The Meridian Blue hosted a constant rotation of embarkation-day activities—sail-away parties, orientation talks from the crew, a trivia contest—and Ann circulated through all of them. The one venue that was not open was the theater, where Arthur Novak had died. The doors were locked, and Ann didn’t feel like starting out the cruise with a breaking and entering. She would wait until after dinner, when the theater was scheduled to be open for a performance.

As dinner time neared, she headed back to the suite to get dressed. She and Adam had agreed to eat in the formal dining room rather than in the suite since it was a likely place for Arthur to make an appearance.

When she reached the suite, Adam’s bedroom door was closed, and she could hear his voice, then the tinny sounds of another voice over a speaker.

She stepped out onto the balcony. There was no land visible now, just the blue-green of the ocean meeting the brilliant blue of a sky dotted with a few puffy clouds, the light shading toward dusk. She’d have to talk to Mike and Scott about taking a non-work-related cruise, even if her quarters weren’t a suite and the wine was the house brand.

She heard a light knock on the suite door. She stepped back inside and, as she pulled the balcony door shut, heard a voice from the corridor: “Hello? It’s your butler, Sanjay.”

Ann went to the door and opened it. A middle-aged man dressed in a suit with the Meridian logo on the breast pocket stood in the hallway. “Hello, Miss, I’m Sanjay. I’ll be looking after you during your cruise.”

“Nice to meet you, Sanjay. I’m Renee.” She stepped aside to give him room to enter.

Sanjay’s eyes widened slightly then shifted off her face and to a space just over her right shoulder. After a moment of hesitation, he stepped inside, and she let the door swing shut.

“I was wondering if I could make any dinner reservations for you and Mr. Novak?” he asked.

“I’m not sure about dinner,” she said. She gestured toward the closed bedroom door. “He’s busy at the moment, but I’ll ask him when he comes out, and we’ll let you know.”

“I … “ Sanjay cleared his throat. “I recall that the young Mr. Novak enjoyed the Cerulean restaurant the last time the two of you sailed.”

Triple damn.

Subscribe now

Read more

Mike set his phone aside. He was in his home office, Scott’s dachshund, Ursula, curled up in his lap. He scratched her behind the ears, and Ursula gave a little groan of satisfaction.

Nothing Mike had found during his due diligence before accepting Adam Novak as a client suggested he would pose a problem for Ann—no rumors of misconduct at SHS, no hints of personal improprieties in any context. But the lack of incriminating evidence wasn’t as reassuring as it might have been for another client. Adam Novak, Renee Langley, and SHS maintained a surprisingly low profile online, and a low profile cut both ways: it could mean there was nothing to find, or it could mean that whatever there was to find hadn’t surfaced yet. He hadn’t been thrilled with the idea of sending Ann to sea with a man about whom they had so little information, and he wasn’t allowing himself to give too much weight to the fact that Novak came across as a decent guy.

He heard a door open and close downstairs—Scott home from work—and then Scott’s voice: “Ursula?”

“We’re up here,” he called back, although at the sound of Scott’s voice, Ursula had leaped off Mike’s lap and trundled downstairs.

Scott appeared a few moments later in the doorway, holding Ursula.

“Should I be worried that you call for the dog and not for me?” Mike said.

Subscribe now

Read more

The man looked down on the mixer from one deck above, watching Ann as she moved through the atrium. She wasn’t doing much mixing, but instead was scanning the space … much as one might do if looking for a ghost.

Was she putting on a show to convince anyone else who might be watching, or did she really believe she could communicate with the dead?

The results might be equivalent … and equally dangerous.

A couple of unattached men followed her with their eyes, and he didn’t doubt that they’d be eager to strike up a conversation with her if she just slowed down long enough to allow an approach. With the red hair and green eyes, she did look a lot like Renee.

And Renee, after all, was normally a good-looking woman.

Subscribe now

Author’s Notes

I hope today’s final free installment entices you to subscribe to continue following Ann’s adventures on the Meridian Blue! Because Substack is not good at conveying supporter benefits), here’s a summary of what you get by subscribing:

^{* Substack requires creators to provide an annual plan, but “At Sea” will run for only two monthly billing cycles, and then I will pause it so that subscribers won’t continue to get charged. That means the “annual” plan is for the most enthusiastic Friends of Ann Kinnear who want to provide even more support for the project!}

^{** Paid subscribers can download the audiobook from this post: https://annkinnear7serial.substack.com/p/an-audio-bonus-for-paid-supporters}

Whether or not you subscribe, don’t forget to drop a note in the comments to let me know what you think about this chapter as well as the story overall to this point!

Subscribe now

And now, on to Chapter 6 (the next-to-last chapter available to free subscribers) …

Ann climbed the stairs back to the top deck. She was relieved that Adam would be occupied with work during the cruise. Although he had obviously needed to accompany her on the visits to Arthur’s home and the SHS facility, and she wasn’t sure she could have gained access to the country clubs without Adam as an escort, she would have preferred to check out the restaurants on her own.

The research she and Mike had done into the Novaks and SHS didn’t suggest that there was any bad blood between Adam and Arthur, but she always preferred to make contact first and involve the client afterwards. You never knew when what the dead had to share wasn’t what the living wanted to hear, and it was easier to think through how to handle that situation when she wasn’t accompanied by a client clamoring to find out what their late friend or relative was saying.

The gathering on the top deck—some people near the railing, some around the bars—had grown while she was gone. Under other circumstances, she would have preferred a less crowded space, but she needed to go where Arthur Novak might put in an appearance. If he was as sociable as the stories about him suggested, maybe the busiest places would be the most likely for him to appear. It was not unusual for spirits to avoid crowds, but she had encountered exceptions: for example, a spirit she had finally found wandering the midway at Chester County’s annual Strawberry Festival.

She made her way through the crush to the bar. When she caught the bartender’s eye, she handed him her sea pass card. “A Merlot, please.”

“Certainly, Miss.” He glanced at her card. “The Duckhorn is very nice.”

She knew that Duckhorn was pricey, and she didn’t want to rack up more expenses for Adam than he had already taken on. “The house brand is fine.”

He held up her card. “You have the premium drink package—you should take advantage of it.”

She smiled at the thought of Mike’s squawk of jealousy when she shared this bit of news. “Well, sure—I’ll try what you recommend.”

The bartender poured the wine and handed her the glass and her sea pass. “Hope you enjoy the sail away, Miss Kinnear.”

Damn.

She had had to use her own name on the cruise reservation and other travel documents, but the Meridian online form had given an option to enter a preferred name, so her sea pass read Ann “Renee” Kinnear. She shouldn’t have assumed that crew members would use passengers’ first names. She would just have to try to make sure no one was around her when she ordered a drink.

She slipped back through the crowd at the bar and was assessing a man near the railing—he looked quite a bit like Arthur, but then he began chatting with the woman at his side, so probably not Arthur unless there was another senser onboard—when she heard a voice at her side.

“Renee? Renee Langley?”

Double damn.

She turned to see a man, she guessed in his late twenties, standing beside her. He was smiling widely … but after a moment, his smile began to fade. Had he seen through her disguise?

“Yes,” she said. “I’m sorry—I don’t recall …” Although if she had really been Renee, not recalling would have been a bit implausible. He was maybe the best-looking man she had ever seen outside a magazine spread or on the screen.

His smile returned, brighter than before. “Oh, I’m not surprised. We met very briefly, although I had a nice conversation with Adam—he’s your fiancé, correct?—and his father in the martini bar.” His expression became more solemn. “That was the same cruise where Arthur passed away. Such a shame, he was such a nice man. My condolences to you and Adam.”

“Thank you.”

He put out a hand. “I’m Marco.”

She shook it. “Nice to meet you, Marco.” She started casting around for an excuse that would enable her to get away from Marco as quickly as possible, before he had a chance to extend the conversation to topics that Renee might be expected to know about. Then she realized that he might be able to provide information that would help her locate Arthur. “So you and Arthur chatted in the martini bar? He did love the martini bar … and a lot of other places on the ship.”

Marco laughed. “All the places on the ship where there were people. There was never a shipboard event Arthur didn’t attend, or a bar he didn’t frequent.”

Well, that was no help.

“How about you?” Marco asked. “What activities and venues do you and Adam enjoy?”

“Oh, you know …” Ann waved her hand vaguely.

Marco smiled and leaned toward her a bit. “I imagine you and Adam are a more … private couple.”

Oh, god—was Marco making a pass at the woman he thought was engaged to Adam?

“Yes,” she said, “Adam and I do enjoy the quieter venues.” She widened her smile. “Wherever we can grab some time together.”

Marco leaned back, seeming not rebuffed but relaxed. “I know what busy professional lives you both must lead—having some time away from that must be a relief.” His eyes drifted over Ann’s shoulder and his expression brightened. “Speak of the devil!”

Ann turned to see Adam approaching, his expression wary. Was he playing the part of someone who has interrupted his fiancée having a conversation with a good-looking man, or was he worried about Ann’s cover having already been blown? She suspected the latter—Adam didn’t strike her as a natural actor.

“Adam,” she said as he approached, “you remember Marco. From the martini bar.”

Adam’s expression eased, and he shook Marco’s hand. “Yes, of course. Good to see you again.”

“I was just saying to Renee how sad I was to hear about Arthur’s death. What a nice man. His passing must be very hard on you.”

“Thank you. Yes, it has been a difficult couple of months.”

“It’s good to see that you’re taking some time off,” Marco said. “Sort of a pre-honeymoon—am I right?”

“Uh … yes,” Adam said, not looking at Ann.

After waiting a beat for Adam to continue, Marco said, “Well, I recall Arthur saying that a cruise is the best way to reset. I imagine you can use that right now.”

