Mystery-minded

Holiday Greetings from Barry and Marcia

Merry Christmas to all.  We’re back in the Bahamas already this year, our lives governed by wind, tide, and temperature.  We spent half of 2011 here on the Sea of Abaco, with Troubadour on the dock, and a parade of friends joining us for a bit of paradise. 

We began the year in the Bahamas, and spent a month in a spectacular rental property overlooking the Atlantic on Elbow Cay, were we entertained my brother, Thomas and his wife Camille, raced Troubadour, made new friends and had a generally good time.  We then returned to Tradewinds, our usual idyllic spot on Dickies Cay, the tiny island that protects Man O War harbor. 

Thence to Annapolis for a time in April to do taxes, run a music festival, and where I served as interim organist at Calvary Methodist Church on Rowe Boulevard.  We returned to the Bahamas for May and June, then back to Annapolis to get acquainted with our new boat, Iolanthe.  Marcia continued her active career as a writer and lecturer—her tenth novel, A Quiet Death, appeared in August--and worked hard on her new book, The Last Refuge, where her protagonist, Hannah Ives, joins the cast of a historical reality show living in Annapolis’s historic Paca House as if it were 1774. (See earlier blog posting for details.)

The summer was spent getting acquainted with our new Chesapeake cruiser, learning the boat’s systems, and addressing the issues that always accompany the purchase of a new boat.  We cruised St Michael’s and the Wye River with several sets of longtime friends but generally stayed close to home.

In early August we spent a week with Marcia’s sisters and their families at a sprawling manse on a lake near Mount Monadnock, NH.  (Dutton Girls rule!—M.T.)  Later in the month, Marcia flew to England for the annual St Hilda’s crime writers’ conference at Oxford, and I travelled to Chautauqua for a week of music-making with older singers at the historic center for arts and letters. 

I survived my 50^th high school reunion in Princeton, KY and actually had a good time.  Marcia and I stayed at a lovely state park, Barkley Lodge, a magnificent design by Edward Durrell Stone.  How did Kentucky come to have such a prominent architect designing state parks?  Stone had married Alban Barkley’s daughter, and it was an inside job.  If you ever travel through Western Kentucky, this is worth a stop.  Who was Alban Barkley?  That’s why we have Wikipedia.  Google it up. 

We had a wonderful Thanksgiving in Annapolis with all the children and grandchildren.  Marcia and I gave them the house and we stayed on the boat.  This is really our favorite thing; enjoying family, making music together and eating too much.  This leads to the reason we’re already in the islands—all the children are coming to visit here for Christmas and we can’t wait! 

Keep in touch, and come visit if you can!!

Barry and Marcia 

 

Coming March 1, 2012! The Last Refuge

Excited to tell you about the release date of Hannah's 11th adventure, The Last Refuge, set entirely at the William Paca House in Annapolis!

Has Hannah Ives made the right decision joining the cast of Patriot House, 1774, a reality show recreating eighteen-century colonial life? There’s no electricity, no running water, and the cast are at the mercy of the show’s ‘Founding Father.’ Even more worrying, Amy Cornell, Hannah’s lady’s maid on set, receives a text message from Drew, her Navy SEAL husband presumed dead after a botched mission ten months ago.

But while Amy dismisses it as a hoax, she hasn’t bargained on Drew turning up at Patriot House, carefully avoiding the cameras and scaring Hannah to death. He has a sinister plan – and he’s not going anywhere without Amy. When dancing master Alex Mueller, Amy’s new flame, is discovered dead, Hannah must think quickly if she is to trap a dangerous killer determined not to let anything, or anyone, stand in his way.

Stay tuned!

 

Hannah tells all!

“When I got cancer, I decided I wasn’t going to put up with crap from anybody anymore.” That’s how Marcia Talley introduces me at the beginning of SING IT TO HER BONES. She’s a cancer survivor, too, you know.

Talley first dressed me up in corsets and hoop skirts and hoped I’d behave as the central character in one of those serious, sprawling, southern, learning-how-to-deal-with-it novels.  Fat chance.  She dragged me by my petticoats to the Sewanee Writers’ Conference where her mentor, John Casey told her –“When I read the first chapter, I knew I was in the hands of a born story-teller, but [dramatic pause] the rest of the novel is crap.”

