First Chapter: Rose Hawthorne: The Irish Wanders by Shannon O’Gorman #FirstChapter #ChapterOne

Title: Rose Hawthorne: The Irish Wanders
Author: Shannon O’Gorman
Publisher: Independent
Pages: 200
Genre: Mystery

Book Blurb

Rose Hawthorne: The Irish Wanders follows Rose, a celebrity author in her early seventies, who dislikes the limelight but does like Hermes scarfs, round violet sunglasses, and old colonial hotels. One day, she receives a letter asking her to visit Newgrange, Ireland and discover something that has been hidden there for a thousand years.

She asks her granddaughter Samantha to accompany her, but she hadn’t expected her to continually post photos of their progress on her Instagram account. An encounter with an old love and an unexpected discovery leads Rose deeper into the past, where she finds she must make a hard decision about her future.

Book Information

Release Date: March 16, 2022

Publisher:  Independent

Soft Cover: ISBN: 978-1736801079; 200 pages; $10.99; Free on Kindle Unlimited

Amazon: https://amzn.to/39a7pub

Chapter One

When Rose Hawthorne went up the creaky steps to her house, she found the front door unlocked. There was also a peculiar odor. Was that Old Spice? Her ex-husband had used it rather excessively, and the smell practically made her gag now. Was he here? How was that possible? He was supposed to be in Vancouver.

She gently pushed the door open and gasped when she saw the back of a heavily tattooed head creeping slowly down her front hall.

Who was that? And why was he carrying her fireplace poker?

She watched him stop and enter her den and heard her laptop chiming as it powered up. Then she heard the sound of drawers being opened and slammed shut and books thudding onto the floor. He was looking for something, and Rose had a pretty good idea what it was.

Not knowing what else to do, she carefully pulled the door back toward her, almost shutting it, and let it sit a few inches between open and closed. Her heart thumped wildly as she considered her best course of action.

She hurried down her front steps out onto the street. Then, breathing heavily, she leaned against one of the large leafy elm trees that lined her street, pulled her phone out and dialed 911, knowing that she had to try to reach help somehow.

“What is your emergency?” the 911 operator asked her quickly.

Rose stood up a little straighter. “A man has entered my house. I’m not in it any longer, but he is still inside. He’s tall, Caucasian, bald, and has numerous tattoos on his head.”

“Are you safe at this time, ma’am?”

“I believe so. I am calling from across the street.”

“Does he have a weapon?”

“He had my fireplace poker in his hand. And I certainly hope that he leaves it when he departs.”

“What’s your address?”

“468 Elm Street.”

“Your name?”

“Rose Hawthorne.”

The 911 dispatcher paused. “Rose Hawthorne? The author?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Oh, I love all of your books and—”

Was the 911 controller seriously telling her this?

Rose pursed her lips. “Thank you, my dear, but I need the police here as soon as possible, preferably before the man leaves!”

“Yes, understood. I’ve already sent out the details to the police. So they should be there shortly.”

“Thank you, operator. Is there any additional information that you require?”

“Well, just wondering. When is your next book out?”

“A bit later than I planned, now that I can’t get into my house!”

Unbelievable! thought Rose.

“Mrs. Hawthorne, rest assured the police are on their way.”

“Thank you!” said Rose, frowning and stabbing at her phone to end the call.

Rose was used to being a celebrity author, but sometimes she got tired of the attention. She preferred striding unrecognized down a busy street in her round violet-colored glasses, dressed in black, sometimes with a black beret placed jauntily on her head.

She’d observe people as she passed and always listened closely to conversations she overheard in passing. She also stealthily eavesdropped in coffee shops or on the #320 bus. People seldom recognized her, and she savored those glimpses into other lives. Honest conversations were so much better than imagined.

As an adept observer of human nature, she scribbled bits of conversations into a small spiral-bound notebook. Her daughter, Holly, had tried to get her to take notes on her phone, but that hadn’t worked out. Somehow the notes would disappear, or she couldn’t locate them. But a pen and paper had never let her down.

