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
Tag: W. Dale Clark Library
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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
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I will be honest, it has been a rough winter, both indoors and out. I have always loved winter. A frosty-day detection, sliding around town on icy streets with a camera, notepad and a big Stanley of coffee normally brings me great delight. But
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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
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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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Hello Hello Hello….mic check one, two, three…ch, ch, ch…okay, once again…one, two, three. Here we are… welcome! Ladies and gentlemen, we’re coming to you live from the Peppermint Lounge after many, many months of playing the truant. I want to
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This obsession with magnificent homes degenerates into lunacy rather quickly, don’t you agree? As soon as one learns of another kindred spirit or finds a good group of architectural snoops such as ours, one begins to recognize the exhilarating
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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
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Before I came to the belated preoccupation of sharing my house sleuthing adventures, my life was largely one of hidden obsession. Left to my own imaginings and amateur stakeouts, I had about worn out the ears of closest companions regarding My
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This installment is Part Two in an ongoing series of the mysterious French country home located in the Rockbrook Neighborhood. If you are joining us for the first time, please take some time to get up to speed on our newest investigation.