There is a hidden treasure in the grand old mansion on Piccadilly Street, in a place called London, but not the real London of English fame. There’s also a lot of mystery and a murder that’s been unsolved for decades. But it’s the treasure that captures Mary’s interest.
Why the intrigue? Apparently there’s a little bit of magic connected to this treasure. And so the adventure begins. Who will find the treasure first?

She writes about the extra-ordinary in life and her books, short stories, and articles are receiving considerable attention. For more information on the author, check out her website at: http://emilyjanebooks.ca
Top Ten List
10 Favorite Things:
- My family – my husband and two adult children are my life and my stories weave around family times past, present, and future.
- My dog, Duke – my muse; he helps me plot out a story and listens intently when I need an attentive ear.
- Chocolate – must have some every day, or life wouldn’t be the same.
- Books – can’t go a day without reading, especially the real books, the smell and feel of paper adding to the aura of the act of reading.
- My garden – Sadly, I can only enjoy this in the spring, summer and fall; but I spend most of the winter planning the next gardening season.
- Needlework/art – I love to cross-stitch and create collage fabric art.
- Music – I’m a retired music teacher, so I love to play the piano (for myself only) and I enjoy composing for the piano.
- Writing – Of course, I love to write. Perhaps this should be at the top of the list. I can’t go a day without writing. That’s my storytelling heritage.
- Mail – Now, this may seem strange, but I love to receive mail. Not email. Not texts. Not those short blurbs on social media that really say nothing. I have a few writer friends with whom I exchange regular letters. Written in cursive writing. Sent via snail mail. There’s nothing so rewarding as walking to the mailbox and returning with something more interesting to read than a bill.
- Time – Now this is a really illusive thing, but a quantity of which we are all in short supply. I never seem to have enough time to do everything I want to do. More time. Less time. It doesn’t matter. It still passes at the same speed. And then another day is over and another day about to begin.