Holly had shown her the importance of social media, however. She managed Rose’s Instagram account and occasionally posted pictures of Rose gardening, sitting in her den, and even cooking.

Rose loathed it all but put up with it because Holly insisted. Most recently, Holly had posed her with suitcases and teased some photos of Rose looking at Irish travel brochures. It was meant to let her followers know that she was off to Ireland soon and to encourage them to buy the next book when it came out.

As much as Rose hated participating in it all, she knew that it was necessary to keep people interested in her books. One recent Instagram boomerang featured her pouring a glass of red wine with the caption, “I’m feeling marblelous.”

That was a nod to her last book series, where her main character searched for mysterious marbles. It made Rose cringe when she watched it, but Holly thought it was useful. Apparently, her followers did, too; her sales had spiked.

It was true that social media had made her more recognizable to a younger generation that loved her dystopian novels and her fantasy series of The Mystery of the 7. It was a trade-off; she needed to sell books, but she didn’t like having to sell herself as a celebrity to do it.

But now, famous or not, Rose knew that she was in an untenable situation. She felt a little angry. How dare someone break into her house! It was unacceptable.

Suddenly she realized that she was clutching a paper bag a little too tightly.

Oh, I’ve still got the muffins, she thought. She’d bought them at Kara’s Muffins, one of those artisan food places that supplied delicacies to a specific clientele, the kind of people who liked to eat things that looked like they’d been dug up in the garden. Rose was guilty of this kind of healthy eating too. The muffins had been meant as a treat to herself this morning before she started to do some more research about Newgrange.

I’ll just go to Fiona’s house, she decided after her call with 911. We can wait for the police together.

Fiona’s house was painted in happy hippy shades of peeling teal blue. It was a three-story Victorian, with red-framed windows, except for the one window frame on the very top, which was painted a screeching yellow. Every few years, Fiona changed the color of the house. The last paint job had been a putrid pink. Rose hadn’t liked that shade much.

Fiona’s verandah was large and screened-in, full of aloe vera and philodendron in desperate need of water. Paperbacks sat in an old blue milk-crate, and a comfortable old green armchair with rips and stains still looked inviting.

Rose was particularly fond of two old attached theatre seats, numbers 81 and 82, that sat on Fiona’s porch. The plush red velvet was worn and torn, with stuffing poking out of the holes in the cushions, and the ornate grey metal armrests were designed with swirls and curlicues and an intricate vine of leaves and flowers.  They were from a small theater that had gone out of business, and Fiona had bought them at a discounted price. Rose loved to sit in these seats because they had so much history, not because they were comfortable.

Sometimes, sitting there together, Fiona would reminisce with Rose about her time in the theater before she’d met her husband. She loved to tell the story of when she’d worked off-Broadway with Sutton Foster, who had told her to work on her musical belt. Fiona had taken the advice to heart and could often be heard doing belting exercises in the early morning. She’d even shown Rose some photos of herself on the stage in her final role as Mama Rose in Gypsy. That, Rose had no doubt, would have been a performance to remember.

Rose rang the bell and then plopped down in one of the springy old theatre chairs and shouted, “Fiona!” She looked out at her own front door across the street, expecting it at any time to swing open, but there was no movement.

“Fiona!” she shouted again from the best seat in the house. “Are you home?”

She heard footsteps. She turned her head and looked up at the door as Fiona opened it with a coffee cup in hand. She had the perfected appearance of an ageing hippy. Her hair was a mass of grey curls, her eyes were lined with kohl, and her clothing was loose and flowing. A pair of red-framed glasses hung from a chain around her neck. It was a look that Rose liked to think of as the ‘Full Fiona.’

She smiled warmly at Rose as she stepped onto the verandah. Rose felt a sudden rush of tenderness for this gentle woman that she’d known for more than 20 years.

“Rose, this is a nice surprise! Have you come for a coffee? Good. I didn’t feel like doing anything this morning.”

