“Yes, I’ll do that,” the security guard said. He made another note after replacing the cell phone in his belt. A Glock 27 pistol was tucked nicely near his cell phone clip.

“Mr. Ratchet, I’m afraid you’ll have to leave. You have no appointment. Either you’re mistaken or a liar. I suggest you turn around and go back the same way you came.”

“Was that Mrs. Schmeister-Hausen on the phone? Could I speak with her?”

“I’m asking you nicely. Please leave.”

I turned my car around and slowly drove north, taking a side street that encircled the Schmeister-Hausen property. The mansion sat on three forested acres, expensive land for sure in this part of town. I found no rear entrance or alley. All I saw was a 12-foot brick wall surrounding the homestead on all four sides. The arched gateway apparently was the only way in or out, and the security guard was not going to let me in. I needed some answers, and that meant I needed to get inside the house.

I decided to wait until dark to make my move.