(Continued from part 1)

[EDITING MARCH 17: I edited this post tonight. See note on part 1. — SG]

On Wednesday, March 8, sometime before 10 a.m., the phone rang. The caller identified herself as Paul Brooks’s receptionist.

“I’m just calling to confirm an appointment to show your house at 5:30 today,” she said.

“At 5:30 this afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“What happened to my 24 hours notice?”

“Your what?”

“Paul Brooks said we would get 24 hours notice before any appointments.”

“Well, I don’t know anything about that. Can I confirm for today at 5:30?”

I gave it some thought. I was busy working on my Albrecht Dürer project; Phoebe was preparing the house for a visit from some friends; Gilbert was preparing an expedition to scale the majestic Mountain of Stuffed Toys, with only a small plastic bowl for his provisions.

I concluded that this would be an inconvenient time to show the house. “No, you can not,” I answered.
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