“Yes, a coffee would be lovely. I’ve brought muffins! Sorry, store-bought, not home-made,” Rose said, holding up the crinkled brown bag but neglecting to tell Fiona they were initially not planned for her.

Fiona smiled. “One cup of coffee coming right up!” she said as she bent down to collect a scraped out half of a grapefruit that she’d had for breakfast.

Sitting and waiting for Fiona to return, Rose realized that Fiona hadn’t really felt like doing much since she’d retired last year. Instead, she seemed to spend her days reading the newspaper, starting with the front pages and then going through the business section, the lifestyle section, and everything in between, right up to the comics. She could often be seen on the verandah late afternoons dawdling over the crossword puzzle, word search or sudoku. She probably didn’t even know about the current Wordle craze; Rose only knew about it because Holly had introduced her to it.

When Fiona finished with the paper, if it wasn’t too cold outside, she walked around the streets, chatting with people who called out to her. She was a real fixture in the neighborhood, and it was hard for Rose to imagine her street without Fiona. She had no real responsibilities to anyone but herself, and she was never in any hurry to get anywhere. Her positive attitude and gentle grace made Fiona a pleasure to be around.

People would always call out to her, ‘Good morning, Mrs. McQueen’ or ‘Hello, Fiona.’

She was happy to talk to anyone. She loved chatting with people and hearing the stories about their lives. Sometimes she’d talk about Jeremy, her husband, who had died of cancer more than five years ago. But mostly, she listened and made people feel like at least somebody cared.

In many ways, Fiona was the same as she had been for most of her life. She was friendly and approachable, but she was not completely the same. She’d owned a small used bookshop called Unicorn books and had genuinely loved buying and selling old books. It had been a tiny bookshop in a wooded area on a quiet side street, full of treasures and books, clean and organized, unlike many used bookshops.

Last year, she had been approached by a group of twenty-somethings with too much money who loved the style of her shop and wanted to turn it into a book and cat café. Fiona had decided it was time to sell. So she had taken the money she received and ran to her verandah. But, Rose thought, she retired too soon. It was clear she needed more than just her newspaper, her cup of coffee, her walk, and her puzzles.

Rose smiled to herself. She knew that she was about to shake up Fiona’s quiet day.

Fiona returned with the coffee in a few minutes and passed a hand-made ceramic cup to Rose. She’d made it in a pottery class last year. It was lop-sided and a boldly shellacked beige color with a large ‘F’ carved into it. Rose had always meant to ask what the ‘F’ stood for. She liked to think that it was not F for Fiona – perhaps it was for Female, or Feminist, or even something more colorful. She’d have to ask one day.

As far as Rose could tell, the best feature of the cup was that it didn’t leak. So far.

“You take it black, right?” Fiona asked, handing her the cup.

“Fiona!” said Rose, a bit exasperated, “We’ve been drinking coffee together for over 20 years. You shouldn’t have to ask!”

“I know, I know. I just like to check, in case you’ve changed your habits.”

“That, Fiona, will never happen,” Rose said, shaking her head.

“Here, have one of these,” she said, handing Fiona a large toadstool-shaped carrot muffin. “They’re nice and fresh.”

“Thanks,” Fiona said, taking the muffin and sitting down in one of the squeaky old theatre chairs beside Rose.

Rose took a deep breath. “I need to talk with you.”

“Oh heavens, that sounds serious. What is it, Rose?” asked Fiona, suddenly concerned.

“Fiona, I’m here because I’ve just seen an intruder in my house. He didn’t see me, and I left quickly. I’d like to just sit here and see if he comes out. I’ve called the police.”

“My goodness, Rose! How can you be so calm? Was he armed? He’s probably robbing you blind now! We can take over a frying pan. Hmm, let me think, I’ve got an axe somewhere. We’ll go and give him a good scare!”

“A couple of 70-year-old ladies armed with a frying pan and a dull axe? What good do you think that will do? Shall I give him 40 whacks like Lizzie Borden? No, I think the police will do a much better job than us!”