Jeesh! I’d been trying to tell her that. I’d read Nancy Drew as a kid, the Hardy Boys, too.  What I wanted to do was solve mysteries. It took a while before Talley was able to trust me, especially after I drove her car into a pond in SING IT TO HER BONES, but ten books later she lets me do all those things she’d never have the guts to do like picking locks, driving too fast, and spying on people. 

I didn’t go looking for adventure at first.  I was hanging out at my sister-in-law’s farm south of Annapolis, Maryland, waiting for my hair to grow out after chemotherapy. I took Connie’s dog for a walk, and when he started poking around an old well, my hat fell in. Tried to fish the darn thing out with a stick – couldn’t go home practically bald, could I? – and, yikes! Turned up a body, instead, that of a sixteen year old girl who’d been missing for years. When my daughter, Emily, was about the same age, she was quite a handful – trailing along after a rock group called Phish, dating losers.  I’d been able to salvage the relationship with my daughter – who now runs Spa Paradiso with her husband, Dante, and gave me three beautiful (and talented!) grandchildren.  But the Dunbars will never get that chance.  The look on the faces at the funeral tore at my heart, and I decided right then that I’d try to find out who was responsible for their daughter’s death.  

My husband, Paul, says I’m too wrapped up in other people’s problems, that it makes him crazy when I put myself in harm’s way like that. 

Guilty!

In THROUGH THE DARKNESS I organized a Go Navy/Beat Cancer team and ran the Komen Race for the Cure with Valerie, a friend who had sold her life insurance policy to a third party investor – a creepy practice called a viatical settlement – when she thought she was dying.  Then Valerie went through an experimental protocol at NIH and was cured, which didn’t make the investor particularly happy when she didn’t have the good manners to die on schedule.  Before that little adventure was over, I’d managed to get myself and my elderly friend, Naddie Bromley, locked up in a posh wine cellar by a couple of thugs.

It’s not my fault that my life is a continuing soap opera.  Honest.  Every time I turn around, I bump into somebody who really needs to die. Having a mystery writer in the family is a big advantage there.  In her novels and short stories Talley’s bumped off my husband, former bosses, miscellaneous relatives-in-law, and the woman who married my father after my mother died.  Cheaper than a therapist, right? And twice as satisfying.

I was recently returning from a charity luncheon in Washington, DC, when  -- Oh.  My.  God.  there was a horrific crash. Broke my arm, but managed to stay by the side of my injured seatmate, reassuring the guy until emergency workers freed him from the twisted wreckage.

Eventually they discharged me from the hospital with my ‘belongings,’ including a distinctive shopping bag I last saw in the hands of that poor stranger on the train. When I looked inside, I found letters and photos that documented a decades-long love affair between Lilith, a free-spirited young artist and her married lover, Zan. The young woman – smiling out of the photos at me with bright, intelligent eyes and looking so much like Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday, fascinated me.

I had to reunite the bag with its owner!  The guy on the train had probably died from his injuries; besides, I didn’t even know his name. When I tried to track him down, it started to get messy, fast.  Before I knew it, everyone seemed to be trying to lay their hands on Lilith and Zan’s letters.  A QUIET DEATH eventually led me to a tiny cottage on Maryland’s eastern shore where I learned what a fine line there is between love and hate, forgiveness and betrayal, and how easy it is to cross over that line to murder.

So, what am I doing now?  I’m taking a breather, having been tapped to participate in a reality show called Patriot House set in an historic home in colonial Annapolis.  What a hoot!  We’re all living as if it were 1774, and the costumes are to die for!  It’s the perfect setting for a murder, don’t you think?  The classic closed circle – like the English country house -- but with video cams running practically 24/7.  Talley’s not finished writing it yet, so if you have any candidates who deserve death by some delightfully devious 18^th century method, please let me know.  I’ll pass the word.

