A week before the January thaw finally arrived in February, I found myself hanging like a bat from a rafter inside a church steeple, face-to-face with a bell made by Paul Revere.
If you’d have told me a month ago that I’d find myself in this position, I would have said you were crazy.
But then, a month ago my life was completely different. A month ago, my career as a middle-school private eye hadn’t begun.
And by the way, it didn’t begin inside a steeple. Absolutely truly not.