Dale told me he was communicating with his dead mother. He seemed very agitated. “What did she say?” I asked. “Well, she wants me to kill my father,” he said. “Your father is a nice old man,” I said. “He doesn’t hurt anybody.” “That’s not what she says. She says he killed her,” he said. “That’s crazy,” I said. “I know your father, and he wouldn’t kill anyone, especially her. He loved her. Anyone could see that. You must have the wrong number, I mean, you must be talking to somebody else. Did you ever consider that?” “No, it’s her all right. I couldn’t mistake her voice,” he said. “Well, what are you going to do about it? You can’t just go and kill your father,” I said. “I wish she would just go away. At first I was glad to hear from her. I missed her, you know. But then she started telling me these horrible things. Sometimes I think I’m going crazy,” he said. I told him to go have a nice dinner with his father. He’d see it was all a big mistake. He agreed, but he said he was afraid of what he might do to him, because he was under orders from his mother. I didn’t hear from Dale for a while after that. I called Carla and asked her if she had heard anything. “No, I haven’t heard from Dale, but, you know, I think the old man might have done it. He was in the war, you know, and who knows what might have gone on there. Maybe he was tortured, or he could have been the torturer. He’s very quiet, and those are the ones you have to watch. And, I must say, she was pretty irritating,” she said. “I, personally, couldn’t stand her,” I said. The whole thing seemed ridiculous to me, and I tried to put it out of my mind. Morgan came by and wanted to take me for a drive in his new car, which looked like a gangster car from the thirties. He was showing off and showing me what it could do when a police car pulled us off to the side of the road. “Is there a fire somewhere?” he said. They need a new scriptwriter, I thought to myself. “No, officer, I was just showing off my new car,” Morgan said. “I’ve heard that one before,” the officer said. “Still, I’m going to let you off with a warning this time just because it’s such a good looking car,” he said. Morgan thanked him and drove on very sheepishly. We talked in whispers as though we were being monitored. “Have you heard about Dale’s problems?” I said, assuming he had. “No, what problems?” he said. “His dead mother’s talking to him,” I said. “Oh, just stock tips and that kind of thing. Advice,” I said. “Stock tips from the dead, sounds like it could be kind of risky,” he said. “It’s just kind of troubling. I doubt that he’ll do anything about it,” I said. Just then a stag walked out of the forest and stood right in our lane staring at us. Morgan hit the brakes as hard as he could and skidded to a stop just feet away from the animal. The stag in its majesty showed no fear and refused to move. We were both trembling and trying to catch our breath. “Jesus,” Morgan said, “that was a close one. What are we supposed to do now?” “I’ll get out of the car and have a word with it,” I said. “He has a very impressive rack,” he said, “and I don’t think it’s there for picking berries.” “Good point,” I said. The stag sniffed the car and examined it, but soon lost interest and ambled across the highway. Morgan drove on, even more slowly than before. Dale called me later that week and said it was done. I said, “What’s done?” He said, “I’ve killed my mother. She was always a liar and wanted to hurt both me and my father.” I said, “But, Dale, she was already dead.” He said, “Not dead enough.” I said, “Then that’s good.” “My father doesn’t know anything. He thought she was a saint,” he said. “Mum’s the word,” I said.