I went around to the Hotel Castle, registered my alias, paid my day’s rent and was taken up to room 333. I smoked and paced and clicked my nails on the burr side stand. I looked out the Venetian blinds now and again. Two hours passed before the
Tag: Westside High School
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It happened like this. I rushed through the office and asked, “Where did the photograph from 9402 Pacific Street go to?” As I shuffled through a stack of manilla file folders, my coffee stained case notes and recently delivered mail, I pleaded
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I received a mysterious night telegram from 9402 Pacific Street, possibly emitted from the warning trees, which caused me to hurry up to the property without delay. I cannot be sure how I got there, but I had cast off my thick Hudson and bed
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There is a wild and wooly environ just a stone’s throw from the huge, Hidden House we churned about on 96th and Pacific that I’ve been meaning to return to. 9402 Pacific Street, my longtime dream property in this area, is situated on two acres,
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When we last dispersed and everyone was tucked into bed, I ventured out alone in the darkness. I pressed on, searching, as the Hidden House’s Byzantine plot swirled with other smoky ringlets in the air. I hope you can excuse my secret beat. I
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A little birdie has once again tipped me to goings-on along Pacific Street in the mysterious 85th to 87th vicinity. I had written about the real estate development scheme involving the razing of seven Mid-century Modern ranches and older trees
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If one had been in the desperate habit of falling deeply in love with unattainable brick English country homes, the great beauty settled at 1111 South 90th Street would have long ago proposed a perilous catch. I say perilous only because loving
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There is no chance for creeping on North 89th Circle without a tinge of house-stalking shame. If you are not endowed with thick skin or wearing a very good disguise, don’t even think about turning off of Burt Street. But here I am to entice. The
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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
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I will admit, I have an obsession with cobblers and tailors. These craftsmen’s workrooms were occasionally visited on Saturday errands when I was young and from those brief but memorable interactions, it was their particular scent that