Her rates are reasonable!  [grin]

Originally published June 6, 2011 at www.killercharacters.com

Tweet: @marciatalleybks

Books and short stories on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/4xwmr2n

Books and short stories on Nook: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/marcia-talley?store=ebook

 

 

With a Little Help from My Friends ...

You'd think after masterminding two serial novels myself (NAKED CAME THE PHOENIX and I'D KILL FOR THAT) that I might run, kicking and screaming, from another such effort, but when Andrew Gulli, editor of the Strand Magazine, asked me to write a chapter for an effort he was putting together to raise money to fight leukemia, I couldn't say no.  

NO REST FOR THE DEAD debuted yesterday -- twenty-six authors! one novel! -- and on Friday, July 8, there'll be a big launch party at the Center for Fiction in New York City. Do stop by and meet me and some of the contributors.  Wine! Cheese! and all for a good cause.

 

A Quiet Death

I'm delighted to announce that book ten in the Hannah Ives mystery series, A Quiet Death, which came out in the UK at the end of April, has now begun shipping in the US!  Hannah is returning from a charity luncheon in Washington, DC, when her train is involved in a horrific crash. Although injured, Hannah remains at the side of her seatmate, reassuring the critically injured man until emergency workers free him from the twisted wreckage.

Nursing a broken arm, Hannah is discharged from the hospital with her ‘belongings,’ including a distinctive shopping bag she last saw in the hands of the stranger on the train. Inside, she finds letters and photos that document a decades-long love affair between Lilith, a free-spirited young artist and her married lover, Zan.

A wily imposter, a bullying attorney, a seedy PI – everyone wants to lay hands on Lilith and Zan’s letters. Hannah’s attempt to reunite the bag with its owner unwittingly sets in motion a chain of events that could put her own life in danger. Unintimidated, her search gradually narrows to a remote cottage on Maryland’s eastern shore, where Hannah discovers how fine a line there is between love and hate, forgiveness and betrayal, and how easy it is to cross over that line to murder. 

A Quiet Death – Severn House, 2001, ISBN: 978-0727880413 

Autographed copies can be ordered from a fine Independent Bookstore near you, like my good friends at Mystery Loves Company, Mystery Lovers Bookshop, or The Poisoned Pen. You can also order copies from Barnes & Noble or from You Know Who.  A QUIET DEATH is a first-edition hardcover, so you'll be doing a kind deed for me—and a lot of other people—if you request that your local library order a copy for their mystery collections. 

For more information and a complete schedule of events, please visit my website. I also hang around on Facebook -- please be my friend! -- and I Twitter (or is it Tweet?) from time to time @MarciaTalleyBks.

 

Talley Christmas Chronicle 2010

HOLIDAY GREETINGS FROM 140 CARDAMON DRIVE

It's been a great year.  To tell you all about it, I'm allowing my husband to be Blogger for a Day!

The family is healthy and close; Laura, David and their three children continue to live nearby in Chevy Chase, and Sarah and Jon and their three children have moved from Dallas to Chesapeake, Virginia. We anticipate good times with the grandchildren by the Bay.

  
JON, THOMAS, ABIGAIL, JOSEPH, SUSANNA AND BEN

Marcia’s 9^th mystery novel, All Things Undying, was published in hardcover by Severn House, and she is wrapping up her 10^th as I write this Christmas letter.

TOO MANY BOOKS!

Although officially retired, I continue to make music in various ways, directing a choir of "older" singers at Chautauqua NY in the summer, running a music festival for high school students in the spring, and playing the organ from time to time for a number of local congregations including the Naval Academy.   That’s the family and professional summary; now here’s what we did for fun during the past year:

January:  Accompanied by Laura, David and their children, Benjamin, Jonathan, and Abigail we went to Disney World where we stayed on the grounds at the Dolphin.  Disney with young children is indeed magic. 

We then drove to Amelia Island, Florida where Troubadour was waiting, just in time for a record-setting cold wave that was so cold (OK, how cold was it?) that the iguanas were going into involuntary hibernation and falling from the trees.  We stayed in the marina for a week so we could keep our space heaters plugged in and running to ward off the mid-teen nighttime temperatures.  At the first sign of warmth (AM temperature 26) we chipped ice off the deck, departed Fernandina Beach and headed south down the intracoastal waterway.  At St Augustine, we thawed out in the municipal marina, and hunkered down again until it really warmed up a few days later.  Then we proceeded down the waterway to Palm Beach where we stayed a few days waiting for favorable weather for crossing the Gulf Stream. 