“Yes, time for a change of pace.”

Marco’s gaze shifted between them. “If you two find yourselves at loose ends, my friends and I are usually at the pool bar in the afternoon. We’d love the company.”

“Sounds like fun,” Ann said. She didn’t look at Adam—she didn’t want to encourage him to weigh in. She wondered what Marco must think about Adam’s seeming lack of enthusiasm for a cruise with his fiancée.

The three turned at the sound of a shouted Marco!

A young man and woman were beckoning him over to the railing. “We’re pushing off!” the woman called.

“I love this part,” Marco said. “Want to come watch?”

Ann scanned the railing, which was now two and in some places three people deep. “I’m fine here.”

“Me, too,” said Adam. “But you go ahead.”

“Okay—see you around,” Marco patted Adam’s shoulder, dipped a small bow at Ann, then hurried over to the railing.

“Who’s he?” Ann whispered to Adam.

“Some guy Dad chatted with in the bar. He’s a product spokesman on shopping TV. Maybe for steaks? He had some funny stories about on-air mishaps.” He sighed. “What are the chances we’d encounter someone we’d sailed with before? But I wouldn’t worry about it too much—I don’t recall Renee spending much—or even any—time with him.”

“Just in case, next time you talk with Renee, ask her if there’s anything I should know about Marco from her point of view. Maybe she had a conversation with him she forgot to mention to you.” In fact, Ann thought it likely that an attached woman who had spent any time with Marco might choose not to share that information with her partner. Although, based on the time she had spent with Adam, he didn’t strike her as the jealous type either.

“Will do. I wasn’t able to reach her yet—the calls are going to voicemail—but I’ll ask next time I talk to her.”

Ann had a sudden mental image of Renee at a restaurant with girlfriends, or sweating through a spin class, happily offline. “She’s still staying off the radar, right? This is weird enough as it is—I don’t want Marco to decide to catch up on what Renee Langley is doing and see her posting on social media from Delaware.”

Adam raised an eyebrow. “She’s not really a social media poster at any time, and certainly not now.”

“Okay, just checking.” She glanced at her watch. “Speaking of making phone calls, I think I’ll check in with Mike.”

“Sure thing. I’m going to go back to the suite for the sail away.”

They parted ways, and Ann, still armed with her glass of wine, descended the stairs until she found a relatively quiet space near the shopping arcade, which wouldn’t open until they were at sea. She put in a call to Mike.

“All aboard?” he asked.

“Yup.” She described the suite, the availability of premium-tier wine—Mike was suitably jealous—and the encounter with Marco. “The personification of tall, dark, and handsome. He evidently sells steaks on TV.”

“A TV steak salesman named Marco? Hold on—I’m looking.”

While Mike searched, Ann sipped her wine, keeping an eye on the passengers strolling past for any sign of Arthur.

After half a minute, Mike said, “I found him! He is good-looking, but I prefer tall, fair, and handsome. But, hey, if he’s your type—”

“He was being kind of flirty, but I don’t think I can entertain a shipboard romance if I’m pretending to be our client’s fiancée. Plus, I don’t want to date a guy who is prettier than I am.” She caught a glimpse of herself in the glass of one of the shop windows. “Even as Renee Langley.”

“Are you fishing for a compliment?”

“Sure, why not?”

“You’re very pretty.”

She rolled her eyes. “That was the least enthusiastic compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

“Hey, I’m your brother. I’m naturally going to think you’re pretty and also not be overly enthusiastic about it. You need a guy who’s unrelated to you to tell you you’re pretty. Speaking of which … any weird vibes from Novak?”

“No. He’s perfectly pleasant, but I don’t sense I’m going to have to be fending off any advances.”

“Well, if anything untoward happens, let me know.”

“‘Untoward’? Who are you—Jeeves?”

“I’m just saying, if you feel uncomfortable about anything, tell me.”

“What are you going to do from West Chester?”

“I can be very stern on the phone.”

Ann laughed. “Actually, I know that to be true.” She set her glass aside. “I better resume my search for Arthur.”

“Keep me updated.”

“I will … but probably via text. Once we’re at sea, phone calls might be wonky.”

They ended the call, and Ann brought the Meridian app up on her phone and opened the activity schedule. A “Share the Journey” mixer was already underway in the atrium—exactly the kind of event Arthur Novak would have gravitated toward.

With a sigh, she headed for the stairs.

Subscribe now

Author’s Notes

I realize that in the last couple of chapters, I’ve included two explicit or implied references to my former employer: QVC (once when Ann references buying her fake engagement ring at the QVC Outlet in Frazer and once when Adam mentions Marco’s work as an on-air product spokesperson). Maybe someday I’ll have to have Ann go behind the scenes at a fictionalized home shopping channel to tap into my experiences there!

As with the previous chapter, I don’t have any specific questions for you about this installment, but as always, I’m interested in any thoughts you might have about the characters, setting, pacing, or any other aspect of the story.

Subscribe now

Now, on to Chapter 5, where Ann and her client, Adam Novak, board the Meridian Blue!

On departure day, Adam and Ann-as-Renee took a limo to Cape Liberty, New Jersey, and boarded the Meridian Blue along with their twenty-five hundred fellow passengers and one thousand crew members, bound for Nassau.

The weather was lovely—warm and sunny—although the gentle breeze Ann had woken up to at the Curragh was brisker by the ocean.

They had left most of their luggage with a porter, although they had each kept one bag with them. Adam carried a scuffed leather messenger bag. Ann, having accepted that her usual knapsack didn’t match the Renee Langley vibe, was carrying a bucket bag, which held a small box wrapped in silvery purple paper that Mike and Scott had given her.

“Don’t open it until the first chic night dinner,” Scott had said as he handed her the box.

“And keep it in the cabin safe,” Mike added.

As Ann and Adam crossed the gangway, she pointed to a banner proclaiming Share the Journey! “Unless they’re planning to push some of us overboard or leave us in Nassau, aren’t we by definition sharing the journey?”

Adam laughed. “That’s Meridian’s slogan. They have a reputation for creating an environment that encourages passengers to socialize. That’s one of the reasons my dad liked it so much.”

“I always thought of a cruise as a way to get away from it all.”

He nodded. “I’m with you.”

They followed the crowd to an atrium that ran for almost a dozen decks through the center of the ship. A crew member passed with a tray of champagne glasses, and Ann grabbed two before thinking about the fact that maybe she shouldn’t start out the engagement by drinking on the job.

Adam took the glass she handed him with no apparent concern for her professionalism, then checked an app on his phone. “The suite isn’t ready yet. Should we walk around a bit? We could get a spot at the rail for the sail away party. Dad loved the sail away party.”

“Sure.”

They took the stairs to the upper deck, Ann scanning other passengers in case Arthur Novak made an appearance. If she saw him before they sailed and was able to mediate a conversation between father and son, would Adam expect them to disembark? She hoped not—despite the fact that the cruise would be a working trip, she was looking forward to it.

They found a place at the rail, although available spots were filling up fast. Ann took a sip of champagne and looked down on the dock, where a steady stream of passengers hurried from the drop-off lane into the terminal, porters loaded suitcases onto carts, and pallets of bottled water and produce rolled steadily into an open hatch in the ship’s hull. She couldn’t imagine the quantity of provisions it would take to keep a ship like the Meridian Blue supplied for the cruise, or the amount of trash, laundry, and who-knew-what-else that would need to be off-loaded at the end.

“I appreciate you being willing to go along with pretending to be Renee,” Adam said.

“No problem.”

Actually, it was a bit of a problem. Even in the best circumstances, she couldn’t get her new bob to look the way it had at the salon. Now her hair was whipping around in the breeze, not long enough to put back in her usual ponytail. The eye-color-changing contacts were also annoying to deal with, although comfortable enough once she got them in. And she couldn’t get used to the fake diamond ring on her left hand—twenty-five dollars at the QVC Outlet Store in Frazer.

“I suppose I should understand a little more about what Renee does,” she said, “just in case anyone asks me. You said she’s involved in compliance, and also manages your vendor relations?”

“That’s right.” He lifted his glass to her. “Good memory.”

“Mike put it in the briefing document he gave me.” She took a sip of champagne. “Renee’s work sounds scientific enough that I’m hoping no one decides to ask me about it, because I suspect I’d get the answer wrong.” She smiled wryly. “Even with a briefing document.”

“That role actually doesn’t get too deep into the scientific details. SHS engages compliance experts who handle the details, and Renee coordinates across them. The same for the vendor management responsibilities. Some of those vendors are providing scientific equipment or supplies, but some of them are just providing the materials any organization would need to operate.”

Ann wondered if SHS had created a cushy job to provide Renee Langley with a paycheck.

Adam must have guessed her thoughts. “Not everyone in a science company needs to be a scientist,” he said, a little testily. “There need to be some people who are keeping the lights on. That’s what Renee helped to do.”

Ann didn’t want to antagonize her client by probing his fiancée’s job description further, but if she was going to pass herself off as Renee Langley, it seemed important to know a little more about the woman. “How did she get involved in SHS’s work?”

Adam leaned his forearms on the railing and looked out across the port. “Her brother Nate had FCR. He was part of the SHS clinical trials, and Renee was always with him when he came in for tests or to have his drug regimen assessed. That’s how I met her. She was determined to do whatever it took to allow him to lead a better life—not to have the threat of a fatal cardiac event hanging over him.”

“How effective are the treatments?”

“Quite effective. But no treatment is one-hundred percent effective. What you want is a cure—something that allows a person to put that worry behind them completely.”

“Is SHS working on that?”

“Our focus is on refining the treatment. Dad felt that was a more realistic goal for a company as small as SHS.”

