I was pleased to come upon the buff-colored "Detective Book Club" volumes in our local public library 35 years ago. I could go through the stacks looking for the familiar binding and make my selections in a hurry. Each volume had three mysteries. It was a way to discover authors. And if I didn't like one book, chances were good I'd like the other two selections.
A couple of stories stuck with me. One was about a man who escaped from prison and took refuge at a woman's house. It was really exciting and I hoped to find other books written by that author. Another was The Black Iris. Old ladies, sherry, a secret room, and a mysterious black iris (made out of carbon paper). I saw a black iris today. Black, indeed, until the bud opens out.
A couple of stories stuck with me. One was about a man who escaped from prison and took refuge at a woman's house. It was really exciting and I hoped to find other books written by that author. Another was The Black Iris. Old ladies, sherry, a secret room, and a mysterious black iris (made out of carbon paper). I saw a black iris today. Black, indeed, until the bud opens out.