February:  We departed Palm Beach bound for the Bahamas, but our engine stalled just a few miles offshore.  I voted for going back, but Marcia, intrepid sailor that she is, pointed out “It’s a sailboat; you know how to sail, let’s go,” and go we did.  With a light breeze on our nose, we sailed across the Gulf Stream, making about 70 tacks in 18 hours and arrived in West End, Grand Bahama about 11:00 PM, exhausted, but welcomed by the crews of several boats who were aware of our situation. 

 TROUBADOUR IN MID-GULF STREAM

After a day in port waiting again for favorable winds, we led a 10 boat flotilla through the Barracuda shoals, a tricky passage, but we were the old salts, so we were elected to pilot the little fleet to Great Sale Cay.  Upon anchoring, one of the other skippers went overboard to check all the anchors and noticed that we had a basketball-sized knot of Chesapeake Bay crab pot line fouling our prop, and that had been the cause of our engine problems.  Great news, something that could be remedied cheaply with a sharp knife.  We sailed on to Green Turtle Cay where we remained for several days at the Green Turtle Club, a high-end marina that lets you “eat your dockage”, that is, any money spent in their bar/restaurant could be applied to the marina bill.  At this point we were sailing in company with two other boats, and we accepted this as a challenge, to eat and drink our way to free dockage.  Fun, but hard on the liver.  We continued south, spending several days on moorings at Great Guana Cay and Elbow Cay before settling into Tradewinds, our rental property at Man O War, where we remained, happily hosting a succession of friends and family until we flew back to Annapolis in March.  

TRADEWINDS, DICKIES CAY

March:  I came back to Annapolis to prepare for the annual IRS bloodletting, and my Annapolis Music Festival, and Marcia flew into high gear with her duties as President of Sisters in Crime, a 4000-member international organization of mystery writers and fans.

April:  The taxman cometh, and the blood flows.  The music students come, and the Festival is a success.  I help out with the Chapel music program at the Academy, playing for some Easter services.  Marcia writes and travels on book events.  The weather is nice, but I miss sailing on the Bay. 

May:   This is a big month for annual writers’ conventions in New York, Washington DC and Pittsburgh, PA.  Marcia is there as an author and as national president of Sisters in Crime.  At the end of the mystery events, we return to the Bahamas for another six weeks at Man-O-War Cay, again hosting friends and family.   This continues through most of June when …

June:  We fly to Annapolis at the end of the month, and I begin an interim position as organist for Woods Memorial Presbyterian Church, a very large congregation in Severna Park just north of Annapolis.  This continues until the end of the year, so retirement is looking a lot like regular work.

July:  Sarah and Jon and their kids Thomas, Joseph, and Susanna stay with us for a few weeks in a stopover between Dallas and Norfolk.  I miss sailing the Chesapeake (Troubadour remains happily on a mooring in the Bahamas.)  Marcia travels on a fact-finding mission to Seattle and Silicon Valley for Sisters in Crime visiting Amazon, Google, Apple and Smashwords to learn all about e-books.  

August:  Marcia writes, I play the organ, Marcia takes annual pilgrimage to England for mystery conference at St Hilda’s Oxford while I go to Chautauqua in western New York to make music with Encore Creativity, a week-long summer music camp for geezers.  I continue to miss sailing the Chesapeake.  At the end of this month…

September:  We take the most excellent road trip imaginable, driving across Canada, over the top of Lake Superior (a day’s drive in itself, breathtaking scenery), all the way to Banff in the Canadian Rockies where we spent a couple of nights in the fabulous Fairmont, a grand hotel in every way; thence to Marcia’s Taipei American School reunion that took place in a vineyard near the Columbia River in Washington State,
then on to Seattle, where we boarded the Oosterdam for an Alaska cruise to Glacier Bay and memorable ports. 