“And Renee wanted to be a part of that.”

“Yes.” He drew in a deep breath. “She would have done anything to make him better.”

Ann could understand that—she would feel the same if Mike had been in Nate’s situation. “It sounds like … that didn’t happen for Nate?”

“No. But it wasn’t FCR that caught up with him. Undiagnosed melanoma.”

Ann grimaced. “I’m really sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah.” He was silent for a moment, then straightened. “But I wouldn’t worry about the details of Renee’s job if I were you. As I said, I think it’s unlikely we’ll run into anyone who knows her, and if we do, just tell them you’re not on the cruise to talk shop.”

Ann hoped that was true—and if Adam didn’t seem enthusiastic about sharing more information about the woman she was impersonating, maybe she could get more information about the man she was looking for. “Did your dad work when he cruised?”

“Oh, yes.” Adam smiled. “But only until cocktail hour. After that, no work.”

Ann gestured to his messenger bag. “Working vacation for you?”

He tipped back the last of his champagne and set the glass aside. “Always. Especially these days, while I’m figuring out the CEO gig.”

Adam’s phone dinged, and he checked the notification. “The suite is ready. We won’t be pushing off for a bit. Want to check it out?”

“Sounds good.”

They took the stairs down a few decks and followed the narrow corridor to the suite. Adam unlocked the door with one of the sea pass cards in a holder outside the door and handed the other card to Ann.

They stepped into a sitting area that would have been small for an apartment but was palatial for a ship, containing two straight-back chairs and a table opposite a kitchenette. Closer to the balcony were a couch and a coffee table. A silver bucket with a napkin-wrapped bottle sat on the table.

Ann crossed the room, slid open the balcony door and stepped outside. If she had been on the cruise for pleasure rather than business—and once the view of the Cape Liberty port was replaced by ocean views or Caribbean islands—she could imagine happily spending all her time here with a book and a glass of wine.

When she stepped back inside, leaving the balcony door open to the pleasant breeze, Adam gestured to a room leading off the sitting area. “Master bedroom is in there.”

The bedroom was similarly spacious, and included an en suite bathroom with a whirlpool tub.

Returning to the sitting area, Ann gestured to the couch. “Does that fold out?” She wasn’t thrilled about the idea of Adam wandering around the sitting area while she was sleeping on a sofa bed.

“It probably does, but there’s actually a separate second bedroom.”

She followed him to a door she had missed when they first entered. This room, too, contained a couch, although the room was barely wider than the piece of furniture. Most of the rest of the space was taken up by a table on casters. “There’s not much room for the bed to fold out.”

“It doesn’t fold out,” he said. “It folds up—into bunk beds.”

“Wow, I haven’t slept in a bunk bed since … well … maybe ever.”

He looked surprised. “You don’t need to sleep in the bunk beds. I’m going to sleep here—you’ll be in the bedroom.”

“Adam, you’re half a foot taller than I am. You should take the bigger bed.”

“Certainly not. I can hardly take you away from home and make you change your appearance and then expect you to sleep in a bunk bed.” He slid open the door of a small closet to reveal a row of neatly hung shirts and pants. “Plus, the butler already unpacked our stuff—mine in here, yours in the bedroom.” He hesitated. “I hope that’s okay. I like having my stuff unpacked, but Renee likes to do it herself. I should have checked with you first.”

Ann hadn’t realized they would have a butler and wondered what other benefits that might entail. “I’m happy to have someone take care of that.”

Before she could mount another half-hearted objection, Adam hurried on. “Plus, this room is actually perfect for working in, especially because when the beds are stowed, it looks pretty business-like. Better than doing video calls with the ocean as the background and making my colleagues think I’m goofing off.” He got out his phone and glanced at it. “Speaking of calls, I’d like to check in with Renee. Once we’re at sea, the service can be a little unreliable. You’ll be okay on your own?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Feel free to watch the sail away from the suite—less of a crush than the upper decks.”

“Much as I’d love to hang out here with the private balcony and the butler, I think I’ll take a tour of the ship. I’m not likely to run into Arthur here … am I? He didn’t stay in this suite, did he?”

“No. He usually got a suite because he liked somewhere to entertain, but always a one-bedroom. On the last cruise, he was in a suite just a few doors down from this one.”

Ann took the box Mike and Scott had given her out of her bucket bag. “I was instructed to put this in the room safe.”

They located the safe in the master bedroom closet, where hangers spaced with military precision held Ann’s clothes.

Adam said, “I have some papers I’ll need to put in the safe when I’m out of the room. Let’s use zero-three-zero-four for the combination.”

Ann put the box in the safe, tapped in the numbers, and the safe locked with a whir.

Relieved of the box, and with her phone and sea pass in the pocket of the loose linen pants Scott had bought her, Ann no longer needed the handbag, so she left that in the closet. She returned to the sitting area, where she found Adam pulling manila folders and a leather-bound journal from his messenger bag.

“See you later,” she said. She pulled open the door to the hallway, sending a few sheets of papers fluttering to the floor in the cross breeze. “Oops! Sorry about that.”

Adam picked up the papers from the floor while holding the others down with a hand. “No problem. The wind will die down as soon as the door’s shut.”

She stepped into the hallway and, steeling herself for the crush of the sail away party, headed for the top deck.

Subscribe now

Author’s Notes

I don’t have any specific questions for you about this chapter, although as always, any input is welcome! But I do have a question: Have you ever been on a cruise and, if yes, what was your favorite destination?

Subscribe now

The next morning, Ann stopped by Mike and Scott’s West Chester townhouse to swap cars with Mike, since he wanted to borrow her Subaru Forester to pick up some garden supplies.

As Ann ate one of the blueberry muffins Mike had baked, he sized up her outfit. “While you’re on the cruise, you shouldn’t look like you’re about to set off on a hike. You should get something that leans a little more toward casual chic.”

She rolled her eyes. “I buy my clothes from L.L. Bean. I don’t even know where to get chic clothes. Or, for that matter, what constitutes chic.”

“We can pop by King of Prussia when I get home from work,” Scott offered.

“All three of us?” Ann asked.

Mike raised a hand. “Not me. I’ve already made my quarterly visit to Joseph A. Banks.”

“Just the two of us, then,” Scott said to Ann.

Ann groaned. “I hate malls.”

Scott sighed. “Just me then.”

“Really?” Ann said cautiously. “You’d buy my clothes for me?”

“If you’d like.”

She set aside the muffin and kissed him on the cheek. “Scott, you are the best. How did Mike and I get so lucky?”

“I’ll get you a nice dress to wear to dinner. And some accessories, too.” Ann was relieved that Scott actually seemed to be looking forward to the assignment. “I’ll pack it all up for you—it can be a surprise!”

“I wish a different wardrobe was enough for the gig.” She glanced at her watch. “I better get going for the big makeover.” She stood and picked up the knapsack that served as her purse. “Anyone want to come along?”

“I’m sorry, Annie,” Scott said. “I’m trying to fix the work schedule—my supervisor left it a complete mess.”

Mike tipped back the last of his coffee. “I have a garden run, remember?”

She sighed. “Okay. If Scott can shop for me, I guess I can brave the salon alone.”

Ann had tried to be nonchalant about the idea of a makeover. In a preparatory phone call with the salon, the stylist, who had asked her to wear the green contacts to the appointment to endure a complementary match with the hair color, had assured her that the dye would last for only a few dozen washings. But she was surprised at how disconcerted she was by the idea of changing her appearance so drastically.

Now her hair was a deep, rich red, cut into a bob that not only wasn’t long enough to pull back into her usual ponytail but also would require blowdrying. She’d needed a tutorial about how to style it. For that matter, she’d needed to purchase a blow dryer, which proved to be insanely expensive. Why didn’t women just let their hair air-dry? At least the cost would go on Adam Novak’s account.

The appointment had taken longer than she had expected, and now she was running late, which put her in an even worse mood. She hoped the meeting she was heading to would reverse the trend.

She was headed west on route 322 in Mike’s Audi, her surroundings shading from suburban to more rural with each mile.

The GPS intoned an instruction, and she pulled off the highway onto a curving road that led to Chester County Community College. As she reached the parking lot, she realized that driving someone else’s car might give her an opportunity to test the effectiveness of her disguise.

Joe Booth was leaning against his elderly Honda Accord, arms crossed, squinting upwards at a pair of eagles wheeling hundreds of feet above. When she had first met Joe, his appearance had brought to mind someone who might have been a lineman on his high school football team but had subsequently relaxed his exercise regime. Now, however, he was looking trimmer than he had the last time she had seen him.

Joe was a detective with the Philadelphia police department whom she had met when he asked for her help with an investigation that had hit a dead end. These days, he rarely consulted Ann about his own investigations, because explaining her involvement would be too tricky. But he sometimes brought her to crime scenes outside his jurisdiction, reasoning that he could drop a hint about an investigative path into the ear of the responsible detective while keeping himself—and Ann’s involvement—at arm’s length.

The fact that the locations he chose for these investigative trips tended toward picturesque towns, scenic parks, and wooded college campuses rather than grimy alleys and vacant lots made her think his interest wasn’t strictly investigative. At least not of crimes.

She pulled the Audi into a space a few dozen feet from Joe’s car and climbed out.

She got a sense of the success of her disguise when his gaze scanned past her, then reversed back to her as his eyes widened comically.

When she reached him, she gave him a hug, and he kissed her on the cheek.

“You have a new look,” he said, his tone carefully neutral.

“Yeah, that’s why I was late—sorry about that. It takes forever to dye hair. Can’t you do it at home in thirty minutes?”

“Sounds plausible.”

She looked around. “So, where are we headed?”

