How did I come to like Crime Novels?

I came to love crime stories when I was ten years old. In 1962 Hurricane Freda pounded Vancouver one night. I listened to wind and I have loved the sound of it ever since. The next morning my father drove me into downtown Vancouver to an art class. We passed fallen trees, branches scattered over the road, damaged vehicles. In the class we were asked to paint the storm.
One girl spoke up about her experience the night before. She had read Dracula during the storm and relayed the story to the class. It went on my birthday list as soon as I got home. My mother ensured I received it for Christmas. At the time we traveled every year to Kamloops to spend time with my grandparents. I got the utility room, which had two beds and a closet with no door or curtain that contained the family film footage, slides and camera equipment. One night, early on in the novel, I read about Jonathan Harker looking out the castle window and watching Dracula descend like an insect, head first down the castle wall. I shivered. I woke up later in the dark, convinced that someone was watching me from the utility room, and had difficulty getting back to sleep. I got up and checked the utility room, but although no one was there I walked down the hallway to the sun room and fell asleep on the couch.
Although tagged as a horror story, Dracula is in essence a crime novel. I read on from there, in time finding the classics written by Doyle, Hammett, Chandler, MacDonald and MacDonald.