 

We drove back across the Northern United States, stopping off for a few glorious days’ visit with the Rempts in Big Sky Montana.  

This is just North of Yellowstone Park, and we spent a couple of days exploring that marvelous spot, along with Grand Teton.   BigSky is a growing resort area high in the Rocky Mountains; Bill Gates is among the homeowners.  The nearest town is Bozeman, and the crime reports in the local newspaper were different from those of the Washington-Baltimore area.  Instead of murder, robbery, and assaults of various kinds, Bozeman crime largely concerned the activities of Bears and Chickens.  These crime reports I set to the music of Anglican Chant which I would post to You-Tube if I could figure out how. 

 THE GRAND TETONS DRESSED FOR FALL

After a visit to Marcia’s Aunt Peggy to help celebrate her 90^th birthday, we return to Annapolis at the end of the month.  

October:  I return to the interim organist position, and Marcia buckles down to finish her next novel -- writing it, that is, not reading one – A Quiet Death -- due out in May 2011.  October is a beautiful month on the Bay, and, recalling how much we missed sailing the Chesapeake, we bought another boat. Now we can look forward to sailing with family and friends, children and grandchildren on the Bay! 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

November:  I play, Marcia writes and takes a second trip to London for the induction of Kate Charles, her dear friend and fellow writer, into The Detection Club, a famous and exclusive club of English mystery authors founded in 1930-something by Dorothy L Sayers, Agatha Christie, GK Chesterton and other luminaries of the Golden Age of Mystery.

 

MARCIA, SIMON BRETT, KATE CHARLES AND DEBORAH CROMBIE WITH ERIC THE SKULL

We have a grand christening party for Iolanthe, and celebrate Thanksgiving with the whole family together in Annapolis.   Iolanthe, a Wauquiez Pilot Saloon ’41 proves to be a great live-aboard; it has heat, air conditioning, refrigerator and freezer, and a master cabin with a walk-around queen sized berth.  With a house full of children and grandchildren, we retreat to the boat, and spend the long holiday peacefully and quietly rocking at the dock in the evening. 

 

 

December:  Marcia is scrambling to finish her novel so she can concentrate on decorating for and enjoying the Christmas season, and we start planning for our annual retreat to the sunny isles of the Bahamas once again. 

 COOLING OFF IN THE ABACOS

We’ll have the family together again for Christmas, and that’s the best present of all.  

And that’s the news from Annapolis…. Come see us, wherever we are. 

Barry (and Marcia)

 

 

 

 

 

Hannah’s holiday on the English Riviera turns deadly when ghosts from the past refuse to stay buried.

The last time I posted to the blog, I was waxing poetic about the trip I took to Dartmouth, England to research Hannah's ninth adventure.  Here are the results, available NOW at a bookstore near you!

 
Severn House, 2010 $27.50 
ISBN 978-0-7278-6879-4 (Hardcover)

Hannah’s holiday on “the English Riviera” turns topsy-turvy when a stranger stops her on the street to deliver a message from her long-dead mother. Stunned and curious, Hannah’s inquiries lead to a budding friendship with Susan Parker, a popular television medium whose accurate predictions leave fans and critics alike puzzled and intrigued. In spite of her skepticism, Hannah schedules a private reading. But on the morning they are to meet, Susan is struck by a hit-and-run driver.

Hannah’s passion to right a wrong soon draws her beneath the surface of the seemingly idyllic community where more than one person has a reason to want Susan dead. Or, does the answer lie in the past, in the final, desperate days of World War II? Has a disaster that was covered up for decades claimed yet another victim? Did a message from beyond the grave lead Susan Parker to a cold-hearted killer?

“Told in the first person by the likable Hannah, the novel combines present and past effectively, with vivid details of wartime in the English countryside woven throughout the engaging story.” – Booklist.

 “Hannah is so endearing that even readers who scoff at second sight will be touched.” –Kirkus.

And, to get you in the mood, why not try this recipe for scones, straight from the kitchen of Janet Brelsford, proprietor of Horn Hill House, the fictional B&B where Hannah stays while visiting Devon.

