Every three months authors on the Kindle platform can
pick a few days during which their books are available
at no charge.

It’s a promotional proposition:
trade the usual royalty payments
for a little fresh exposure,
find some new readers,
possibly in new countries.

People are less shy about trying something new
when the trial is free.

AND SO

in celebration of one more quarter turn around the sun

for 5 days in May of 2026
Thursday to Monday, the 14th through the 18th

all four books of the Ellen & Geoffrey Fletcher Mystery series will be free
as Kindle E-Books

it’s an offering that’s somewhere between a public service and a grab for attention
but, hey, strike while the iron’s hot

the links below will take you to Amazon to purchase the books at regular prices
anytime you care to get one — and please do help yourself —
the FREE window is just for the 5 days above

the Asheville story

the Williamsburg story

the Charleston story

the Roanoke story

Pepin kept to the edge of the room; okay, of the cabin. Her mom was introducing everybody to everybody, while three stewards passed among them pouring champagne. Most were strangers to her, which was odd, since she was about to enter her fifth decade as Gally’s daughter. And since she was also a WMT board member she knew all the senior officers and staff. This was like pick-up basketball. Galliana pointed to her medical adviser, her legal adviser, her editorial consultant. Each of them had an assistant: a secretary for the lawyer, a nurse for the doctor, and a sullen guy hiding behind the editor. Plus Aunt Lizzie. All female, except for the guy. Is that why he looks so very wanting-to-be-somewhere-else? She could drag Trenton up, so two miserable men could have each other.

Why did mom assemble this odd little posse? And why me, out of all Generation Three? Oh, shit! She’s dying. Fuck! That’s what this is about. The whole cruise and everything. Gally still had the voice, theater-trained, she sounded strong as she commanded the room. Damn, gonna miss that woman. She’s 92, mind you, she’s entitled to die. But, angels on a pin, Momma, you could have said something. No, I guess you couldn’t: you’ll deal with it, but you won’t talk about it.

Pepin caught Aunt Lisette’s eye, twisted her head towards Galliana, and back. Lisette nodded, sad, smiling. Of course that’s why Lizzie called, when I said I couldn’t make it this year. The memoir—that’s what the editor’s for—mom’s been pretending to write it for ten years. Oh, god. This is the hand-off of everything. We got Gally’s will to decide who controls the Company, executive appointments for who runs it, plus three weeks of team building, five thousand trust falls into the Bermuda Triangle. All while Galliana’s lawyer certifies the will, the doctor certifies the death, and the editor gets the story the way Gally wants it.

Pepin had expected it would be the usual rewards cruise for high-scoring middle management, like the one she’d gone to last year, half this size, a whole lot less fancy. She tried to make it every couple of years, it was the family business, after all, and still a part of her life. But she had her own career and it was harder to take time away as she got ever-increasing responsibilities. But she made the time, when Aunt Lizzie pushed, because it was a combination of family reunion and company picnic. Besides, since she was on the WMT board, she had to show up twice a year for meetings; and the cruise counted.

She was also a stockholder in the company founded by Grampa Wallner in 1901, Wallner Machine Tools, run by her mom for the past 60 years. But Pepin pursued graduate studies instead settling at WMT. Then she married Trenton, birthed Jake and the twins. Now it was a rare thing to get from Ann Arbor down to Pittsburgh, except for board meetings. The kids had phones and emails, Facebook and Insta, so they had their own channels to Gramma and Great Aunt Lizzie. But the last time Pepin had been in the same room as her mother was six months ago, for the November board meeting. This time, instead of going 300 miles to Pittsburgh she went 1100 miles to Fort Lauderdale, and they were currently steaming towards Bridgetown, Barbados, 1600 miles more. Not always a close family, we Wallners. The champagne was excellent, of course. She nodded, yes, please, for a refill.

