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Misfits and Inglorious Bastards

I went back to my past a few weeks ago–and discovered they were tearing It down. The past had been safely housed for over forty years inside the old gray stone┬ámonolith that was the Windsor Star on the corner of

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Standing In Airports, Holding A Book, Listening To Stories

This week a reader of The Sanibel Sunset Detective novels e-mailed me several questions, ending with this one: “Why does a man with ten published books to his credit spend his time hawking a handful of them in an airport?”

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