Janet’s Scones

            2 c. all-purpose flour

            1/3 c. sugar

            1 t. baking powder

            1/4 t. baking soda

            1/2 t. salt

            8 T unsalted butter, frozen

            1/2 c. raisins, currants or dried fruit bits

            1/2 c. sour cream

            1 large egg

Combine dry ingredients. Grate butter into flour mixture on large holes of a box grater, using your fingers to work butter in until mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Stir in raisins. In a small bowl, whisk sour cream and egg until smooth. Knead sour cream mixture into flour mixture, forming a ball. Turn out on lightly floured board. Pat into a 7- to 8-inch circle about 3/4-inch thick. Sprinkle with 1 teaspoon of sugar. Cut into 8 rounds or triangles. Place on a cookie sheet about 1 inch apart. Bake 400˚F until golden, about 15 minutes. While still warm, split, slather with Devonshire clotted cream and top with strawberry jam.

 Pour the tea and enjoy while reading!

 

 

 

A Visit to Torquay

I’ve recently returned from Dartmouth, Devon, where I’d gone to research my next mystery.  The parallels to my hometown of Annapolis are many – Dartmouth is home to the Britiannia Royal Naval College and the River Dart is alive with sailboats.  For me, it was love at first sight.  

No trip to Dartmouth would be complete, however, without a pilgrimage to Greenway, the holiday home of Agatha Christie, just opened to the public this spring.  The National Trust, who maintains the property now, encourages visitors to arrive by “green” transport, so I rode the ferryboat up the river to Greenway.  Unfortunately, the remains of hurricane Bill were lashing Devon at the time, tearing at my raincoat and turning my umbrella inside out, so I had only the briefest glimpse of Agatha’s garden – where Amyas Crale drank that fatal glass of beer in Five Little Pigs -- and never made it down to the Victorian boathouse where poor Marlene Tucker was strangled in Dead Man’s Folly. 

 

[Photo: National Trust]

The house is Georgian, the color of clotted cream, set on several hundred acres of lawns and gardens that sweep down to the river, the “perfect house” where Christie spent every summer from the time she bought it in 1938 until her death in 1976.  Due to the generosity of Christie’s grandson, Matthew, it’s just the way the family left it – hats, canes and umbrellas stacked on a table in the hallway, Agatha’s favorite serving dishes laid out on the dining room sideboard, a book resting on a table in the library, bookmarked by reading glasses.  You’ll find no docents dressed as Miss Marple or Hercule Poirot here, either, no velvet ropes.  Visitors can wander the house freely, as if they were Agatha’s guests and she’d stepped out, just for a moment.  Above all, it is a home.

During the restoration, the house began revealing fascinating secrets about its owner.  Christie was an accomplished pianist, but a crate of music under the piano showed that she composed music, too.  Then there was the discovery of 73 notebooks, including two unpublished Poirot stories, chock full of sketches for scenes that never made it into the novels.  One Poirot novel actually began life as an adventure for Miss Marple, the notebooks tell us.  And how about those 30 audio tapes, tucked away with an ancient tape recorder in an upstairs cupboard?  “Agatha sounds distinctly upper class, rather like The Queen, only more expressive,” says John Curran who recently published selections from the notebooks.  Eeek!  Time to get rid of that videotape of a speech where I’m talking so fast even I can’t understand it.

I was thinking about this as I wandered around Agatha’s house, poking my nose into her closet, and even her loo.  Fifty, sixty years from now, when my grandchildren donate my home to Historic Annapolis, do I want visitors to know that my first novel, Sing It To Her Bones, started out as a soap opera, a sprawling Southern, learning-how-to-deal-with-it novel?  Nuh-uh.  Ditch that crappy manuscript now, and make Ann Gelillo – who claims she still has a copy somewhere – an offer she can’t refuse.

Agatha has botanical prints on the walls of her bathroom.  I’ve got an Audubon bird print.  Check.  I’ve also got a stack of New Yorkers, a Chico’s catalog and a Carl Hiassen novel.  Okay, they can stay, but the jar of bleaching cream that I use on my upper lip has gotta go.

