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LIFE WHERE I LIVE
My Neighbor Blew Up His House for the Insurance Money
Let’s see how that worked out for him
Once upon a time, there was a nice, two-story brick home that sat kitty-corner from what is now my property. (Note to self: Google where the expression “kitty-corner” comes from.)
It sat on the lot where the shouty people subsequently lived, but they thankfully have moved and some very nice, i.e. quiet, people live there now. They mow their lawn a lot. I like them.
The brick house was there in the early 2000s, when I lived two roads over with my first husband, who was a sheriff’s deputy. What is now my house was then a real estate office, which explains the phone bank in my basement, but does not explain why one bedroom door has no knob, or even a hole for a knob.
I’m still getting Countrytyme Real Estate’s mail. I’ve been here almost 20 years.
Anyway, when the house across the street blew up, we of course knew instantly because my husband was a cop. He wasn’t actually needed, and he wasn’t on duty, but of course we beat feet to the scene, just to be nosy and because we could.
I’ll never forget — there was another police officer and his wife already there. They were riding his Harley-Davidson, eyeballing the…