~

Geoff wasn’t snarling or fuming, Ellen’s snarky remarks notwithstanding. She had called the Linden Star, their hyper-luxe cruiser, his ‘floating ant-farm.’ That was offensive. He probably could get some work done; it wasn’t a bad writing environment, inherently, so long as he could block the distractions. This was a six million dollar cruise, by a quick on-line check of rates a few minutes ago. Wallner Machine Tool exclusive booking. Why not just divvy six mil 300 ways? Galliana Wallner Gregg had a Rocky-Mountain-scale ego if this is her idea of an appropriate tribute. He should not have fallen for Ellen’s seduction: time on the ocean, change of scene, fascinating overlapping microcosms, teaching fully-formed adults, escape domestic concerns, all in a place made for concentration. Had to be a shuck, thick as she laid that on. Why did he fall for it?

Right now, right here, what’s so fascinating? Old lady with a booming voice introducing a bunch of strangers? Doctor, lawyer, Indian chief. No, Ellen’s not a ‘chief:’ she’s the editor-slash-ghost-writer. Plus a sister and a daughter, a nurse and a clerk, and three women pouring champagne. And, bless his boots, the sucker Geoffrey Fletcher. Shouldn’t she have a bodyguard and a make-up artist and a dresser, kind of a skimpy entourage for a six million dollar ego. Probably waiting next door, since they already know each other.

Old lady. Doctor. Lawyer. Memoirs. Well, okay; that’s what’s happening. That’s a little bit more interesting. Transition. She looks awful, if you tune out the voice. Take the hypothesis. Sister and daughter are heirs apparent? Not the daughter, professor at U. Michigan, mechanical engineering. Galliana runs the company and owns most of it. She’ll leave a black-hole-vortex of vying interests. Billion and a half annual sales, one of the world’s largest privately-held enterprises. What else had Ellen said? Crew of 300 for 300 guests. Two CEOs on board from companies acquired in the past two months. Founded in 1901. Key industrial player in war efforts, both WWI & WWII: retooling for defense, then profiting again from peace. Three stewards still working this room, except they’re called butlers, and they’re all female. Everybody in the cabin is, with one exception. By the minute this gets better. So much time could be saved, so much mental effort, if he’d just assume Ellen knew him better than he knew himself. Must be possible to wrangle a tour of the engine room. Medium-grade champagne—thank you, yes—if you run your scale from really good up to excellent. A smörgåsbord of drink and food and persons and mechanical systems. Ellen lied about one thing: he wouldn’t get any work done, except in his classes. Wonder who’s signed up?
~

Captain Allesandro Talarico pulled up on the great wheel. The nose of the Linden Star did not lift into the air. Never did. But the stretch felt good against his shoulders. Also gave him a second to consider how to answer his first officer.

“There’s a ceremonial aspect. Posing for selfies, nice crisp uniform, smiling like you mean it. I know a few cruise captains who’d be happier on a freighter. They’ll get 392 passengers safely from port to port, but they’d sooner not exchange a single word, prefer to be taking them in caskets. Those guys need a sociable first mate, or a hotel director, who’ll step up. Gunnar, our most excellent engineer, for example, is quite sure he’d be a better captain than me or you because he knows the ship better than we do, in engineery ways, and he’s fully qualified in navigation and operations. He wants the job, it’s a promotion, the money’s better. But I think he’d be miserable dealing with corporate and crew, the staff and customers.”

“But he’s wants to be master and commander, because he likes the authority?” Pascal Lippa asked. She waited to see if the captain was going to do more than nod, yes. “While you see being captain less like giving orders, more like being where everything comes together?”

“Ah, you have been listening to my meanderings.”

They were well underway, several hours out of port, exactly on schedule, a couple hours from dinner. They were two passengers short, but that was cleared with Tahira, the cruise director, who’d cleared it with the client. Everybody else was on board, all their gear, enough food and water and fuel for the voyage. It was an out and return. From Fort Lauderdale to Bridgetown, Barbados, and back, 20 days at sea. Two stops on each leg, no docking, just tenders to shore, but a chance to load fresh produce and give any antsy guests a land break.

He had 276 passengers, a single client covered all costs. And a crew of 226, counting him. 502 souls held against his account before God and the Company.

