some big-dollar swindling in the old folks' community, and high jinks ensue. And because it is Dorsey chronicling said high jinks, be prepared for mirth—lots and lots of mirth.

 

 

This article was originally published in the January 2019 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Heartwarming psychopath Serge A. Storms and good buddy Coleman look for a Sunshine State retirement home renowned for a sex scandal, then help swindled residents recover their funds. With a 75,000-copy first printing.

Bestseller Dorsey's superior 22nd crime novel featuring vigilante serial killer Serge Storms (after 2018's The Pope of Palm Beach) takes Serge and his stoner pal, Coleman, to an area of Florida that Serge has dubbed the Retirement Coast, where they encounter several locals who have been ripped off by unscrupulous salesmen. Serge takes it upon himself to get the victims their money back, while satisfying his own bloodlust by disposing of the con men with creative Rube Goldbergian devices. Meanwhile, Benmont Pinch, an employee of Life-Armor, a security company that both protects and invades privacy through its collection and use of personal data, is troubled by a disturbing pattern in a client's request for a list of "adjoining Social Security entries with the same birthday" for people who are not twins. That pattern may connect with a series of murders of retirees, and whatever it is that panics high-ups at FBI headquarters in a cryptic prologue. Dorsey ties the two plot lines together logically, offering another successful blend of the funny and the fiendish. Agent: Nat Sobel, Sobel Weber. (Jan.)