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    Secrets of the Gap
    Secrets of the Gap
    Secrets of the Gap
    Ebook147 pages2 hours

    Secrets of the Gap

    By Elaine L. Orr

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    About this ebook

    For Carolyn Williams,the ancient Roman Baths of England are why she became an archaeologist. At a conference at the baths, she finds the infuriating Greg Porter, who is unable to shake feelings about the place and has traveled from his dig in Egypt.

    Over the next few days, Carolyn's theories about the long-buried Roman Temple come up against others who are looking for it. What the others want is the long-missing torso of the statue of Sulis Minerva, whose head is in the museum. The rough looking Robert Hill does maintenance work in the Baths so that the can look for the statue, and museum guide Gladys Rigsby thinks he will turn the reunited statue over to her. She believes it will give her eternal life. More sinister than either of them is the meeting's host, Winston Reed, who will pay top dollar for the complete statue.

    Carolyn believes the Celtic monks, a tolerant breed of early Christians, are the ones who sealed the temple. One of the clues in her research was a symbol she found on a photograph in a British library archive. Will the symbol help her find the long-buried portions of the Roman Baths? Will the statue be there? And if Carolyn, Greg and professor friend Scotty manage to find the statue, will they live to reunite it with its head?
    * * *
    For a cozy mystery with a romantic twist, try Secrets of the Gap.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherElaine L. Orr
    Release dateSep 13, 2011
    ISBN9781466044074
    Secrets of the Gap
    Author

    Elaine L. Orr

    Elaine L. Orr writes four mystery series, including the thirteen-book Jolie Gentil cozy mystery series, set at the Jersey shore. "Behind the Walls" was a finalist for the 2014 Chanticleer Mystery and Mayhem Awards. The first book in the River's Edge series--set in rural Iowa--"From Newsprint to Footprints," came out in late 2015; the second book, "Demise of a Devious Neighbor," was a Chanticleer finalist in 2017.The Logland series is a police procedural with a cozy feel, and began with "Tip a Hat to Murder" in 2016 The Family History Mystery series, set in the Western Maryland Mountains began with "Least Trodden Ground" in 2020. The second book in the series, "Unscheduled Murder Trip," received an Indie B.R.A.G. Medallion in 2021.She also writes plays and novellas, including the one-act play, "Common Ground" published in 2015. Her novella, "Falling into Place," tells the story of a family managing the results of an Iowa father’s World War II experience with humor and grace. Another novella, "Biding Time," was one of five finalists in the National Press Club's first fiction contest, in 1993. "In the Shadow of Light" is the fictional story of children separated from their mother at the US/Mexico border.Nonfiction includes :Words to Write By: Getting Your Thoughts on Paper: and :Writing When Time is Scarce.: She graduated from the University of Dayton and the American University and is a member of Sisters in Crime. Elaine grew up in Maryland and moved to the Midwest in 1994.Her fiction and nonfiction are at all online retailers in all formats -- ebooks, paperbacks, large print, and (on Amazon, itunes, and Audible.com) audio in digital form. Paperbacks can be ordered through Barnes and Noble Stores as well as t heir online site.Support your local bookstore!

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      Book preview

      Secrets of the Gap - Elaine L. Orr

      Secrets of the Gap

      Elaine Orr

      Copyright 2010 by Elaine L. Orr

      Slight revisions 2018

      All rights reserved.

      This ebook edition is licensed for your personal use only.

      www.elaineorr.com

      www.elaineorr.blogspot.com

      PROLOGUE

      The pain in his head subsided somewhat. Gregor struggled in the knee-deep water as he pushed the heavy piece of stone. The water was higher now. The three other men were having the same trouble keeping their balance.

      Suddenly, the red-bearded man reached out and forcefully shoved one of the men into the water. Gregor recoiled. He wanted to say something to the bearded man, but words would not come.

      The man dropped his portion of the heavy piece of stone into the water and picked up a piece of timber that had fallen behind him. Gregor raised a hand to deflect the blow, but was not quick enough. Water swirled and everything grew dark.

      The warm water splashed over his forehead and the voice shouted at him from far away. Dr. Porter!

      Greg sat straight up, sand pouring down the back of his shirt. He looked down, and judged the dark drops on the front of his sweat-drenched tee shirt to be his own blood.

      Praise Allah, his Egyptian guide said. Now you ride my camel, as I suggested. This one is too mean. We are lucky he did not step on you after he threw you.

      Of course, Greg thought, he was in Egypt. And his guide had used some of their precious water to bring him back to consciousness. Camels be damned.

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Links to more books

      Author Bio

      CHAPTER ONE

      CAROLYN WILLIAMS STOOD as close as she could to the relentlessly running water, letting it drown out all other sounds. She studied the stone archway with the steamy waters pouring from it to a small pool below, as fascinated by the ancient Roman baths as when she first saw a picture of them in one of her parents' many travel brochures.

      She had often asked to go to Bath, England and, if only to quiet her pleas, the family had spent a week there when she was ten. She had returned on her own three times, never able to get enough of this mystical place.

      Even in the dim light of the passage way, Carolyn could see the different hues of the stones that funneled the water from the old Roman reservoir into the small pool below. She smiled to herself, resting her blonde head against the metal gate that kept inquiring children from testing the steamy waters.

      The male voice behind her startled Carolyn. Does this mean that the most studious graduate of the Archeology Institute of New York has finally learned to take some time to daydream?