Agatha’s closet contains leather trunks, summer frocks, ball gowns, hats and furs.  Mine has old canvas duffles, a pair of bell-bottoms, an ankle-length leather skirt and a mu-mu in a festive Hawaiian print.  On the top shelf there’s some half-finished crewel embroidery that I started during the 1968 Olympic games.

I need help here.   I need The Stagers, those people on the House and Garden network who prepare a home for sale, making it look as attractive as possible.  Out with those Readers’ Digest condensed editions of Moby Dick and Sister Carrie!  Pitch that dog-eared copy of War and Peace that makes it abundantly clear that I’ve read Peace a couple of dozen times more than War.  Mystery Writing for Dummies, The Joy of Sex, Twenty Characters in Search of a Plot?  Buh-bye.  Replace the complete run of tattered James Bond paperbacks with leather-bound editions of Dickens and Shakespeare, and find me some Proust, vite, en Francais, bien sur.

There.  I feel better already.

Agatha Christie’s Greenway is so comfortable, so homey, that you’ll feel like you could move right in.  And you can.  An upstairs, self-catering apartment can accommodate you and nine friends for around two thousand pounds per week.  Dinner in Agatha’s dining room, served by a butler, can also be arranged.

Anyone care to join me for tea?

Originally posted on the Femmes Fatales blog, September 23, 2009.

Sisters in Crime

I've just returned from Bouchercon 2009 in Indianapolis, one of the best-organized world mystery conventions in recent memory, thanks to Jim Huang and members of the Speed City Indiana chapter of Sisters in Crime, among others.  At the Friday morning Sisters in Crime breakfast, I was elected president of Sisters in Crime and honored to accept The Great Seal of Office from immediate past president, Judy Clemens.  My big question:  why does Judy look so happy?

An English Pilgrimage

I’ve just returned home from my fifteenth annual trip to the UK, each of which has centered around the St Hilda’s Crime and Mystery Weekend in Oxford.   Those who have attended know that St Hilda’s is unique, in that each conference has a theme.   This year’s theme was “The Wages of Sin” and included such talks as “Tiger in the Smoke: the Theology of Margery Allingham” (Kate Charles); “Anarchism and Anger: William Godwin’s Caleb Williams – the first crime novel?” (Andrew Taylor, this year’s CWA Diamond Dagger winner); and “The Attenbury Emeralds” where Jill Paton Walsh discussed the genesis of her third Dorothy L. Sayers novel, based on one of Lord Peter Wimsey’s early cases.  Check out the full program here.  Next year's theme is "Behind the Mask," August 20-22.  Start making your travel plans now!

I was thrilled to be invited to speak at St Hilda's and had already settled on a topic – the seven deadly sins as motive in crime fiction.  Then I was told I would be last on the program, and I knew from past experience that speakers in that time slot were expected to be funny.  OMG.  On to Plan B.  I’d never been good at remembering all the seven deadly sins.  It's like trying to name each of Snow White’s Seven Dwarfs – I was always forgetting one or another. I dug into research and slowly my talk: “Dante, Dorothy and Disney: the Seven Deadly Sins in Crime Fiction” emerged.  Did you know that Gilligan’s Island was an allegory for hell and that each of the seven castaways represents one of the seven deadly sins?  I'll bet the sitcom's creator didn't either.  Or that Reebok has recently introduced a line of basketball shoes themed to the seven deadly sins?  (I’ll take sloth.  They’re stunning in aqua.)  You can also buy Livestrong-style wristbands for each of the seven deadlies.  The vendor, Archie McFee, also sells hopping, yodeling lederhosen.  But I digress.  I had a great time at St Hilda's, everyone laughed in all the right places, and there was a scramble for the wristbands, so I guess my talk went well.

Earlier in the week, I had visited Ludlow, on the Welsh border, to attend the second annual Crime in the Castle held in historic Ludlow Castle and organized by crime novelist, Kate Charles.  Over one hundred people paid 5 pounds each (to include a glass of wine!) to hear Kate, Natasha Cooper, Andrew Taylor, Phil Rickman, Martin Edwards, Laura Wilson, Suzette Hill and me talk about writing crime fiction.  The event was co-sponsored by Mystery Women (thank you Lizzie Hayes!) and Stanton Stephens of Castle Bookshop in Ludlow.  To promote the evening, Stanton decorated his shop window with a “body in the library” theme so realistic that a pedestrian, staggering by at 2 a.m. slightly the worse for drink, called 999 to report, “There’s a bloke in the bookstore!  He’s been murdered!"