He picked up a collapsible beach chair that was leaning against the Honda and gestured toward what looked like an unbroken line of trees and undergrowth. “This way.”

As they crossed the parking lot, he asked, “What prompted the change?”

“It’s for a job. Someone wants me to masquerade as his fiancée. Actually—and luckily for me—the fiancée is the one who suggested it.”

“That’s strange. Is it on the up and up? Want me to check them out for you?”

“No, thanks. Mike did his usual due diligence. I don’t think we have anything to worry about.”

As they neared the area Joe had indicated, Ann saw a narrow, lightly foot-worn path running from the corner of the parking lot to an almost unnoticeable break in the undergrowth. Beyond that, a more well-trodden dirt path ran into the woods.

Joe pulled back a branch to widen the opening. “The location in question is about fifty yards back. Want me to come along?”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll probably have better luck on my own.” She gestured to the chair. “Going to set up a guard post at the entrance?”

He smiled. “Not unless you want me to.” He held out the chair. “This is for you, so you don’t have to sit on the ground.”

She took the chair and returned his smile. “Thanks.”

“I know you don’t like any ‘insider information,’ so I did mask one hint.”

“Okay.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ll probably give it an hour.”

“Sounds good. I’ll wait for you by the car.”

He turned back toward the parking lot, and she started down the path.

It was several degrees cooler in the woods, and even the dim buzz of traffic on 322 was muffled by the leaves, replaced by the chirr of insects and the sound of the crowns of the trees rustling in the breeze.

She had gone about fifty yards when the path widened a bit, its borders marked by a few broken branches and one short length of yellow crime scene tape. Next to the path was a white wooden cross, a square of cloth hanging over its horizontal piece. Ann suspected the cross contained the ‘insider information’ Joe had hidden—the name of the victim. At the base of the cross was a small pile of bouquets—most wilted but one fresh—and a few stuffed animals.

Across the path from the cross sat two bowls—one with kibble and the other with water.

Ann unfolded the chair, sat down, and settled in to wait.

*****

Less than an hour later, Ann emerged from the cool darkness of the path into the sunlight bathing the parking lot. Joe was standing under the shade of a Bartlett pear tree, arms crossed, chatting with a young Hispanic man holding pruning shears and dressed in a gray work shirt and gray twill pants. She hurried across the parking lot toward them.

“—seemed like a nice young guy,” the man in gray was saying, “but who can tell—sometimes the most normal-seeming ones are the craziest.”

“Ann,” Joe said, taking the folding chair from her, “this is Gus—he’s one of the groundskeepers here. We were just talking about the murder that took place here a few weeks ago.” He raised his eyebrows questioningly, and she gave him a quick nod.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Gus said, raising a CCCC-branded baseball hat to reveal a military-grade buzzcut. “Actually, I should get back to work.” He looked up, squinting, into the sunny sky. “Nice day for a walk around the campus—although maybe stay out of the woods.” He headed across the parking lot toward a row of shaggy bushes.

“So,” Joe said, “you found her?”

“Yeah,” Ann said, her eyes following Gus. “Megan Toth—CCCC student—was walking home from class to her house in the development on the other side of the woods.”

“That’s right.”

Ann thought back to the time she’d spent in the woods with Megan. She seemed so pleasant, so uncomplicated. She turned back to Joe. “She and her boyfriend, Derek—”

“Derek Souza.”

“—were meeting up at her house to go to a movie. Derek had his car at the school, but she had to get something from home, so they agreed they’d meet up there.”

Joe nodded. “That’s Derek’s story as well. The cops wondered why they didn’t just drive from the school to her house together.”

“Because Megan has been feeding a stray cat in the woods and she wanted to replenish the food and water.”

He nodded again with vicarious satisfaction. “Yup, that’s also what Derek said in his interview. And when she didn’t show up and wouldn’t answer her phone, he headed back up the path looking for her … and found her.”

“Already dead?”

“All but.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Megan didn’t know Derek found her?”

“She seems pretty hazy about the whole thing—as far as she remembers, one minute she’s pouring cat kibble into the bowl and the next minute someone has grabbed her.”

Joe shuddered. “Probably better that she doesn’t remember.” He sighed. “Don’t suppose she got a look at him?”

“She did.” Ann glanced back toward where Gus was applying the shears to the bushes. “She said he was wearing a gray uniform.”

Joe’s eyebrows shot up. “Gus?”

“No. Megan said her attacker was white, had crazy hair, and was old.” She smiled ruefully. “By which she meant in his fifties.” Her smile faded. “But probably everyone on the groundskeeping team wears a gray uniform like Gus’s. I think that’s where to look.”

Joe nodded. “I’ll pass that on.” He scuffed his shoe across the pavement. “I thought they zeroed in on the boyfriend too fast. I’m glad it wasn’t him. I watched tapes of the interviews with him—he seemed decent, and genuinely devastated by Megan’s death.”

“Megan obviously loves him. Loved him. And he’s the one who’s continuing to keep the cat bowls replenished.”

“Does Megan want to talk with him?”

“I’m sure she would, but it’s not just the details of the attack she’s hazy about. She’s fading. I don’t think she’ll be around for much longer. If I was going to mediate a conversation between Megan and Derek, I think I’d need to do it soon.”

Joe stuffed his hands into his pockets and shifted his gaze up to where the eagles continued to circle. “I don’t think it would be a good idea to do that before the investigation is wrapped up. We wouldn’t want Derek confusing the investigators by telling them that his dead girlfriend would vouch for him if they just asked you.”

Ann sighed. “Yeah, I agree.”

They stood in silence, looking toward the woods, then Joe roused himself. “Want to grab a bite?”

“Sure.”

“There’s a good Italian place nearby. You could leave your car—” He glanced over at the Audi. “—actually, Mike’s car, if I’m not mistaken, and I can drop you back here afterwards.”

“Sounds good.”

They got in the Honda and headed back down 322 toward Downingtown. As Ann tried to turn her thoughts from Megan Toth’s death and Derek Souza’s grief, she realized that she should have offered to meet up with Joe at the restaurant, since a return to the CCCC campus to pick up her car would extend his drive home to Philly. But it was pleasant riding along with him, the window open only a crack to keep her bobbed hair from blowing in her face.

In fact, his lack of response to her changed appearance was starting to worry her. “So, what do you think?” she asked, gesturing toward her hair. “Should I keep the cut and color when the job is over?”

“Sure … if you like it.”

She laughed. “You’re so diplomatic.”

He smiled. “It is a little disconcerting.”

“In terms of the job it’s for, I think disconcerting is good—less likely that someone will recognize me.”

“True.”

“How about beyond the job …?”

He rubbed his neck. “Well …”

“Yes?”

“I kind of like you the real way.”

Subscribe now

Author’s Notes

Until today, the section of this chapter between Ann’s arrival at the CCCC campus and her departure with Joe was just a stuff happens placeholder—a placeholder I had forgotten about until I went to do a “final” review of today’s chapter. It was easy to postpone writing this bit because it’s completely disconnected from the rest of the story. So why have I (tentatively) included it in the book?

The scene as written is intended to do three jobs. One is to provide an opportunity for Ann to reflect on her response to the changes to her appearance in person with Mike and Scott (plus, Scott volunteering to buy Ann’s cruise clothes sets up an aspect of a later scene). Another is to provide an opportunity to interact with Joe before she leaves for the cruise (a teaser for all the Friends of Ann who are lobbying for a romantic relationship between Ann and Joe). And yet another is an opportunity to give readers new to Ann’s world a taste of her ability before she starts her search for Arthur.

When I originally drafted the scene, it showed Ann’s interaction with Megan “on-screen,” but when I was done with that version, it was not only way too long but it also risked getting the reader more invested in Megan and Derek than in Adam and Renee, so I tried this version, with Ann relaying to Joe what she learned from Megan.

And once I had done that, I ripped everything apart and reordered the paragraphs.

All that to say that the final version of the visit to the CCCC campus—if it makes it into the book at all—will look much different from this, so rather than letting me know what isn’t working (because I know a lot isn’t working), please let me know what you like about the scene that I should retain!

I’ll loop back with you toward the end of the campaign with a final version of this scene.

Subscribe now

The next evening, Ann, Mike, and Scott sat at the dining table in the Curragh, enjoying the steaks Mike had cooked, the salad Scott had assembled, and the potatoes whose baking time Ann had monitored.

“So,” Scott said to Ann, adjusting his chunky black glasses, “no sign of Arthur Novak on land, I understand.”

Scott was the physical opposite of his husband—tall where Mike was shorter, slender where Mike was stocky, blue eyes versus Mike’s brown. His hair and complexion were even fairer than Ann’s.

Ann shook her head. “Nope. We went to Arthur’s home outside Wilmington. I was surprised—it’s a nice but relatively small house in a fifty-five-plus community. For someone who headed a biomedical company, I was expecting something a little more splashy.”

“Adam isn’t splashy,” Mike said through a mouthful of baked potato. “He drives a Volvo SUV.”

“That’s true.” Ann served herself more salad. “Although I think this is not a case of ‘like father, like son.’ Adam told me that one of the reasons Arthur moved to the fifty-five plus community after Adam’s mom died was that he liked the idea that he could send out a signal and have a party going in an hour.”

“What was the signal?” Scott asked.

“He’d replace the white bulb in the porch light with an orange bulb.”

Mike laughed and said to Scott, “We’re going to have to try that.” He turned back to Ann. “But you’re right—impromptu parties don’t really seem like Adam Novak’s thing.”

“He and I checked a bunch of other places as well as the house,” Ann said. “The SHS facility, the country clubs—plural—Arthur belonged to. We even had lunch and dinner at two of his favorite restaurants.”

“Did Adam treat?” Mike asked.

