We’d lived in our house near downtown Cary for three years when my husband climbed up to the attic and disappeared. We were only the second family to reside in the 1966 home following the death of the original owner — a handy fellow named Gene Mallar who’d kept a binder full of records of his home improvements. It was in his spirit that Alex had ventured into the rafters armed with a flashlight…
2026-03-10
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