I stumble through the next day like a tired, stiff-shouldered zombie. Every movement makes my bones creak and my head throb.

Of course, Victor Pierro can’t take all the credit for my bleary eyes and hunched back. It’s not all from my shoe polish adventure. There’s also the jet lag after flying here from Switzerland and barely sleeping since, along with the stress that kept me tossing and turning even after I finally crashed into bed around dawn.

I’m done. I’m toast. So tired that when the realtor I invited comes to tour the townhouse after lunch, I keep yawning every few seconds, clapping a hand over my mouth each...