I hung up the phone after giving Bertha the name of a good electrician. She was confident the daycare would be up and running by Monday morning.

I ate a small breakfast, some oatmeal and toast, then got dressed. I climbed into my car and noticed one of the tires was going flat. Another thing to add to my increasingly long to-do list for the day.

At the top of that list was a visit to the Schmeister-Hausen residence on North Beach. It took me over an hour, but I finally pulled into the front of the Schmeister-Hausen mansion after asking for directions at a local gas station. An arched gate with a security guard shack protected the house from uninvited guests. I did my best to look invited.

“Tell Mrs. Schmeister-Hausen I’m here for my appointment,” I told the security guard. The guard entered my name and phone number on his writing pad then retrieved a cell phone from his belt and called the main house.

“A Mr. Ratchet is here for his appointment,” the guard said into the phone. “Blaze Ratchet.”