It’s tucked away on a little street, only one block long,  around the corner from two bustling through streets. It has a yellow awning and a large window, often folded open when the weather permits. These days you can’t pull your car up along side it; there are stained wooden boxes, filled with earth and flora, blocking the way.  Three steps of brick, flanked by a delicate iron rail and yet taller plants, lead into the front room. A long, sandy, rustic marble bar stretches from the entrance to the kitchen, with gladiolas or allium bulbs in a large glass jug of water, extending a greeting. Clay tiles and stucco walls give a feeling of being near the sea. The wall opposite the bar is lined with wooden furniture adorned with ceramic hens, flowers and candles. There is a large pot of fresh tree branches looming over the end of the bar, that deters some with it’s tickling leaves and invites others with it’s picnic like scene. Past a recessed marble counter which serves as a station for service, two chestnut doors hiding the bathrooms and two somewhat hidden steps, is the core of the infrastructure.

The courtyard is almost completely green with ivy on one side, save for the roses dotting it, usually in pairs or threes. An adjacent brick wall is decorated by a wooden table, at which I have had many memories, now topped with more long stems and wide flowers in painted ceramic or handmade vases. Between these two walls is a door that goes between two buildings and has only been around for a few years. It leads to an annex in the address next door. This rented storefront is a long, narrow space, with a fortified center area housing refrigerators and sinks. Clay icons can be found set in the stucco walls, and shelves tower above almost everywhere.

In the back of the aforementioned courtyard, there are four doors along an opposite brick wall, which all lead to a carriage house that is now over two-hundred years old. This excuses it from the horribly cracked tiles and slightly uneven floor in the kitchen area downstairs, which is mostly used for ironing these days. However the adjacent dining room is still used for dining, but only by the cooks these days. The second story is called the library, justly so. There are books on all four sides of the room and they are of all kinds, truly. Cookbooks, photo books, fiction novels, historic writings and of course, an encyclopedia. There is also a cabinet with wooden doors displaying small miniature scenes of soft clay. The third floor were bedrooms long ago, but now it is an office, one office with many desks and computers. Sometimes I wonder what it was like when it was a home.

Next to one of these four doors to the house, tucked away in the corner of the the courtyard, are large cement steps lined with wax candle lanterns and little trees and bushes. The steps lead to a patio, or a terrace of sorts, over looking the courtyard and providing a bridge between the carriage house and the street-facing apartment building. The tiles on the patio give a feel of being on vacation, maybe in the Mediterranean. The plants and bistro lights complement each other so subtly, the plants shading the lights a little and the lights illuminating the colors of the plants. I like every space but this one is perhaps my favorite.

 

On the matter of “It Had to be Murder”, I am very curious as to who Hal Jeffries is. Is he a photographer? A ex-cop? Also, how did he get hurt? I find it funny that only so close to getting his cast off did he get into all this mischief. How did Sam become to be so endebted to Hal?