“I wouldn’t really call it ‘treating’—it’s part of the gig.”

Mike raised an eyebrow. “Maybe.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason. He’s engaged—in fact, to someone else who works at SHS.” Ann speared a cherry tomato. “Plus, if the meal is just part of a search for a dead guy, it doesn’t really qualify as a date in any case.”

“True,” Scott said. “Not very romantic.”

“If we don’t find Arthur on the cruise,” she continued, “and if Adam wants to continue the search, I’ll go back to those places at other times of the day, and he said he’d try to think of other places that might be good candidates. But he seems pretty sure that if Arthur hung around, he’d be on the ship.”

“So, will we be wishing you bon voyage soon?” Scott asked.

Ann took a sip of wine. “Looks that way. Adam’s looking into whether there’s any availability on the next sailing of the Meridian Blue.”

“You’re a lucky bastard,” Mike said.

“I don’t think you can refer to a woman as ‘bastard,’” said Scott.

“Lucky dog?” Mike hazarded.

“Not sure ‘dog’ is better,” said Ann. “You guys should come along. We can’t charge your tickets to the client, but it would still be fun.”

“I’d love to,” said Scott, “but my supervisor is on vacation this week, and I’m filling in for her.”

Mike’s phone buzzed, and he got it out of his pocket, ignoring an eye roll from Scott. “Speak of the devil—it’s Adam Novak. I’ll put it on speaker.”

Scott sat back and made a lip-zipping motion over his mouth.

Mike answered the call. “Hello, Adam. I’m here with Ann. I have you on speaker.”

“Hello, Mike. Hello, Ann,” Adam said. “I wanted to let you know that we got spots on the cruise leaving on Saturday from Cape Liberty, New Jersey.”

“This Saturday?” Mike said. “That’s fantastic—I didn’t realize you’d be able to line it up that quickly.”

“I called in some favors. Dad was a member of Meridian’s Compass Elite program—that’s the top tier. Plus, I think they feel bad about, you know …” He cleared his throat. “… him dying on their ship. And they had a suite available.”

Ann and Scott raised their eyebrows.

Mike said, “Suite?”

“Yes.” There was a pause, then Adam continued, sounding a little embarrassed. “I think I mentioned to Ann that I’m engaged—to Renee Langley, who also works at SHS. She manages regulatory compliance and vendor relations, among other things. I assumed Renee would come along on the cruise, but her work really piled up while she was helping me deal with Dad’s death, and she’s trying to dig out from that.”

“That’s understandable,” Mike said.

“So it will just be me and Ann on the cruise, and Renee’s concerned about …” He cleared his throat again. “… what it will look like if I’m seen on the ship with another woman.” His laugh was brief and unconvincing. “Not sure whether that was the SHS Director or the fiancée talking. But she’s also a little concerned about what it would look like if someone recognized Ann. I explained to you—and to her—my reasons for being willing to try this experiment, but, as she points out, our investors might not be so open-minded about the idea of SHS leadership engaging someone with Ann’s particular skill set.” After a pause, he added, “I’m sorry that it’s something we need to worry about.”

“Completely understandable,” Ann said.

“And there has been enough news coverage of Ann’s work,” Mike added, “that she might be recognized. Although I’m not sure how to avoid that.”

Adam continued, his tone tentative. “Renee recommended … well, she recommended that Ann go as her.”

Ann, Mike, and Scott exchanged looks.

“Is that even feasible?” Ann asked. “Would we really fool anyone?”

“I actually don’t think that would be an issue,” Adam said. “Renee’s work for SHS has been low-profile, so she doesn’t have much of an online presence.”

“How about the crew members—would they recognize her?” Mike asked.

“Renee rarely went on cruises with me and Dad. I didn’t even cruise with Dad that much—I’m prone to seasickness. But in any case, it’s unlikely we’d run into anyone who would recognize her. The crews rotate frequently.” His tone became wistful. “That was the only thing Dad disliked about cruising. He’d make a bunch of friends among the crew members, but then he wouldn’t get to see them again. Wouldn’t be able to find out how their parents were doing or what their kids were up to.” He was silent for a beat, and when he resumed, he had reverted to his normal business-like tone. “And as far as the passengers go, most of Dad’s business colleagues sail on Viking or Cunard, not Meridian. I don’t think you’d be recognized. As long as …”

Ann arched an eyebrow at Mike, who said, “As long as …?”

Adam sighed. “As long as you’d be willing to make a couple of changes to your appearance.”

Scott had been tapping on his phone, and now he turned the screen toward Ann and Mike. It showed two men and a woman standing in front of a Steward Health Sciences sign that Ann recognized from her tour of the SHS facility. The men were Adam and Arthur Novak. According to the caption, the woman was Renee Langley.

At first, Ann couldn’t imagine that anyone would mistake her for Renee, whose hair was a much brighter red than Ann’s reddish-blond and was worn in a stylish bob rather than Ann’s usual ponytail. But she had to admit that she and Renee Langley shared the same generally slender build and fair coloring.

“I’m looking at a picture of her now,” she said. “I’d need to dye my hair. What color are her eyes?”

“Green,” Adam said.

“I’d need colored contacts.”

“Of course I’ll pay for whatever is needed.”

Trying not to let her grimace show in her voice, she said, “If you think it’s necessary, I’ll give it a shot.”

“That’s great,” Adam said, his relief clear. “I really appreciate it.”

“Adam,” Mike said. “Can you hold one minute?”

“Of course.”

Mike muted his phone. “You’re sure you’re okay with this?” he asked Ann.

“Sure. As long as we have separate rooms, obviously.”

Mike nodded and unmuted the phone. “Adam, how do you foresee the living arrangements working?”

“I got a two-bedroom suite.”

“I hate to be indelicate,” Mike said, “but if people think you’re traveling with your fiancée, might it not raise questions if you’re staying in separate quarters?”

“I can ask the cabin steward to set up one of the quarters as an office. I’ll need to get some work done on the cruise anyway.”

“And what if someone sees Renee on land and wonders how she can be on the cruise as well?” Mike asked.

“She’s going to lay low. She stepped into the role of PR director when Dad died—she used to be the Director of Strategic Partnerships, so that kind of thing comes naturally to her—and she was dealing with a lot of inquiries from the media and investors after Dad’s death. I think she’s looking forward to being able to catch up … and to having some time to herself.”

Mike glanced at Ann, who nodded. “That all sounds good,” Mike said.

Adam gave them a few more logistical details about the sailing, then they ended the call.

“Wow, you’re going undercover,” Mike said as he slipped his phone into his pocket. “That’s a new one.”

“No it’s not,” said Scott. “Annie and I pretended to be engaged in Maine.”

“And, now that I’m thinking about it,” Mike added, “she pretended to be Joe Booth’s date at that creepy bar in Philly.”

Ann shuddered. “Yeah, let’s not have a repeat of that mess.”

Scott topped off their glasses of wine. “It’s interesting that Renee Langley went from being the Director of Strategic Partnerships to being in charge of what sounds like a sort of mish-mash of responsibilities.”

“Sounds like a demotion,” Mike said. “Although when I was researching Adam and SHS, I saw that she’s listed as a company officer on the SHS website.”

Ann continued to examine the photo of Renee on Scott’s phone. “I’m going to need more than redder hair and a fancier haircut,” she muttered.

“Like what?”

“Like more curves.”

“Padded bra?” Mike suggested.

“Absolutely not.” Ann sighed and handed Scott’s phone back to him. “Although I guess I see why Renee Langley is comfortable sending her fiancé off on a cruise with some woman she doesn’t know. She’s stunning.”

Subscribe now

Author’s Notes

Per Katherine’s excellent observation on Chapter 2 that some of the description of Mahalo Winery seemed a bit extraneous, an alternative might be for me to move Ann, Mike, and Scott’s dinner onto the patio of the Curragh and drop that description here.

Although I generally try to avoid scenes with a character on the phone, I made an exception here for a couple of reasons: I needed a chance to introduce Scott, who wouldn’t naturally be present at a meeting with Ann, Mike, and their client; it provides a plausible reason that Renee is not directly a part of the conversation; and it seemed more realistic that this transaction would be accomplished by phone than in person.

What do you think about Renee’s suggestion that Ann go on the cruise disguised as her—let me know in the comments!

Subscribe now

Ann Kinnear strolled up the curving drive that led from the Curragh—her home in the Mahalo Vineyard and Winery’s guest house—to what the winery’s owners called “the big house.” From her vantage point, she could look down on where soft spring sunlight flickered on the surface of the pond—the Tarn—at the bottom of the hill. One of the two Adirondack chairs on its short dock would have been her preferred spot for sipping her coffee if her morning had been free. Beyond the Tarn stretched the vineyard, where a couple of workers were making their way between the rows of vines. Framing the scene were the Chester County hills that had finally shaken off the dull palette they’d worn during an unusually long Pennsylvania winter.

The big house had originally served as the home of the winery’s owners. However, under the new caretakers, Rowan Lynch and Del Berendt, the second floor had been rehabbed into two apartments for the extended Lynch family. The first floor contained an event space and, in back, the offices of Ann Kinnear Sensing.

When Ann reached the office, her brother and business manager, Mike, was already there, seated at his desk in one corner of the large room. As she had hoped, he had a pot of coffee brewing, the last few drops burbling into the carafe as she entered.

He glanced at his watch. “Cutting it a little close. Our client will be here any minute.”

“You always take care of all the prep—I’m just here to meet him,” Ann said as she filled a mug. “The weather’s so nice—do you and Scott want to come over for dinner?”

“Not tonight—Scott’s working late.” Mike’s husband, Scott Pate, worked as a physical therapist at Bryn Mawr Rehab. “Tomorrow would work.”