“502 persons, First Officer, that I’m responsible for,” he said, “and a 27,000 ton ship. Also an itinerary to meet and dining every day with our customers. I have an outstanding crew, yourself included, to manage all this for me. If nothing much happens, I could watch movies in my cabin while you guys ran things.”

“But if something does happen, sir, it will be your fault.”

“That’s the rub. If it’s your watch, First Officer, and you lose the ship to pirates, or run aground, I can blame you. But our employers will blame me, maritime law will blame me, our ambitious engineer will suddenly be very happy that everyone has me to blame. There might be secondary findings against you, or another navigator, or an oiler, if a specific fault was found. But my head would start out on the block and it would take some special kind of luck to pull it off.”

“Anything unusual with this bunch, sir?” Pascal asked. “To watch out for?”

“Don’t think so. A rewards trip, the salesmen who sold the most widgets or insurance polices share a dream vacation. Food and drink and pampering.”

“Tahira said they’d be working more than usual, like a working vacation, meetings and things.”

“Is this a test, First Officer?” Allesandro asked. “WMT, Wallner Machine Tools is the largest privately held company of its kind. They’ve brought on board the entire executive and corporate boards, everybody who’s anybody from CEO down. Policy planning, pep sessions, power struggles. For five million dollars, we’re the setting for all their soap operas. Plus it is a rewards cruise for the bottom echelons. How’d I do?”

“Perfect match with what I heard. But, unless they start fighting with real knives, all that’s nothing to do with us.”

“Precisely. But it’s good that we know the rest, just in case. As you do; and, see, me, too.”

“I’ve prepared a briefing memo for the crew, sir, subject to your approval.”

“How long is it, First Officer?”

“Two pages, sir.”

“That’s them?” He pointed to the papers in her hand. She passed them to him. “Take the helm, please, while I read it over.”

“Yessir, sir.” She stepped up as he stepped away.

After a couple of minutes he looked at her. “Everybody reports to you? Trying to take my job, are we?”
“No sir. I report to you, of course. Just trying to make your job a tiny bit simpler.”

“I marked two typos. Fix those and email it to everyone. Tahira seen it? Good work, First Officer.”

“Thank you, sir. Tahira deserves most of the credit. Right now to distribute? Should I send someone up?”

“Yeah, to both. Get Gunnar, if he’s free. I’m good until he gets here.”

He watched her go through the bulkhead. Sailor pants do love a tight butt. Good head on her, too. If this cruise goes okay, he’d consider pushing her for captain. Not on his boat, he planned to stick it another decade or so. But there’s a couple of other guys in their little fleet who are aging out. Pascal’s got it all, and she works.

Different subject altogether, he’d got permission from Tahira, their smiling little tyrant of a Cruise Director, to enroll in the poetry-writing class Geoffrey Fletcher was teaching. There were perks to being captain. He’d turned into something of a fan, to be truthful. He loved Fletcher’s poems. Something about the stance, the vantage. A match with his own. Tomorrow at two, callooh callay.

~

Lisette watched Gally slump into her chair as the guests left. The slump was okay. It was her normal posture now. The straight back thing had become the aberration, though she’d held it well through the meeting. Now they were alone, plus Ellen. Lisette didn’t get Ellen, hunched with Gally over a laptop computer, deeply engaged. She didn’t dislike her, she wasn’t jealous: she just didn’t get her. Obviously Ellen was able to meet some need of Gally’s that Lisette couldn’t. That was fine. Lisette knew her limitations. What that need was, exactly, wouldn’t come into focus. Gally would be dead soon. And she wanted to publish her version of her life before somebody else did. Fine. Lizzie didn’t understand why Gally cared, but she knew Gally did.

Maybe it was that simple, just the memoir. But why constant access? A notepad or a tape recorder would do, if Gally suddenly remembered something. Was it testimony, like in a legal sense? ‘With my own ears, your honor, yes, these two right here, I heard decedent say she loved her only sister as much as she loved caramel.’ But Ellen’s on payroll, why wouldn’t a court assume she’d say what she was paid to say? Maybe it’s because Ellen can’t be erased or flushed down the toilet, like a tape or a notebook? Was Gally afraid somebody on this boat was going to make her do something? Well, that explains why not me. I’d be too easy to discredit in that context, hostile questioning, I’d shut down, besides having no way to distance myself. Had to be somebody not in the family or in the company. Not her or Pepin.

