I grew up in a suburb of Little Rock. It was a mid-sized city, and it might have been one of many other towns in the South or Midwest -- "the flyover states," I think we're supposed to call them now, those of us who moved away and got snotty. One of the magical things about Little Rock is that it was easy to find the rich people. We had us some Rockefellers, and two banking brothers who kept close to politics (one would back the Republican, one the Democrat) and a couple of heart surgeons and superlawyers. They lived in houses I always thought of as rich-people houses, brick colonials with pillars and porticoes and fountains and extra wings and lots of rooms. If Agatha Christie had ever traveled down South and suddenly needed to write a country house mystery, she would have been just fine...
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