“Tomorrow sounds good. We could grill something.”

“You mean I could grill something,” Mike said, focused on the computer screen.

“Well, yes. I’ll get the supplies.”

Mike swiveled away from the monitor. “And wine, of course.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “You freeloader.”

Ann had first discovered the winery as a customer, but her casual friendship with Rowan and Del had led to an engagement with Ann Kinnear Sensing and eventually to Ann connecting Rowan with her deceased father and brother. Since then, Ann hadn’t paid for a bottle of Mahalo wine.

She shrugged. “Perk of the job.” She wandered over to the desk and leaned forward to peer at the monitor. “Is that today’s client?”

“Yup.” Mike swiveled the monitor toward her. It showed two men in suits and ties—one in his mid-thirties, the other in his mid-sixties—standing side by side on a podium, the younger one behind the lectern, the older one standing to one side, arms spread as if in mid-presentation. A bit of slide, visible on a screen behind them, showed what looked to Ann like a tangle of chemical structures.

Mike pointed to the younger man. “Adam Novak is the client. He’s been the Chief Science Officer of Steward Health Sciences for years but just recently also took on CEO responsibilities when his father died.” He pointed to the older man. “That’s his dad. Arthur.”

“Natural causes?”

“It looks that way. A condition called FCR that I hadn’t heard of before I did my prep for this meeting. But Novak can give us the background when he gets here.”

“Adam wants to contact Arthur?”

“That’s my understanding.”

Ann heard steps approaching from the hallway that led to the office.

Mike rolled his eyes. “See?” He whispered. “No time to fully prep you.”

“I don’t need to be prepped,” she whispered back. “You always do all the talking.”

A man appeared in the open door of the office. He was clearly the same man as in the photo, tall and neatly dressed in a polo shirt and khakis, with features that, if not handsome, were certainly pleasant enough. But what read as slenderness in the photo had morphed into near gauntness, hints of gray threaded his short brown hair, and his eyes were shadowed. The death of his father and the increased scope of his responsibilities at SHS was apparently taking a toll.

Mike stepped out from behind the desk and crossed the room, his hand outstretched. “You must be Adam. I’m Mike Kinnear.”

Adam shook his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

Mike turned to Ann. “And this is Ann Kinnear.”

Adam shook Ann’s hand. “How do you do.”

Mike waved toward the conference table. “Please, have a seat. Can I get you some coffee?”

“No, thank you,” Adam said as he sat. “I’m trying to cut out caffeine—I’ve been having some trouble sleeping.”

“You have a lot on your plate,” Mike said as he and Ann sat. “Our condolences on the death of your father.”

“Yes, our condolences,” Ann said.

Adam nodded an acknowledgment. “Thank you. It has been a lot to deal with.”

“It’s your father you’re interested in contacting?” Mike asked.

“Yes.”

“You gave me some information when we arranged the meeting,” Mike said, “but it will be helpful for Ann to hear it directly from you.”

“Yes, of course.” Adam shifted his gaze to Ann. “My father, Arthur, died about two months ago. He was on a cruise and had a sudden cardiac event.”

“A heart attack?” she asked.

“Not a heart attack per se. A heart attack is caused by a blockage—you might say the plumbing fails. This is a case of the signaling fails, causing the rhythm to destabilize. It’s called Familial Cardiac Rhythm disorder or FCR.”

“What does the ‘familial’ part mean?” Mike asked.

“The condition runs in families. Several members of our family—my paternal grandfather and his brother, a distant cousin—have died suddenly of FCR events. My father had the condition. I have it myself. It’s quite rare, or possibly just under-diagnosed. Most carriers live normal lives and may never experience symptoms. But a small percentage suffer sudden, fatal rhythm failure, often with no warning. So my father’s death shouldn’t have been a complete surprise …” He sighed. “… but it was. He was such a force of nature, it was hard accepting that nature—his own nature—caught up with him.”

“That must have been very difficult for you,” Mike said.

“Yes, it was. Dad spent his whole life working toward diagnostics for FCR. And a treatment—FCRx. That’s what we call it internally.”

“A treatment? Not a cure?” Ann asked.

Adam shifted in his chair. “Of course a cure would be ideal, but so far what we can offer patients—the FCRx—is focused on controlling the symptoms.”

“I did a little research into SHS’s work before our meeting,” Mike said, “and I was surprised there wasn’t more information available about the FCRx.”

“It hasn’t gone through FDA approval yet,” Adam said. “As the CSO, that should be my focus now, but trying to handle the business side as well …” He shook his head. “Dad was a natural at it. He could walk into a room full of strangers and have them eating out of his hand in ten minutes. He genuinely liked people. Potential partners. Investors.” He marshaled a rueful smile. “I’m more comfortable in a lab than a boardroom.”

“I’m sort of surprised that someone with such a deep scientific background is open to engaging someone like me,” said Ann.

“I read the coverage of your work in the Philadelphia Register,” Adam said. “I figured if the Reg was taking it seriously—or at least staying open to the possibility—I should, too.” He sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his chest. “There’s a stage in research before you know what an experiment is going to prove—or even whether it can prove anything. You still run the experiment if the cost of not running it is higher than the cost of being proven wrong or misguided.” He shrugged. “Hiring you isn’t that far outside my normal risk tolerance. But I am curious about how all this works—you actually talk to the …” He cleared his throat. “… deceased?”

“Oftentimes, yes. Occasionally it’s more of a sense—are they friendly or unfriendly, happy or sad—and sometimes I can see them but not hear them, or vice versa. But being able to hold a full conversation is not unusual. Although I’m sure Mike explained that nothing is guaranteed. Sometimes I can’t make contact at all.”

“Often individuals just move on and aren’t there to be contacted,” Mike said to Adam.

“Or,” Ann said, raising an eyebrow at Mike, “maybe they’re there, but they’re not accessible to me.” She turned back to Adam. “I just want to make sure you understand that this isn’t a sure thing.”

“Yes, of course.” He shrugged. “Much like science, actually.”

“And the other caveat,” she said, “is that although it’s most common for the deceased to remain near the place where they died, there are exceptions to that as well. So even if spirits do hang around, it’s not a sure thing where to look for them.”

Adam glanced from Ann to Mike and back. “It sounds like you’re trying to talk me out of hiring you.”

“Not at all,” Mike said. “But we want to make sure that our clients are fully on board with the process.” He grimaced. “We recently had to part ways with a prospective client who had expected a blindfolded Ann to use a Ouija board to spell out a message that only he could see.”

Adam laughed, and the momentary relaxation in his features revealed a warmth his natural reserve had hidden. “Please, no Ouija boards.” His expression grew more serious. “Nothing in life is a sure thing. I’m willing to embark on the experiment of trying to contact my father, understanding that not every experiment is successful.”

“Since your father died on the cruise ship,” Ann said, “that would be the most likely place for me to contact him, but we can explore some more accessible locations first—his home, his office, the SHS facilities. Wherever he spent time—especially if he enjoyed spending time there.”

“Yes, checking those places would make sense,” Adam said. “They’re all in the Wilmington area. I can take you around.” After a pause, he continued. “Although I still think the cruise ship is the most likely location. Dad loved cruising, especially on the Meridian ships.” This time, his smile was sad. “In fact, I can remember more than once him saying, after having an especially good meal or seeing an especially good show, ‘I think I died and went to heaven.’”

“Well,” Mike said, “that certainly bodes well for a shipboard connection.”

“And one more thing,” Ann said. “I know it may seem obvious, and we’ll be happy to sign a nondisclosure agreement, but since I would be mediating the conversation, the topic has to be something you’re willing for me to hear about.”

“I don’t anticipate that will be a problem. There are two topics I’d like to address with him. First, was there anything he noticed—with twenty-twenty hindsight, as they say—that might have provided a clue that a FCR event was imminent? It would be useful information to have for our work. And …” He cleared his throat and dropped his eyes to the table. “… I’d just like another chance to talk to him. He never regained consciousness. We never got a chance to say goodbye.”

“Well,” Mike said gently, “if anyone can give you that opportunity, it’s Ann.”

Ann and Adam agreed to meet up at Arthur’s Wilmington home the next morning, then Ann sat back as Mike and Adam ironed out a few final contractual details.

When that was concluded, she and Mike accompanied Adam to the entrance, then watched as his vehicle disappeared down the drive.

Someone observing them might not have guessed they were siblings: Ann was slender and fair-skinned, with reddish-blond hair. Mike was not much taller than she was, stocky and dark-haired.

“Seems like a nice guy,” Mike said.

“Yeah. A nice guy … and a stressed guy. He looks like he could use a cruise.” She sighed. “Although maybe not one where he’s trying to talk with his dead dad.”

“I’m jealous—a gig on a cruise ship. I know you’ll be working, but it sure beats an abandoned building or Ocean City in January.”

“I liked Ocean City in January.”

Mike shook his head as he turned to lead them back into the house. “We need to get you out and about more.

Subscribe now

Author’s Notes

In any book after the first in a series, (re-)introducing the protagonist and their world is always a challenge. The author needs to provide enough information to orient new readers, or those who have read previous books but have been away from the series for a while, while not boring readers who are coming to the new story immediately after having finished the previous book.

This brings up another authorial challenge: how much physical description to give about the characters. My approach to this has evolved over time. I used to provide a lot more specific physical description, but now I tend to mention a few key descriptors, especially if they are germane to the book—for example, a very large character whose size will actually play a role in the story (as is the case with Owen McNally in the Lizzy Ballard Thrillers)—but leave much more to the reader’s imagination.

And I try to include any descriptions I do provide early in the story—there’s nothing I find more disconcerting than finding out on page 100 that a character has red hair when I’ve been picturing them up to that point as a brunette.

