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

she said in her most chipper tone. “I’m Tessa Randolph. I work for Mr. Sanborn’s life insurance company. You must be his son.”

Mark glanced over his shoulder, looked her up and down, and then returned to the job at hand, pulling out piles of paper and tossing them aside.

Tessa got enough of a look to see the resemblance to Chet Sanborn. He still had all of his hair, though, and he didn’t wear a horrible tank top but a plain gray T-shirt and jeans.

“I’m surprised the old man had any life insurance,” he mumbled. “Let me guess—I’m not the beneficiary.”

“I don’t know. I’m not actually on that part of the case. But you do have my condolences for the loss of your father. Were the two of you close?”

Mark snorted and sat back on his heels. “If by close, you mean not at all interested in each other, then yeah, we were close.” He got up and moved to the entertainment center that held a small flat screen on a stand. He opened one of its cupboards and rifled through it.

“I see. I’m sorry to hear that. So, when was the last time the two of you talked?”

“We talked all the time,” Mark spat. “He’d call, say he needed money, and I’d tell him to get lost. Rinse and repeat. Every week, like clockwork. Sometimes, he’d ask about his grandkids, but usually by that point in the conversation, I was pretty much done. Done talking. Done with him.”

Mark closed that cupboard and moved to the one on the opposite side of the piece of furniture.

“So, your dad had some hard times, then?”

Tessa couldn’t figure out what Mark was looking for. He hadn’t put anything in a pile or otherwise held onto it as though it was something he planned to keep. He just kept moving from place to place in the living room.

“He didn’t have hard times. He made hard times. Dad did fine for himself. He made a good living as a painter when he was in his thirties and forties. He could’ve retired once he hit sixty-five. But he couldn’t stop gambling.”

“I see.”

“No. You don’t.” Mark was angry. “He was always losing. Then, when he won from time to time, things would get better. He’d take me and the family out. He’d pretend like he was going to change. But it never lasted. He might as well have been on drugs or something for as much good as his addiction did him.” Mark turned toward Tessa. “We had a good relationship when I was a kid—before he found gambling. I tried to help him for a while, but he just couldn’t be trusted.”

Tessa’s shoulders sagged. She didn’t know what to say.

“In fact,” Mark shook his head and frowned, “I lost a ton of money trying to help him out of his hole. But he didn’t care a bit about me. I had to keep him away from my family and my stuff. The truth is I lost my dad a long time before he died. I’m glad I’m not going to have to worry about him causing me and my family any more pain. Look, I’m done in here. I’m going to look through my dad’s room. Is there something else you need?”

Tessa shook her head. “I’m sorry again about your loss.”

“Yeah, well, save your sorries for somebody who can use them. I don’t need them.” He disappeared down the hall toward the bedroom.

Tessa slipped out of the apartment.

She wondered what Mark Sanborn was looking for—was it the money he’d told the casino about?

As she headed to her apartment, she felt guilty about Mark and Chet’s relationship. She and Cheryl had their differences, but she couldn’t imagine being glad if her mom had died.

Something about it all just didn’t add up.

Chapter 9

TESSA TOOK A SIP OF coffee, winced, and tossed the Styrofoam cup in the garbage can in her tiny office. Four cups was probably too much for one morning. She was definitely channeling her nervous energy into sipping away, but her heart pounded like it was trying to escape from her chest. She opted for water to avoid some kind of cardiac event.

Movement through the doorway caught her attention. Gloria passed through the lobby, heading toward her own office.

Tessa logged out of the assignment system, which was blank for the rest of her day—maybe for the rest of forever until she caught Sanborn’s soul. No new jobs meant no groceries. Maybe her neighbor Abi would take pity and feed Tessa some pizza rolls or something.

Tessa pranced out of her office and through the lobby, hoping to avoid her mother’s glare but wanting to chat with her new favorite coworker.

Gloria’s office was actually office-sized, unlike Tessa’s janitor closet space. Tessa leaned on the doorjamb and admired the décor. The other reaper had eclectic taste. There was a mixture of modern and rustic that somehow worked together. Bright, Picasso-like paintings dotted the walls, but the desk was solid oak, heavy and sturdy. Instead of a chair, Gloria bounced on an exercise ball while she woke her computer screen with the touch of the mouse.

She glanced up, and Tessa marveled at the perfectly arranged, long false eyelashes under a coat of sparkly silver eyeshadow. “Hey. Any luck finding your guy yet?” she asked.

“I found him.”

“And?”

“When he saw me, he took off.”

Gloria’s eyes widened. “Oh, man. You, my friend, have a runner.”

Tessa groaned. She crossed a luxurious beige shag area rug to sink into a neon green futon.

“Yeah, I figured that out. But why is he running from me? I mean, it isn’t like he can get his life back, right? He can’t avoid passing to the other side forever, can he?”

Gloria glanced away, not meeting Tessa’s eyes like her answer wasn’t the one Tessa was looking for.

“Shouldn’t he want to get on with things? Move on to the next phase of his existence or whatever?”

“He probably will at some point,” Gloria replied. “But, right now, it