The Tessa Randolph Collection, Books 1-3 by Paula Lester (best ereader for comics .txt) 📗

tumbling. He drifted toward the reapers as though held in a force field. “Sometimes you gotta take control or they’ll run.”

“And I guess they don’t all wait around for their reaper if you aren’t exactly on time,” Tessa grumbled.

“Some do. Some don’t,” Gloria conceded. “But I’ll let you in on a little secret. It’s probably not quite as dire as your mom’s making it out to be. She’s a corporate yes-man. She’s always toeing the line. And I’m not saying it’s ever happened to me, but sometimes a soul just isn’t quite ready to leave.”

“I’m not ready!” James cried, sounding less slurred than he had initially.

“Too bad,” Gloria snapped before turning back to Tessa. “Maybe your guy has a reason for sticking around. Like he wants to see his loved ones one last time at his funeral. Or . . . hey, wasn’t it a murder? I know—he probably wants to see his killer caught. Hang on. I’ll be right back.”

Gloria used her reaper power to pull James to within a few inches of her body and, as Tessa watched, they both shimmered, growing less tangible by the second, until they winked out of sight.

Tessa crossed the road and got in Gloria’s car to wait for her return, wondering whether the other reaper was right about Sanborn. Was he trying to evade crossing to the other side on purpose? All so he could see his killer behind bars. It made sense, the more she thought about it. Tessa could imagine feeling the same way in his shoes.

And Gloria had made her feel a bit better about the whole situation—unlike Cheryl. Maybe Tessa had time to find Sanborn and help him cross the veil before something crazy happened.

But how?

All of a sudden, she knew the answer. If it was true that Sanborn was staying to ensure his killer was caught, then if Tessa found the murderer, she’d find Chet Sanborn.

Chapter 6

“YOU KNOW, YOU ARE WAY too fickle,” Tessa lectured Linda. “I mean, seriously. Today, you star like it’s nothing and yesterday—when I really needed you, I might add, you let me down. Listen up, old girl. You’re really going to have to shape up if you expect me to keep dumping my hard-earned money into you.”

Tessa pulled into the Mist River Manor parking lot, brought the car to a stop in the reserved spot for apartment 114, and shut off the engine.

In a gentler tone, she said, “You know I love you, right? That’s the only reason I haven’t traded you in for a newer model.”

They both knew that wasn’t true. There was no way Tessa could afford a new car. But she figured it was good to keep some fear of the junkyard in Linda’s mind.

Grabbing the bank envelope off the passenger seat, she hopped out of the car. Cheryl had agreed to pay Tessa for the first job, the one at the golf course. Now she could pay her rent. Of course, she’d had to endure her mother’s smug attitude as Cheryl wrote the check. But Tessa had decades of practice dealing with that.

Silas was in the lobby, tool bag open at his feet, replacing a chipped tile near the reception desk. A man of many talents.

He glanced up when Tessa’s shadow fell over his work. “Oh, hey.”

“I have that rent for you.” She held out the envelope.

Silas looked surprised. He got to his feet, dusted off his jeans, and accepted the envelope. “Thanks.”

Tessa turned to leave, already thinking about having a nice salami sandwich before heading back to work. She shuddered at the thought that reaping souls already felt like a typical job.

“Oh, by the way,” Silas called after her. “ A couple of guys came through here asking about you earlier. I told them I thought you were out at your new job.”

Guys? What guys? Tessa wondered who would be looking for her. Could they be from the reaper agency, perhaps someone higher up than Cheryl, wanting to talk to her about the Sanborn debacle? But why? Her mother seemed to have the Tessa-lecturing firmly in hand, and Gloria had all but skirted the matter under the rug.

Tessa wracked her brain, trying to remember if she owed anyone else money but came up blank.

Then she realized who they must be.

Officer Stewart had said the police department may want to question her again. That had to be it. She trudged toward the door leading to her hallway, feeling low on energy.

As she drew near the end of the short hall before it spilled out to the longer corridor her apartment was on, Tessa heard banging. Someone was knocking hard on a door. Then, a male voice said, “Does Theresa Randolph live here?”

They banged again.

Tessa stopped short. A war was going on inside her. Part of her wanted to correct the guy . . . her name was Tessa—whatever her birth certificate said. But the rest of her wanted to stay out of sight.

However, if it was the police officers wanting to talk to her, she knew it was probably a better idea to present herself. She didn’t want to get on the wrong side of the Mystic River Police Department.

But she really didn’t have time. She didn’t want to be questioned for hours on a subject she couldn’t reveal to the police. She needed to find Chet Sanborn’s spirit.

Slowly and carefully, Tessa peeked one eye around the corner. Two men stood towering over her neighbor, Mrs. Cross, who craned her neck upward and scowled at them.

“Wrong apartment,” she barked. “That girl lives next door.” The elderly woman jerked a thumb toward Tessa’s apartment before slamming the door in the men’s faces.

Tessa frowned. She didn’t recognize either of them. They weren’t uniformed officers, and they didn’t give off the vibe of plain clothes detectives either. One looked around thirty-five and was really tall—Tessa guessed around six foot two—with reddish brown hair in a man bun, khaki linen capris, and black Birkenstocks. Definitely not a regular