Marcia Talley - Daughter of Ashes

Book 14 in the Hannah Ives series, 2015

Ernest Hemingway once said, Writing, at its best, is a lonely life. And yet, this novel would never have made it into your hands without the help and encouragement of so many generous people. Id like to thank my amazing team:

My family husband, Barry Talley and daughters Laura Geyer and Sarah Glass who support me every day in every way, even when Im completely lost in Marcialand.

Crime writer, Kate Charles, for teaching the master class at St Hildas College in Oxford, England, where the seed of this novel was sown.

Friend and colleague, author Sarah Shaber, who told me a story at the Sisters in Crime writing retreat in Charlotte, North Carolina that changed everything.

Wally and Hannah Pickworth, who let me hang out at their Eastern Shore cottage on Butcher Creek in Virginia where the plot for this novel was cooked up over crab cakes and wine.

Jeannine Wayson, realtor with Coldwell Banker in Annapolis, Maryland, who in no way resembles any of the characters in this book, but if she did, shed be dangerous.

W. Edward Hudgins (Judge Hudge) for help navigating and interpreting historic court records.

Linda Sprenkle, fellow adventurer, location scout and long-time friend.

My colleagues in the Writers Circle in Hope Town, Abaco, Bahamas and to my partners in crime back in Annapolis, Maryland Becky Hutchinson, Mary Ellen Hughes, Debbi Mack, Sherriel Mattingly, Shari Randall and Bonnie Settle once again, for tough love.

And, as always, to Vicky Bijur.

Carl Sandburg, Smoke and Steel, IV. Playthings of the Wind, 12. Prayers After World War, 1922

Remember that not getting what you want is sometimes a wonderful stroke of luck.

The Dalai Lama XIV

In all the years since my diagnosis, Ive never played the cancer card. I confess to being tempted when Paul was waffling over an opportunity to spend his sabbatical in the Bahamas. Came close when his responsibilities as chair of the Naval Academy math department made him second guess our decision to revisit friends wed met during his faculty exchange year with Britannia Royal Naval College. But after decades of marriage Paul was tuned into me almost eerily so. Id just been thinking Id toss back my hair in a Scarlett OHara kind of way and drawl, Oh, dahlink, I hope ah can get back to England some day before ah die, when he fixed me with those bottomless-cup-of-coffee eyes and sucked the thought clean out of my head.

Of course well go to Dartmouth, he said, brushing his lips against my cheek. Start packing.

In recent years, Id begun hinting about owning a retirement cottage on the water. Shamelessly. Id left brochures out on the coffee table, circled waterfront homes advertised for sale in the back pages of Chesapeake Bay magazine, clicked through to virtual tours on online realtor listings and even dragged Paul along to Sunday open houses in order to familiarize ourselves with the market.

Dream on, Hannah, hed say, holding tight to his wallet, but agreeing to tag along on these outings simply to humor me.

On one such Sunday the previous winter, an agent from Barfield and Williams near Salisbury, Maryland had taken us to tour a three-bedroom, two-bath bungalow perched high on a bluff overlooking the Wicomico River, a property with a waterfront view that made both our hearts sing. Unfortunately, both the listing price and the state of the stock market at the time sang woefully out of tune.

Id drooled over the open concept living room, dining room and kitchen area, waxed poetic about the screened-in porch and oohed and ahed over what the realtors listing described as a charming colonial, thoughtfully updated throughout with crown moldings and windows affording a breathtaking sunset view.

Its my dream house, Id gushed to Paul.

With a sideways glance at Caitlyn Dymond through a fringe of long lashes, hed elbowed me in the ribs. Shhhh. But it was too late. Caitlyn already knew shed hooked a couple of live ones, so as time went on and the property didnt sell, the agent emailed us periodically:

Its a buyers market.

Motivated sellers!

Make an offer all they can do is refuse.

Still, wed balked.

The following spring, shortly after wed sprung forward into Daylight Savings Time, I came home from an evening out with my grandkids at Chick-Fil-A and movies at the mall to find Paul sitting at our kitchen table with reams of paper spread out before him. As I closed the kitchen door, Paul looked up, a Cheshire Cat grin lighting his face. I think we can do this, Hannah.

Do what? I asked, tossing the car keys on the counter.

Buy that house on the Wicomico.

I took a deep breath, considered what part the three Miller Lite empties lined up on the sideboard had played in his decision and said, Youre serious?

Perfectly.

How come we can afford to do it today when we couldnt afford to do it last week?

Paul raised an index finger. Ah, well you may ask. Connies been offering to buy me out and, as you know, Id resisted. But while you were at the movies tonight I called my sister and took her up on her offer.

Pauls sister raised rare breed cows and decorative gourds on the Ives family farm with her husband, Chesapeake County police lieutenant Dennis Rutherford. That Paul was willing to sell his half of the farm that he and his sister had inherited from their mother took me completely by surprise. I gaped, breathing slowly through my mouth.

I was only holding on to it out of sentiment, my husband explained. We havent been down to south county for months.

I pulled out a kitchen chair and plopped down next to him, trying to catch my breath. Are you sure?

He reached for my hand and folded it into his own. His was ice cold and damp from the beer bottle hed been holding. I hope the house will make you as happy as it will make me. Itll be a perfect place for the grandkids. Sailing, kayaking, swimming, fishing. And that long pier He paused, his eyes unfocused, dreamy. Crabbing. Tie a chicken neck to a string, attach it to the dock and ease it into the water. Takes me back. Id like them to experience that kind of carefree childhood, too.

Lost in some childhood memories of my own that didnt involve creative use of poultry, I didnt answer right away. After a moment, Paul said, So, are you with me?

I ruffled his tight salt-and-pepper curls and kissed his forehead. Is the Pope Catholic?

Paul picked up the phone and made an offer that night: ten percent under the asking price. Caitlyn responded by showing up on our Annapolis doorstep the following morning, her abundant red hair tied up in a low ponytail, documents in hand. Good news, she said as I invited her inside. Theyve accepted your offer.