After a relaxing week in Somerset attending the Edington Festival of Music Within the Liturgy, I hopped a train to Dartmouth in Devon where I plan to set my next Hannah Ives mystery.  The parallels to Annapolis are many -- Dartmouth is home to the Britannia Royal Naval College and the River Dart is alive with sailboats.  For me, it was love at first sight.  I resisted the urge to stop on Lower Street at the first estate agent I came to and look up “cottages for sale,” checking instead into Cherub’s Nest, a charming B&B on Higher Street 

which overlooks the Harbour Bookshop, owned for many years by Christopher Milne -- yes, that Christopher! – and a couple of doors away from the Singing Kettle Tea Shoppe where I had a fabulous cream tea.   

From my first arrival at Totnes train station, I was taken under the collective wings of three British couples who at one time or another had participated in the U.S. Naval Academy/Britannia Royal Naval College faculty exchange.  

Jill (who organized my whole visit!) picked me up at the train, took me to the Stoke Fleming village fete – check out the vegetable competition! --

-- and gave me dinner at the home she shares with her husband, Ian, set high on a hill overlooking Dartmouth.  

The next morning, I climbed the steep steps up Horn St to meet Richard who gave me a walking tour of historic Dartmouth, then took me to ancient St. Saviour’s church for a charity luncheon.  There I was introduced to his wife, Anna, and to David, who accompanied me on the mile-long hike to Dartmouth Castle, with a stop for coffee at The Apprentice, a upscale restaurant in old St Barnabas Church where young people down-on-their-luck train to be professionals in the food services industry.  Later in the week, David’s wife, Maralyn, collected me in her car for a trip across the Dart to Kingswear for a visit to Coleton Fishacre, the holiday home of the famous D’Oyly Carte family – sorry my husband, Barry, had to miss this as there isn’t a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta he hasn’t directed! We crossed the Dart on the ferry for a 20-minute drive down to Slapton Sands, the infamous beach where Operation Tiger, a full-dress rehearsal for D-Day went horribly wrong and nearly 1000 Americans lost their lives. 

One morning archivist Richard Porter gave me a fascinating private tour of the Naval College which, like the U.S. Naval Academy, was built around 1905.   Prince Charles studied there, as did his son, William, as well as many Royals before them.  In between, I managed to work in coffee with Lesley Dennison, manager of the Dart Marina Spa and sister to my friend, California mystery writer, Hannah Dennison.  Their mother works as a docent at Greenway, the holiday home of Agatha Christie, just opened to the public this spring by the National Trust.  No visit to Dartmouth would be complete without a pilgrimage to Greenway, so I rode the ferryboat up there one day.  Unfortunately, the remains of Hurricane Bill were lashing Devon at the time, tearing at my raincoat and turning my umbrella inside out, so I had only the briefest glimpse of Agatha’s gardens and never made it down to the boathouse – where Christie’s Dead Man’s Folly was set – at all.  The house, however, is fabulous!   Warm and welcoming, with books, hats, canes and personal items laid out as if Dame Agatha were simply away for the day.  Even got to see her loo.  This photo was taken by a friend on a much sunnier day!  

Not much time for shopping, alas, but I did manage a stroll along cobbled, pedestrianized Foss Street, where I bought a locally-made sailing duffle for my husband, then popped into Simon Drew, where I ran into the quirky, punny cartoonist himself -- 

-- and met his faithful dog, Rabbit.  Rabbit convinced me that I needed to purchase some greeting cards and a t-shirt.  I like that in a pet.  

When I said goodbye to David at the Totnes train station last Saturday, it was with the hope that I’d be back to Dartmouth, and soon, bringing my husband along with me.  What better place for a sailor and a mystery writer to spend quality time?