Miss Cassette will not be guiding a tour through a dream portal nor a wardrobe today, although my beloved Omaha has walked this historic path many times before any of us were born. I ask that we join together, here amidst the confusion and pain
Tag: Miss Cassette
-
-
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
-
Years ago, when I had first hired Mr. Cross to address my messes in the detective office, attend to telephone calls and handle my mailings and such, he placed an opened, pale blue envelope on the ol’ tanker in a la-de-da manner. With
-
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
-
Between you, me and the postman, I should have rang that doorbell when I had the chance. The shake shingle and stone cottage was a New England Classic. Any beady-eyed lingerer could see, 10805 Poppleton Avenue was the Real Deal Mystery disguised
-
Early in the 1940s, racing “a murky sky between showers, five cars of Omahans, four to a car, went treasure hunting,” under the direction of Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Stocker. The Stocker couple, no doubt, enjoyed hosting themed parties, as was the
-
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 Manderley again. It seemed to me I stood by the iron gate leading to the drive, and for a while I could not enter, for
-
You and I are obsessed with the look of a proper estate with tall creepers and twiner-covered wrought iron gates. Even typing this I tremble to think of the extravagance of it all. Just imagining having one’s morning coffee on a patina copper
-
I spent one of the happiest mornings of recent memory lounged on a chaise of Mr. Cassette’s family lake house dock, watching. Turned toward the beach, I lazily gazed as Mr. Cassette was bending down over the sand, head hanging and with quick,
-
Anything might happen. I made the tour of the Field Club and Hanscom Park area, sticking to the sidewalks this time. A large home with a frontage on Thirty-second Avenue extends all the way to Thirty-third–it stole my breath again as it