“I suppose you are right, Rose,” Fiona said slowly. “I don’t know how you can be so calm, though. I realise you are used to a little more excitement than me with your travelling and research for the books but are you sure you are OK?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Just a little shaken up.”

Fiona looked at Rose. Her forehead was more deeply wrinkled than usual. “Do you think it’s because of your books that you have someone in your house?” she asked gently.

“Yes, I think it might be.”

She was thinking about her previous series of books, where her main character, Violet, travelled the world locating marbles at the sites of the Ancient Wonders. When the series hadn’t ended as many readers had hoped, some street protests had occurred in front of her home. What many readers hadn’t understood, though, was that there had been an air of reality in those discoveries. Rose had the marbles to prove it and suspected they were probably the cause of the break-in.

“Do you think that someone didn’t like that last book again?” Fiona asked.

“Something like that, but I really don’t know. I’m expecting that man to come running out of the house at any moment. I want to see exactly what he looks like.”

They sat there for a bit longer, saying little, as they tore off big chunks of the carrot muffins with their eyes glued to  Rose’s front door. There was no movement from there or from the side of the house, and finally, they heard the distant howl of sirens.

“Must be your police,” Fiona said.

“I wish ‘my police’ hadn’t turned the sirens on; they are going to scare him away.”

“I agree. It’s just like that in the movies too. The bad guy always hears the sirens and gets away. It drives me nuts!”

They watched excitedly, chewing a little more quickly as a police car screeched to a halt. Blue and red lights from the police cars flashed across their windows and lit up their faces.

A male and a female officer slammed the cruiser doors shut and then ran to the front door.

The officers knocked on the door, waited a few minutes, and then carefully pushed it open. Their guns were drawn.

“Gosh, this is exciting! It’s better than Netflix!” said Fiona.

“For you maybe,” replied Rose. “I’m worried about my possessions and how much of a mess that man left in my house.”

The front door was open, but then Rose noticed some movement around the side of her house. It was the same man she had seen earlier. She’d recognise that bald head anywhere! He was calmly walking across her neighbor’s lawn and then began to jog slowly down the street.

“That’s him!” said Rose to Fiona, pointing and standing up. Luckily a bamboo-blind was halfway down, and he couldn’t have seen them if he’d wanted.

“He’s a big one,” Fiona observed, taking in the back of his bald head, his 6-foot build and tight-fitting yellow sports shirt and jeans.

“Quick, let’s go and tell the police he’s going to get away!” she added breathlessly.

The man had already turned left on a side street, and they could no longer see him.

Rose and Fiona stood up and ran over to the house, leaving a little trail of carrot muffin crumbles behind them for the birds to find later.

“Hello! Hello?” Rose shouted from the police car parked on the street. “Hello, I’m Rose Hawthorne. I called you!”

The police walked slowly out of the house. “Hello, ma’am. The house is empty. We’ll need a statement.”

“I just saw the intruder walk away. He took a left on the next street. He’s wearing a yellow shirt, and he’s bald and over 6 foot,” Rose said excitedly, pointing the way.

The male officer looked calmly down the street and sighed, “OK, I’ll try to catch him. Hey, wait a minute. Are you Rose Hawthorne, the author?”

“Yes, I am, but that is not something you should be concerned with! Hurry, he’ll get away!”

“OK, but I loved your books!” the officer shouted as he jogged off and turned out of sight down the street.

Rose stood with the policewoman watching his progress.

They heard the officer yell ‘Stop!’ and then nothing more until they eventually saw him jogging slowly back.

“Oh no!” Rose sighed. “He got away.”

“Yes, probably,” the policewoman admitted as her partner walked up. “There have been so many break-ins around here recently. Let’s go inside, and you can see if anything has been taken.”

Rose’s den was a shambles. Papers were scattered on the floor, and her desk drawers had been pulled free from their guides and left hanging at odd angles, spilling their contents onto the floor. Books had been yanked off the shelves and left strewn all over the floor. She bent down and picked up a copy of A Tale of Two Cities. ‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,’ indeed, she thought and turned away from the chaos.

“He was looking for something,” the policewoman said. “Does it look like any valuables were stolen?”

