How exhilarating, I mused… and what passionate fellow detectives they were! The couple signed their name, “Spencer and Elizabeth Murphy” including an email address and a cell phone number. Or was I delirious from the day’s sun? No matter, it had to be very near the same place, certainly the same West Pacific Street area I had surveyed so closely months earlier. I had a momentary vision of the imagined 1018 South 90 th Street property and butterflies very nearly tickled my insides to the point of exuberance. Gene Melady on West Pacific Street” came into clear view. Although I was following the breadcrumbs of another country home’s trail, in it “’Balla Machree,’ with Irish flavor, identifying the country place of Mr. ![]() I filed it away to memory, as it gave hints to the romantic fashion of local estate names, borrowed from Europe. Strangely I had studied just this very article for an investigation in my book last winter. He would include a newspaper article from 1924 where the trend of naming one’s country home was thoroughly and deliciously elaborated on. Murphy shared a number of historic articles on the home, unconcealed in Mrs. They built a few homes along 90th street, but Balla Machree was the largest…” I wanted to see if you would have any interest in writing about Balla Machree and the Meladys. Obviously we have a strong preference they do not do this, but I am in touch with the reality of the situation. More unfortunate is Ontic Properties recently purchased the home and has indicated they intend to tear it down and build either attached row houses or detached house. Unfortunately, it has been vacant for a few years, and needs a number of renovations. Eugene Melady and was named Balla Machree. This home was originally built in 1919 by Mr. I am writing to you about the home next door to us at 1018 S. I would ease back into my favorite, a solid quarter sawn oak swivel number and kick off my wedges under the desk as I studied the handwriting… Cross really is quite efficient with his silver letter opener and afterall, he does need little jobs with which to occupy his ill humor. I pulled the stationery from the skillfully slashed envelope. ![]() Then he studied me with curled lips and announced, “You’ve got freckles.” “For you,” he enunciated in an aloof manner. Cross, the agency’s Man Friday, sniffed and passed a mysterious ecru envelope my way. I thought I might straighten up in city clothes, rearrange my hair and perhaps check in with the office. By the time we got back to town, I was sun drained in the way that makes one blissfully dizzy and almost tipsy, truthfully–the kind of natural fulfillment one rarely speaks of because the sun has fallen from fashion, afterall. Not a lot of newspaper gets read at the lake. To see the world upside down while experiencing sand between one’s toes…The Life of Riley, I sighed. Cassette was bending down over the sand, head hanging and with quick, whisking movements, he uprooted small, determined, Cottonwood Sprouts and Sedge Sprigs, much like his grandfather had toiled for decades previous. Turned toward the beach, I lazily gazed as Mr. Cassette’s family lake house dock, watching. I spent one of the happiest mornings of recent memory lounged on a chaise of Mr.
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