I waited a moment, let it all sink in.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, I know it’s weird, but it’s me. You’re probably wondering what’s happening.”

“You think?”

My dad’s voice laughed a little bit. That familiar, hearty, Minnesotan laugh I loved so much. It felt like hot stew getting poured over a pile of rice.

“Yeah, I get it. Just no other way to do it,” my father went on. “It’s the only way I can really explain it. If you don’t have the seat belt on, you might want to strap in, because this is going to be a lot.”

My father punctuated that last second with his signature laugh to make it clear that he was at least 50 percent joking.

“I know you got my message on that answering machine. You may not realize it, but I was trying to get in contact with you before that. The microwave turning on, the TV turning on, I was trying to reach you ever since you walked through that door, but I couldn’t. I just got lucky. I left that message for your mom about him. Him being Chip. The man who has been following you all night. Your mom met him at the church after I passed. I was fine with it at first, but then I noticed something about him. I watched him walk around that house. I watched him take things. I watched him change documents which belonged to your mother. I watched him slowly poison her.”

I audibly gasped.