“I won’t know till later,” Rose said slowly, eyeing a small globe on her bookcase.

“Any specific ideas about what he might have been looking for?”

“No, it’s very odd,” Rose lied.

She suspected that he had been looking for the marbles, but she didn’t want the police to know about them.

“Well, you’ll have to look around and tell us if anything valuable was taken. You’ll need to document things for insurance purposes. Can I see your ID for a statement, please?”

“Yes, certainly, officer, my bag is across the street.”

“I’ll walk back with you,” the male officer said a little breathlessly.  “Just in case your intruder is anywhere nearby.”

“Fine, thank you for chasing after him. It’s a pity you didn’t catch him.”

Fiona was waiting in front of her house, watching as they approached her.

“My God, Rose, this is so exciting! So, what was taken?”

“I don’t know yet. I just hope that man didn’t leave too much of a mess inside.”

“Well, we know he didn’t get the TV, because at least he wasn’t running down the street with that!”

“I hope you are correct, Fiona,” Rose told her. “I wouldn’t want to miss Murdoch Mysteries because of a stolen television. This officer is accompanying me to your house, so I can get my bag I left on the porch.”

* * *

They walked up the few steps onto Fiona’s porch, and Rose picked up her bag.

“Oh, Rose, I keep forgetting. I’ve got some aromatherapy candles I made for you. I’m trying it out as a hobby. Come inside for a sec.”

“OK, but I’ll have to hurry so I can finish up with the police,” Rose told her, glad to have an excuse not to linger too long.

“I’ll just be a few more minutes, officer. These old theatre chairs are quite comfortable. I suggest you sit on one for a few minutes.”

“I think I will, ma’am,” he said, lowering himself down into a lumpy seat. “I’m a little tired from my run after your intruder. I’ll have to cut down on the donuts.”

“I recommend a little bakery around the corner, officer. It’s a much healthier option.”

The inside of Fiona’s house smelt like incense and melted wax, a little overwhelming yet comforting at the same time.

Fiona hurried over her scratched hardwoods to the kitchen while Rose stood waiting and looking around at the Buddhas, Tibetan prayer flags, and Tanka art that decorated the room.

When Fiona returned she was holding three misshapen candles. Rose’s eyes flitted over them, and she thought she could make out a sphinx or was it a sad cat? She also held a lumpy black pyramid and a lopsided blue lighthouse.

“Oh! How … um… interesting! You’ve made some of the 7 Wonders into candles. Well, thank you, Fiona.” At least Fiona meant well, Rose thought. Maybe a hobby was what she needed, though perhaps not candle-making.

“I decided on these three because the other Wonders were too hard to make. I tried to do one of  The Colossus, but Zeus kept falling down.  His legs were just not strong enough.”

“Yes, I think that was a problem with that original Wonder all those years ago too, Fiona. Well, these are simply astounding. I’ll burn them, er, wisely,” Rose said, wondering exactly how fast they might burn.

“You’ll like the smells too, I think. I used some Egyptian scents. You’ll be whisked back to the pyramids! And I can make you some more if you like them. They are perfect for relaxation, and you may need some after all this excitement.”

“I’ll let you know. It really is very kind of you. You’ve always been such a good neighbor and a good friend. Thank you for your help today.”

“You know I’m always here for you, Rose, as I know, you would be for me. So I’ll keep my eyes open for that man, and I’ll let you know if I spot him.”

“Thank you, Fiona,” Rose said, seemingly at a loss for more words.

Outside, the officer appeared to be dozing in a theatre seat.

“The show’s not over yet,” Rose said to him, and he looked at her sheepishly and struggled to his feet.

Back at her house, she told the police everything that she knew and gave the best description that she could about the mysterious man. Then, she gave the young male policeman an autographed copy of her latest book. He seemed like the right sort of fan, and maybe he could even speed up some of the paperwork.

Holly drove up as the police were getting into their car and preparing to leave.

“Mother!” she said in a panicky voice running up to Rose, who stood on the front steps. 