      Carolyn whirled to face Greg Porter, regular thorn in her side during her five years of graduate study. One look told her Greg had changed little in the three years since she had seen him. If anything, as he approached age thirty his brown eyes were more roguish. The close-cropped dark curls had no trace of gray. His six-foot frame was more tanned and relaxed than she had remembered, but his stance remained that of someone used to setting life's pace.

      Carolyn felt her back stiffen as her silver-grey eyes surveyed him. What a surprise. As I recall, Dr. Porter, you said you would have to be dragged by wild horses before you would go to a – dare I quote? – 'stuffy meeting of grave diggers.'

      Greg threw back his head as he laughed, highlighting perfectly-spaced teeth. That's the Carolyn I remember. You never could take a joke.

      Though his tone was not unkind, the words stung. I have a good sense of humor. It's just different from yours. She stopped. No way was she going to rise to his bait. What are you doing here, Greg? I thought you specialized in Northern Africa.

      I do. When I saw the annual meeting was here, I thought I'd tag along. He gestured to the museum upstairs. Figured I could look at some of what the British plundered from North Africa. Plus, there's bound to be more hot water than in the hotels I've been staying in in Egypt.

      Carolyn regarded him, suspicious of his casual reason for appearing in Bath. The Greg Porter she remembered refused to attend any traditional events. He would especially not have gone to the joint meeting of the Royal Society of Archaeologists and the American Archaeologic Historians, long known as the most formal of the many archeology meetings held every year.

      She decided she had no choice but to give him the benefit of the doubt. You going on the tour? Starts in about ten minutes.

      Greg walked over to stand next to her and he studied the water for a few moments without comment. I've never been here. Weren't these baths your primary research area?

      You know they were. They've always been my favorite place to visit. Carolyn regarded him as Greg stared at the steamy water. She could not remember him being this pensive. Greg was restless to the point of impatient, in or out of class. She relaxed her grip on the metal gate in front of the steamy arch and let her shoulders relax. Carolyn felt the infuriating mix of repulsion and attraction that had always characterized her reaction to the man with whom she had tied for first place in their graduating class.

      The attraction had been instantaneous. He was bright, articulate and handsome. But Greg Porter had a darker side, and it included disdain for those who were not as bright as he. No, perhaps aloofness would be more fair. It was as if his ideas were too important to share with others.

      With a start, Carolyn realized Greg was now looking at her rather than the pouring waters. She felt a rush of warmth. From the steamy water, of course. You never said if you were going on the tour.

      Greg turned from the archway as if he was about to walk toward the Great Bath. I guess I will. I should probably listen to make sure all that stuff you said about this place was true.

      I didn't realize you listened that carefully. Carolyn eyed the Great Bath. As the water met with the cooler air, it created a mist that mixed with the dusk to heighten the ancient aura of the place. Bet you don't know how many millions of gallons of water are pumped in here from the hot spring below.

      You're right, I don't.

      To Carolyn's ears, it sounded as if he implied he didn't care. She glanced at Greg Nearly a quarter million gallons per day. The Romans may have been responsible for the engineering feats that created these massive bathing areas and ornate structures, but they couldn't have done it without Mother Nature.

      Greg continued to survey the misty green waters. No doubt.

      Carolyn had had enough. Greg Porter was hard enough to tolerate when he was willing to talk. The somber version was an even bigger pain to be around. If you decide to go on the tour, I'll see you there.

      Sure. Greg moved away, seemingly studying the patterns of the rough stonework that comprised the flooring.

      Carolyn glanced at her watch. It wasn't quite time for the special tour, so she walked the short distance to view the display of the Gorgon's head, said to have once graced the now-gone Roman Temple.

      The hair and mustache of the male figure appeared as flames that spread out from the face to form a perfect circle. Though it was similar to some Roman sculpture, the Celtic emphasis was strongest. Two snakes were intertwined in the flaming hair below his chin, a symbol of the union with the forces of nature.

      Though there were many theories about what the head represented, Carolyn best liked that which said it was King Bladud, a master of magic who could communicate with the dead, and was said to have founded the original universities in Britain. She regarded the flaming hair that wreathed his head, reflecting on one of the other beliefs, that the Gorgon's head was that of a sun god. Either way, his image was a powerful one.

      Lass, you don't need to study it quite so hard. Old Gorgon isn't going anywhere.

      Carolyn smiled as she regarded the face of Dr. James Cochran, once simply a favorite professor and now a beloved friend as well. He extended a hand. She grasped it with both of hers and leaned forward to kiss his weathered cheek. Since when do we merely shake hands?

      I was thinking at a professional meeting, I should perhaps not act at all familiar. Scotty, as most of his friends called him, winked.

      Carolyn suspected that he worked hard to keep his Scottish accent, which rolled off his tongue as easily as if he'd moved to the United States from Glasgow only the week before, rather than decades earlier. Don't you dare be so formal.

      Carolyn took his arm as they walked toward the steps leading up to the museum, where they were to meet with others to form the tour group. She regarded his profile, with the finely-lined skin topped with a shock of thick, white hair. She had never thought of Scotty as that much older than she, but he was in his mid-sixties, and had been widowed long before she met him nearly ten years earlier. The age difference was clearer now.

      Scotty walked with an awkward gait, the result of a mild stroke several years earlier. Carolyn slowed her pace a bit. You'll never guess, she continued, who I just ran into.

      If you mean your old friend Greg Porter, I don't need to guess. Saw his name on the list of attendees.

      He not my ... Carolyn caught herself. I mean, we don't stay in touch. Not that she could have kept in touch if she wanted to. Greg had left the U.S. shortly after graduation, and as far as she knew he communicated with none of their classmates.

      Before Scotty could reply, the

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