Just the other day I saw that they took down 4679 Leavenworth Street—Jim’s Seek & Save Antiques. Very cool, very weird and most definitely very old. I always kept a watchful, compassionate eye on this one. This structure was one of the
Tag: Jr.
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Jay Malkin wrote in to the Miss Cassette Detective Agency a while back. No longer living in town, Jay was trying to track down his father’s drugstore once at the southwest corner of 24th and Leavenworth and it was in that initial hunt that I
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I have always felt that winter was the absolute best time of year for house spying, what without all of the beautiful, interfering foliage, the disturbing undergrowth, the distracting flowers, all forms of plant life that normally wink and
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There is a worn 1963 photograph I had stashed away in a tissue-y sleeve in my desk for this very day. The image revealed the long ago, northeast corner of 15th and Howard, a building no longer standing. On the whole, fictitious. Like a Jim
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Here in the detective office, just as at home, I like to keep up appearances, if for no one but myself. The mishmash of a period-imbued backdrop fans my little dream, nudged along by the likes of Ethel Waters and Scrappy Lambert and his Colonial
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The Miss Cassette Detective Agency had suddenly sprung into being one day in a rented, 1940s furnished office enshrouded in Midtown. My objective was to handle and solve the closed book architectural cases with which I was perplexed and couldn’t
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I wish I could recapture a bit more from my child’s eye view of the large, Asian house. The memory is a tissue thin scrim of standing by the railed porch with my father and his friends, awaiting entrance to a blurred art opening. The ambiguous
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Allow me to read to you from one of my favorites, Daphne Du Maurier’s Gothic novel, Rebecca: “Last night I dreamt I went to Manderlay again. It seemed to me I stood by the iron gate leading to the drive, and for a while I could not enter, for
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I was on my merry way into my newest Byzantine investigation at the W. Dale Clark Library when I happened upon the old club fenced in, like a wayward jailbird or some unruly cattle pen. My heart lifted for a split minute, imagining a resplendent
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You know very well by now that this detective agency has a staff of one. And this one likes to wander off. I pretend at times that there is a crabby clerk to whom I am tethered. Mr. Cross, the office clerk. His sole purpose would be to answer