“What’s happened? Are you OK?”

“Yes, yes, there was someone in the house. One of Phaedrus’s friends, I assume. Who else could it be? Of course, the police will do a few more neighborhood patrols, but what can they really do?”

“Did the man catch a glimpse of you?”

“No, I only saw the back of his head, and then I backed out of the house before he could see me.”

“I’m so glad that you’re OK!”

“I’m fine. I’m just annoyed by the inconvenience.”

They walked to the den, and Rose stared glumly at the papers and books scattered on the floor. “Look at this mess! I assume he was looking for the marbles.”

“I’ll put things back in place, don’t worry,” Holly said, picking up books near the window. “Why don’t you go out and clear your head? Let me clean up this mess while you’re gone.”

“Thank you, dear. I’ll take you up on that. I was planning on doing some writing, but I’ll try to do that down at the library. I’ll just grab a few notebooks from the desk.”

Rose opened the top drawer and inhaled sharply. Several colorful bugs about the size of a fingernail scurried under some loose sheets of paper.

“What?” Rose said quietly to herself as she slammed the drawer shut. She opened it again slowly, but the bugs were still out of sight. Then she grabbed the edges of the drawer and pulled it open fast and wide, hoping to scare the bugs.

She didn’t see any more bugs, but she noticed some sheets of paper in the drawer were stuck together. How odd, she thought to herself.

She tried to pull them apart, but it felt like they were glued together, so she grabbed a letter opener and lifted the papers. Several of the sheets were crumpled, and then a shiver went through her as she noticed they had Arabic writing on them. Though she could read a little Arabic, she couldn’t make out the words because they were so smeared. Then she noticed a small piece of paper tucked under the other papers.

“Well, well, look at this,” she told herself as she pulled out the piece of paper and unfolded it. The yellowed paper was wrinkled, torn, and stained with what looked like dried blood.

Someone is being unnecessarily dramatic, she thought.

She glanced over at Holly and was happy to see that she wasn’t looking in Rose’s direction.

Three words were written on the paper.

“It is time.”

Somebody was definitely trying to scare her.

Rose scowled and angrily crumpled up the papers and threw them into the bin.  She decided not to say anything to Holly, but something had to be done about the bugs.

“Holly, could you come in here for a second?” she asked.

“What’s up?” said Holly walking over.

“I just opened this drawer, and a number of bugs, maybe beetles, were running around. I want you to tell me if you think they’re dangerous.”

“You’re kidding!” said Holly surprised, “Let me see.”

She opened the drawer and began removing papers, notebooks, pencils, paperweights, and assorted junk. When more things were gone, the beetles became visible. They were bunched together in the back of the drawer.

“I’m not an entomologist,” Holly said. “But, they look like rainbow scarabs to me. I’m pretty sure they’re not dangerous.”

“Rainbow scarabs?” Rose raised her eyebrows, looked at Holly and smiled.

“Why are you smiling?” Holly asked.

“Oh, no reason.” Rose laughed. “Little things amuse me. I mean, rainbow scarabs. Really? It’s such an obvious link to the rainbow marbles in my book.”

“It could be time to take things seriously,” Holly told her as she brushed the beetles into the garbage can.

“The odd thing is,” said Rose, “Phaedrus and I have texted occasionally, and he has always asked how the marbles are. I thought that he was OK with me keeping them for now. So, it’s strange that he would just try to steal them.”

“But, who else could it be?”

“Yes, that is what is disturbing. I suppose that time will tell. Let me just double-check on them.”

Rose walked quickly over to a small globe on the shelf and pushed a small latch so that the globe split in half. She peered inside and took out a purple bag, and then walked over to her desk and poured the contents onto it.

There they were. Her babies. The marbles of the Seven Ancient Wonders. She never tired of looking at them and touching them.

She counted them as they rolled out. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8 thank goodness they were all here. These were the marbles that she had collected during her visits to the Seven Wonders. She’d written about them in her books and now refused to let them go. It was hard for her to say why she wanted to keep them. She supposed it was because they had been so difficult to locate.