So for Chapter 2, I’m especially interested in finding out if I’ve hit the right balance between orienting the new reader while not boring the long-time Ann Kinnear fan—please let me know in the comments!

No more teasers! Today starts the serialization of Ann Kinnear Book 7—Chapter 1 is below. Remember, your input will shape the book’s final form, so please share your thoughts!

I hope Ann’s world pulls you in from the first page.

The man watched as the magician lifted a white rabbit from a coffin-sized box—the rabbit was dressed in a tiny facsimile of his assistant’s sequined outfit—and a moment later the assistant herself appeared from the wings, wearing a rabbit suit.

The man shifted his gaze from the stage to the theater’s mezzanine directly across from where he sat.

A Hawaiian-shirted older man seated in the first row of the mezzanine threw back his head and laughed. The younger man seated next to him laughed as well, although less uproariously, then turned and whispered something to the red-headed woman on his other side, who nodded and smiled. Arthur Novak, Adam Novak, and Renee Langley—the management team at Steward Health Sciences.

Renee noticed the man’s gaze from across the theater, and, her smile faltering, directed her attention back to the show.

Arthur picked up his drink from the holder in his seat’s armrest, then set it down without drinking. He shifted in his seat once, then again. A half minute ticked by, and even from a distance, the man could see the whitening of Arthur’s knuckles where his fingers gripped the seat’s arms.

Adam and Renee’s attention was still on the magician, who was now producing a continuous stream of silk scarves from a closed fist.

Another half minute ticked by, and Arthur’s fingers—and his features—relaxed. He drew a deep breath, picked up the drink again … and, once again, set it down untouched.

His hand moved to his chest. The light from the stage reflected off a sheen of perspiration on his face. His cheeks, usually a robust tan, were now closer to gray. His breathing was visible, even from this distance, by the uneven rise and fall of his shoulders.

Adam turned toward Arthur. Dad? You okay?

Renee leaned forward to look past Adam at Arthur. Is everything all right?

Arthur’s hands dropped once again to the armrests, and he tried to push himself upright.

Adam stood, his shout—“My father needs medical attention!”—echoing through the space.

Everyone in the theater—including the magician and his assistant, who was now partially wrapped in the string of scarves—turned toward the mezzanine.

The house lights came up, and several members of the cruise ship’s crew—the theater’s ushers—hurried toward where Arthur was once again attempting to stand, his son trying to keep him in his seat.

While one of the crew members spoke urgently into a walkie talkie, two others directed passengers out of the nearby seats, and Arthur and Adam Novak were lost from view behind people shuffling out of their rows and into the aisle. But Langley was still visible, easy to spot by her bright red hair.

The man stood and climbed the stairs to the still-shadowed walkway at the back of the theater. When he looked back, Langley was scanning the space where he had been sitting, her expression a mixture of shock and dread.

He slipped out of the theater and into the concourse of the Meridian Blue.

Subscribe now

Author’s Notes

This chapter was a relatively late addition to the book. Originally the first chapter was Ann meeting her latest client, but a description of what is basically a business meeting isn’t a very grabby way to start a novel. (Or, as my writer friend Rene Gutteridge says, never start a novel with the protagonist drinking their morning coffee.)

Another writer friend—Lisa Regan, author of the Detective Josie Quinn series—suggested insertion of this unnamed character point of view, a brilliant call that pulls the reader into the story immediately, even before our protagonist is involved.

It proved to be a great mechanism to employ throughout the book, bridging that period before Ann has fully grasped the ramifications of her involvement—for her, at the outset, it’s just another gig. (Although given how many of her engagements end up going sideways, you’d think she’d have learned to be more suspicious!)

Did the unnamed point of view pull you in? Let me know in the comments!

Before the first chapter of the seventh Ann Kinnear novel lands in your inbox tomorrow, I wanted to give paid supporters a little something extra to kick things off—and to tell everyone about a short story I’m fond of, despite its having claimed a title I now wish I’d kept in reserve.

“Sea of Troubles” is an Ann Kinnear Suspense Short that, like “At Sea,” is set aboard a cruise ship. I wrote it back in 2019, after my first cruise (which, like Ann’s, went from Hawaii to Vancouver).

Ann is hired to contact the spirits of two passengers who died in the stateroom she’s now occupying—men who jumped from that same balcony on two separate voyages. What she finds isn’t grief exactly. It’s something more dangerous: a presence with a suffocating pull, a talent for finding the rawest nerve, and a very specific agenda for the living. Trapped on a balcony in a storm, locked out of her cabin, Ann has to draw on everything she has—including a timely text from her brother—to resist the pull toward darkness.

For readers new to Ann’s world, the story gives you a clear feel for how her ability works and what it costs her socially. For Friends of Ann Kinnear, it has some familiar touchstones: the reluctant assignment, the isolation, the moment when the job stops being a job. (A note: the story involves suicide, handled with care, but worth knowing before you start.)

The setting earns its place too: a cruise ship in a storm is exactly as oppressive as it sounds. (I’ll confess that I wish I’d saved the title for Book 7. Ah well.)

It’s about thirty minutes of audio, digitally narrated using the voice of actual human narrator Jessica Anne Bogart, who receives royalties for the use of her voice.

You can check out a sample here:

For paid supporters: the full thirty-minute audiobook is yours, with my thanks. Download link below.

Subscribe now

Read more

I’ve mentioned ad nauseam that “At Sea” is the name of the serialization of Ann Kinnear Book 7, not the book’s title. Not only would it be an odd title, but it would break my tradition of titling all of the Ann Kinnear novels and most of the short stories based on Shakespeare quotes.

That all started with Book 1, The Sense of Death, whose title comes from Measure for Measure:

The sense of death is most in apprehension;

And the poor beetle that we tread upon,

In corporal sufferance feels a pang as great

As when a giant dies.

That title worked perfectly, not only because sensing death—or at least the dead—is exactly what Ann does, but the quote, which serves as the book’s epigraph, ties nicely to the theme of the story.

I followed that up with The Sense of Reckoning from Henry V (at which point I had used up all the viable “sense of” quotes).

O God of battles! steel my soldiers’ hearts;

Possess them not with fear; take from them now

The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers

Pluck their hearts from them.

Again, it proved to be an apt tie-in to the story’s theme.

The Falcon and the Owl isn’t a direct quote, but a slight reworking of this passage from Macbeth.

Tis unnatural,

Even like the deed that’s done. On Tuesday last,

A falcon, towering in her pride of place,

Was by a mousing owl hawk’d at and kill’d.

Book 3 is about aviation, so the flying imagery was perfect, and I enjoyed the parallels between two of the main characters and the falcon and the owl of the quote—you can guess which one Ann is.

A Furnace for Your Foe (Book 4)—from Henry VIII—is a title that no marketing expert would choose for a book, but I loved the connection to the storyline so much, I decided to use it anyway.

Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot

That it do singe yourself.

The title of Book 5, A Serpent’s Tooth (from King Lear) is one that is used by a number of books (thank heavens that titles aren’t copyrightable in the U.S.), but I couldn’t resist using it to reflect the fraught relationship between a father and son in the story.

How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is

To have a thankless child!

And Book 6, Be with the Dead, another quote from Macbeth, is one I knew I would have to use for one of Ann’s stories.

Better be with the dead,

Whom we to gain our peace have sent to peace,

Than on the torture of the mind to lie

In restless ecstasy.

The titles of all the Ann Kinnear Suspense Shorts are based on Shakespeare quotes except for two. “All Deaths Endure” is actually from John Milton’s Paradise Lost—“So dear I love him that with him, all deaths I could endure. Without him, live no life.”—but it was so perfect for the story about a woman connecting each Valentine’s Day with her dead husband—that I decided to make an exception. The other exception is the Christmas-themed story “Wondering Eyes”—and you all know where that came from.

So why did I choose “At Sea” for the name of the prepublication serialization of Book 7? Two very good reasons.

First, a book title reveal is always one of the pleasures of a launch, and I didn’t want to lose that by giving away the title right away.

Second ... I don’t have a title yet. (Although I do have a few contenders.)

And I’m hoping you, dear readers, might help me make that decision. Before the campaign closes, I’ll share the contenders and ask for your input. Consider it one more perk of being along for the ride.

The first chapter of At Sea, the serialization of Ann Kinnear Book 7, posts this Saturday! Here’s the draft description of the book (which, as I like to keep emphasizing, will not be called At Sea—that’s just the name of the serialization):

Ann Kinnear has talked to plenty of dead people. She’s never had to impersonate a living one to do it. When her newest client asks her to board a luxury cruise ship as his fiancée—disguise, fake ring, and all—Ann takes the job. But the closer she gets to the spirit she came aboard to find, the less certain she is that she won’t be joining him.

Pharmaceutical CEO Adam Novak’s father died of a sudden cardiac event aboard the Meridian Blue, and Adam wants the chance to say what he didn’t get to say in life. Ann’s job is to find Arthur and mediate the conversation. Simple enough—until the fiancée back on shore whom Ann is impersonating goes inexplicably silent.

While her brother Mike chases inconsistencies back in Pennsylvania, Ann is left to work out what her client isn’t telling her, and which of the strangers circling them aboard ship is not what they seem. The dead want to be heard. The living want something else entirely. And as an Atlantic storm closes in around the ship, Ann begins to suspect that her gift for speaking with the dead may not be enough to keep her among the living.

Subscribe now

If that sounds like your kind of read, there’s still time to subscribe before the opening chapter lands in your inbox. The first seven chapters are free — no commitment required.

^{Photo by Aparna Johri on Unsplash}

I draw a lot of inspiration from my surroundings, and the more immersive the surroundings, the better. Which may explain why the seventh Ann Kinnear novel came together faster than any book I’ve written.