Ellen’s not a permanent employee, a brief hire, just for the cruise. She’s objective, no dogs in our fights, no reason to lie to anybody. You could claim she was hired to lie, to take Gally’s side. But everybody else will be alive, so they can speak for themselves if they need to.

What will I do when Gally dies? Telling her the things she needs, that’s what I do. She asks me a question, I check it out, tell her what to do, and she does it. Somebody will be CEO when Gally’s gone. I could do for them what I do for her. But would they know what I can do? Or what I can’t? Vernon’s retired, too worn out to work full time. His kids are candidates, I suppose. Spenser knows me, but he depends on Violette the way Gally depends on me. And he doesn’t like me, thinks I control his mother; Wesley and Pepin haven’t worked for us since they were kids. And they have lives. But they both have children and there’s some ambition among the grandkids. That’s Gally’s kids and her kids kids. Obviously no issue from me, not being equipped for that enterprise.

But our brother Vernon has one each, son and daughter. Brother Beale is dead, but Jewel is still pushing their dearest daughter Kendell. Six nieces and nephews, total. The most competent have their own careers while the most available are the least able. Spenser will be the worst to deal with, partly because he’s most clearly in the line of succession. He adds two more kids, Gally’s grandkids, but he wants the job for himself. Problem is, he thinks he can tie his own shoes, but it’s Violette who lines up the laces for him. If she writes a speech, Spenser can deliver. He’s actually quite smooth, if well prepped. Years ago, long before her cancer, Gally had asked Lizzie how Violette would do as CEO. She didn’t like Violette, so she’d been noncommittal. The woman was potent, not much good speaking for herself, great using Spencer for a puppet. Maybe that’s Gally’s plan? Let Spencer have the title, as long as Violette called the shots? Bind them contractually.

You’d think Gally would have told her only sister and constant companion what she intended. Okay, that’s it. She hasn’t decided yet, it depends on the cruise, on all the wrestling matches. Gally wanted her to be spared the fights and fuss. She understands how her death will affect me, better than I do. I am one of a dozen projects she has to resolve. Is she strong enough to finish them all? Being on the boat was more stressful than being at home. But in some ways less so, given what Gally wanted to do. Right here, surrounding this stateroom, was Gally’s house, office, and everybody she needs within fifty yards. US and Europeans execs, board, family. They have strong WiFi so they can all monitor what’s happening in their various fiefdoms. If Gally can hang on for the whole three weeks, she just might carry it off.

The cruise line had been fantastic, everything from contract to casting off, but Tahira DeSanctis, Cruise Director of the Linden Star, was best of all. She led through all the choices in digestible segments, then executed everything perfectly. Menus, cabin assignments, itinerary, entertainment booking, scheduling the meeting rooms. Hardly had to bother Gally at all. Usually our reward cruises involve a third as many people, ten days instead of twenty, and never a whole ship. But this operation ran easier than last year’s despite the scale of it.

Dinner would be brought to the cabins tonight, for her and Gally. She didn’t know if the Fletchers were dining in. Or Dr. Ciera Donnelon or Denara Vaughn, Esq. Or their assistants. Lisette had set up the entire cruise, following her sister’s wishes. But the little private entourage in the adjacent cabins, that was all Galliana’s doing. Were they all to be on-call 24/7? Effectively they were already, none of them can get more than three minutes away without falling overboard. But something more than that?

She should run down to Tahira’s office, or whatever you call it on a ship, and see if anything has come up. Take advantage of Ellen as a sitter. She had committed the entire deck plan to memory, for all decks, including the crew and mechanical ones. She knew who was in every cabin. Going to see Tahira hardly seemed like going out, something she normally shunned. Three decks down, sixty feet from the bow stairs to midships. It would be fun. Maybe she needed to get out more at home, too.

a taste from current work-in-process