What they had discovered at the last Wonder was unfathomable, and the marbles reminded her of that, too, every time she looked at them.  However, more and more, she had felt that it was time to move on from that part of her life.

The first marble, a black one, she’d found in Portobello, and it had started her on her journey to all of the 7 Wonders. She held it up and again marvelled at the small pyramid within.

A red marble contained a tiny replica of the Lighthouse of Alexandria. The third marble was orange and held a tiny intricate Mausoleum of Halicarnassus. The fourth was yellow with the Temple of Artemis inside. The fifth was green with The Colossus of Rhodes. The sixth was a deep blue, highlighting Mt Olympus inside. The seventh marble was another shade of blue, indigo, and inside was a tiny lion. It represented the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, an Ancient Wonder of the World that no longer existed.

Rose had been forced to stop searching for the 8th marble since she assumed it was lost in the Gardens of Babylon. But her readers were upset that her book series had concluded without a resolution, and they begged Rose to try to finish the series. The readers thought she just had to write another work of fiction; they didn’t know how much of it was reality. But Rose did.

She eventually decided that she’d have to take one more look at the 7 Wonders for peace of mind and perhaps find something that she had missed. When the news was posted on her Instagram account that there would be one more book, people were ecstatic. And then, unbelievably, she had found the 8th marble. Of course, that final book had made her more famous than she could have ever imagined possible.

Rose gently picked up the violet marble now and gazed inside. A small Sphinx sat inside. It was her favorite marble, and even now, giving it a quick rub with her thumb made her feel strangely peaceful. It made her smile and remember what they had discovered under the Sphinx in Egypt.  It was something so incredible that she still scarcely believed it.

“Mother? Mother? You should put those away again,” Holly said gently to her.

Holly’s voice brought Rose out of her daydream of the Ancient Wonders and back to her Toronto reality.

“Yes, I know. I just had to check,” Rose said quickly, putting the marbles back into the Crown Royal bag and placing it into the globe once again.

“OK, I’ll be back in a few hours. I can feel that man’s presence in my house, and I want to be away from here for a while.”

“I understand, Mother. I’ll sort things out while you are gone. I don’t think he’ll be back.”

“Thank you. Please call the police again if you see anything out of the ordinary. And do not put this on any social media. I don’t want this incident in the papers and twitched all over the place.”

“I think the word you are looking for is tweeted.”

“Whatever it is, you know what I mean. Let’s just keep this quiet. OK, I’m off. I’ll see you later.”

 

About the Author

Shannon O’Gorman is originally from Winnipeg, Canada and has been living in San Jose, California for the past 10 years enjoying the sunshine. She completed a BA in English at the University of Manitoba, with a specialization in Creative Writing. After university, the travel bug bit her hard and she spent the next 10 years traveling the world and supporting herself with odd jobs ( lots of fruit picking, waitressing, temp. work and ESL teaching). She spent many years in London, a few years in Israel on a moshav, and several years in Hong Kong. And then she found herself in Japan, where she married, had a daughter and ran an English school with her husband for 10 years. Throughout this time she kept diaries and wrote many short stories, some of which were published in small ex-pat magazines. Eventually, she returned to Canada and taught international students at U of Winnipeg, and newcomers to Canada at a technical college and was a teacher trainer for new ESL teachers. One day her husband said, “Guess what I got a job in California…” and not long after they packed up the car and drove south.  She taught ESL again in the USA, and one day decided to walk the Camino de Santiago a 500 mile walk across France to Spain and wrote a book about it, The Camino de Santiago: One Wanderful Walk, and found her love for writing again. She also completed a book of short stories about her travels, Some Wanderful Times and started a book series featuring the character of Rose Hawthorne. The first book of the series is Seven Wanders: The Ancient Wanders. Last year she retired from teaching, and is enjoying writing every day with her dog at her feet.

Her latest book is the mystery, Rose Hawthorne: The Irish Wanders.

You can visit Shannon at Facebook and Instagram. 

  

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