I started writing in January 2026, aboard the Celebrity Silhouette during a Caribbean cruise. I finished a sharable draft in May 2026, aboard the Celebrity Apex during a Scandinavian cruise. Five months, two ships, two oceans. I’m convinced the vividness of the setting—and having it directly available to me while I was writing—is a big part of why the book came together so quickly.

The fictional cruise line in the book is called Meridian, and the ship is the Meridian Blue. If you’ve ever sailed Celebrity, you may notice a family resemblance. I changed the names and adjusted a few details to serve the story, but the atmosphere and the layout are drawn from life.

A note on titles: the serialization is called At Sea, but that is not the book’s final title—that’s still to come.

The serialization begins June 6. If you’d like to read the book as it unfolds—one chapter a day for six weeks—you can subscribe here:

At Sea

A Prepublication Serialization of the Seventh Ann Kinnear Suspense Novel

By Matty Dalrymple

The first seven chapters are free!

Have you ever traveled somewhere that turned out to be unexpectedly creatively inspiring—somewhere that got your imagination going in a way your everyday surroundings don’t? I’d love to hear about it in the comments!

Six weeks. Forty-two chapters. One a day, every day, starting June 6.

The seventh Ann Kinnear Suspense Novel is finished in draft. Before it goes through final revisions and out to the world as a published book, I’m doing something I’ve wanted to try for a long time: I’m serializing it on Substack, chapter by chapter, for the readers who want to be closest to the work.

For six weeks starting June 6, I will publish a new chapter, which will be available on Substack the app, the Substack website at annkinnear7serial.substack.com (no Substack account required), or in your inbox.

At Sea

A Prepublication Serialization of the Seventh Ann Kinnear Suspense Novel

By Matty Dalrymple

Each installment includes not only the chapter but also author’s notes about how it came to be and an image related to the scene. From time to time I will post longer reflections about whatever is on my mind as the book unfolds.

The first seven chapters are free for anyone who wants to follow along. From chapter eight onward, the daily chapters are for paying supporters—$10 a month for the duration of the campaign (not to exceed two billing cycles).

What am I hoping for from this experiment? I want to know what’s working and what isn’t. Which character has gotten under your skin. Which scene runs long. Where you got confused and had to flip back. Your input will shape the final version, and that’s the part I’m most excited about.

For readers who stay with the campaign through the two billing cycles, there are two perks beyond the daily chapters and the eventual ebook: your name in the published book on a dedicated supporter page (in the order subscribers joined), and a discount toward a signed print copy when the book publishes. Joining early matters—those first spots in the supporter list go to whoever’s first through the door.

Note that there will be a gap of several weeks to a couple of months between the final chapter and the book’s actual publication, while I consider and incorporate your input. Your ebook arrives at book launch, not at campaign close. After the final chapter posts, the campaign closes—no one is charged after that, and existing supporters keep access to the archive for as long as they remain subscribed.

If you’ve read any of the previous Ann Kinnear novels, you know roughly what to expect. If you’re new to Ann’s world, no worries—this book stands on its own.

I’d love to have you along. The About page (annkinnear7serial.substack.com/about) has the full picture if you want the details before you decide. If you have any questions, check out the FAQ document (https://open.substack.com/pub/annkinnear7serial/p/frequently-asked-questions).

I hope you’ll consider subscribing, and I’ll see you on June 6.

—Matty Dalrymple

P.S. If you know someone who’d enjoy reading a book a chapter at a time, with the writer in the room, please pass this along, or send them to annkinnear7serial.substack.com.

At Sea

A Prepublication Serialization of the Seventh Ann Kinnear Suspense Novel

By Matty Dalrymple

Welcome—I’m glad you’re here.

At Sea is a serialization of the seventh Ann Kinnear Suspense Novel—published one chapter a day, every day, for six weeks starting June 6. (At Sea is the name of the serialization, not the book’s title, which I will reveal later.) Each post includes the chapter, an image tied to the scene, and a short author’s note about how it came to be. From time to time I’ll post longer reflections about craft, research, and what readers are noticing as the book unfolds.

At Sea

A Prepublication Serialization of the Seventh Ann Kinnear Suspense Novel

By Matty Dalrymple

The first seven chapters are free. From chapter eight onward, chapters go to paying supporters at $10 a month.

What I’m hoping for most is your reactions—what’s working, what isn’t, which character has gotten under your skin. Your input will shape the final version of the book before it publishes.

The About page has the full picture: how the campaign works, what supporters get, and what happens after the final chapter. If you have questions, you can check out the FAQ.

I hope you’ll take a look—and I hope you’ll join us on June 6.

— Matty Dalrymple

Here’s a quick reference for the most common questions about the daily serialization of the seventh Ann Kinnear Suspense Novel. If you have a question I haven’t answered here, leave a comment or reply to any post—I’ll add to this page as needed.

Please especially note the Money and perks section—Substack forces some selections I wouldn’t have chosen if I had had free rein.

About the campaign

Q: What is this?

A: A daily serialization of the seventh Ann Kinnear Suspense Novel, delivered one chapter at a time to subscribers’ inboxes. The campaign runs for about six weeks starting June 6.

Q: When does it start? How long does it run?

A: Chapter 1 posts June 6. With 42 chapters at one per day, the final chapter posts on or around July 17. After that, the campaign closes to new subscribers and no further chapters are published.

Q: What if I can’t read every day—will I fall behind?

A: Not in any meaningful sense. Every chapter you receive stays in your archive (and your email inbox) for as long as you remain subscribed. You can read at your own pace and catch up on weekends, or binge several chapters at a time. The daily delivery is a rhythm, not a deadline.

Q: What happens after the final chapter?

A: The campaign closes—new paid subscriptions stop, and existing subscribers are no longer charged. Existing supporters keep access to the full archive of chapters, images, and author’s notes for as long as they remain subscribed. Then there’s a gap of several weeks to a couple of months before the book actually publishes, during which I revise the manuscript based on what I’ve heard from you and prepare the final files.

Subscribe now

Money and perks

Q: How much does it cost?

A: $10 per month for the duration of the campaign. If you stay subscribed the entire six weeks, you’ll be charged twice (once at signup, once at the 30-day mark), for a total of $20.

Q: What do I get for my subscription?

A: Daily chapters with author's notes, occasional longer reflective posts, the ability to comment on every chapter, access to the audiobook of the Ann Kinnear Suspense Short "Sea of Troubles," and an ebook of the finished book delivered when it publishes.

Supporters who stay through at least two billing cycles also get a discount toward a signed print copy (fulfillment to US mailing addresses only) as well as a listing on the supporter page of the published book. Names appear on the supporter page in the order subscribers joined, so the earliest supporters get the first spots.

Q: I also see an annual subscription—what’s that about?

A: Substack does not allow me to turn off the annual subscription option; since the campaign runs about six weeks, the monthly plan ($10/month, roughly $20 total) is the right choice for almost everyone. I would recommend this only for those who want to be super supporters of “At Sea,” and in recognition of that support, I’ll send those subscribers a signed print copy of Ann Kinnear Book 7 when it publishes.

Q: What if I join late?

A: You’re still welcome. You’ll have access to the full archive of chapters that have already posted, plus all remaining daily chapters, plus the ebook at book launch. If you join in the last weeks of the campaign, you may not be charged for two billing cycles before the campaign closes—which means you’d miss out on the supporter page listing and the print discount, but you’d still get everything else.

At Sea

A Prepublication Serialization of the Seventh Ann Kinnear Suspense Novel

By Matty Dalrymple

Reading the chapters

Q: How do I read the chapters?

A: You don’t need a Substack account to read. Chapters arrive as full emails in your inbox—you can read them there without clicking through to anything. You can also read in a browser at the Substack website, or in the Substack mobile app (which I genuinely recommend for the reading experience).

Q: Can I comment? Will you read my comments?

A: Yes and yes. Comments are part of why I’m doing this. I’ll be reading them as they come in.

Q: Will my comments change the book?

A: They might. I can’t promise that any individual comment will result in a change to the published manuscript, but reading your reactions in real time is going to shape my final revision pass in ways I can’t predict. If you tell me a character is annoying you, or a scene is dragging, or you can’t figure out why someone is acting a certain way, I’ll hear it—and some of what I hear will land in the final version.

The book and the series

Q: I haven’t read any Ann Kinnear books—can I still enjoy this?

A: Yes. Each book in the series is designed to stand on its own. If you want to start at the beginning, Book 1 is The Sense of Death; otherwise, Books 2 through 6 can be read in any order. The About page (https://annkinnear7serial.substack.com/about) has more on this.

Q: When does the actual book come out?

A: Several weeks to a couple of months after the campaign ends—the exact date will depend on how long final revisions take. I’ll announce the publication date as it gets closer.

Q: Will the published book be different from what I read in the campaign?

A: Probably, in small ways. The version you read during the campaign is essentially a late draft. Final revisions will incorporate copy editing, proofreading, and whatever changes I make in response to reader feedback. The story won’t be unrecognizably different, but there will be polish and adjustments throughout.

Logistics

Q: Can I cancel anytime?

A: Yes. Cancel from your Substack account settings whenever you like. You’ll retain access until the end of your current billing period.

Q: Why isn’t there a free trial?

A: There essentially is one—the first seven chapters are free for everyone, whether or not you ever become a paying subscriber. If those don’t grab you, no further commitment required.

Q: Is the signed print copy available to non-US addresses?

A: Unfortunately, no—for this campaign, signed print copies ship to US addresses only. The ebook is available worldwide.

If you have a question that isn’t covered here, leave a comment below and I’ll add it.

—Matty Dalrymple