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

wood polish until you could see your reflection, stood in the center under a fancy chandelier that dripped with crystals.

Cheryl set down the platter and waited for Tessa to get to her spot. They sat simultaneously. Tessa couldn’t contain a sigh as she looked at the place setting. The china was off-white with a delicate pink and blue flower pattern, and Tessa hated it. She preferred the blue everyday plates in the cupboard. Their chips and stains made her feel comfortable.

How can home not feel like home?

She reached for the red wine already poured at her place and took an unladylike gulp that drew a frown from Cheryl. “Sorry. Thanks for inviting me.”

“Well, you’re my daughter. And, really, this is way too much food for just one person. You can take some leftovers home too.”

That sounded great to Tessa. Cheryl may not look like a fifties housewife, but she was a fantastic cook. The roast would be melt in your mouth good, that went without saying.

For a few minutes, the only sounds in the echoey dining room were utensils against plates as they served themselves and started eating. Tessa wasn’t disappointed. The food was amazing. So much better than the Hot Pockets and ramen she’d gotten used to after losing her waitress job.

Then she remembered something. “Wasn’t this Dad’s favorite?”

Cheryl kept her eyes on her plate and nodded. “Yes. This and spaghetti.”

Tessa chuckled. “Do you remember that time you asked him to make the noodles while you took a shower and he threw some against the wall to see if they were done?”

“How could I forget? He threw a whole blob along with about a half-cup of boiling water.” Cheryl grinned, finally looking up. “He ruined the wallpaper.”

“I helped him tear it off and repaint.” Tessa laughed at the memory.

“Plus, the noodles were overdone and gooey, so we had to go out for dinner,” Cheryl finished, adding her own belly laugh to Tessa’s.

The room seemed to lose some of its formal stiffness as they remembered Tessa’s dad’s antics.

“He was always such a goofball.” Cheryl shook her head and picked up her fork, poking at a carrot.

“Yeah. Dad was like the comedic relief around here.” Whenever you and I got too serious or dramatic, he was always good for a dad joke or some good old slapstick.”

“Us? Get dramatic? Well, I never.” Cheryl grinned. “He used to say I had a flair for it. But he married me anyway.”

The view of her mother blurred as a mist of tears jumped into Tessa’s eyes. “I miss him.”

Cheryl’s face crumpled into a smile. “Me too.”

Tessa tipped her head. “I’ve been wondering about something lately. Did Dad know what you do? I mean, what you really do? Or did he think you were just a life insurance agent?”

“He knew.” Cheryl’s words were soft, but the huge empty room made them perfectly audible.

Tessa turned that over in her mind a bit. Cheryl had held the same job for as long as she could remember. When she’d found out her mother was a reaper, it had taken Tessa a few days to come to grips with the idea. Before that, she hadn’t even believed in an afterlife, spirits, or magic in any way.

“Hey, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you. Being a reaper, why didn’t you teach me anything about that kind of stuff when I was younger?”

Cheryl shrugged. “I didn’t see the need. People believe what they want to, really, and it doesn’t matter in the long run. A reaper will come for everyone, whether they know about such things or not.” She set her fork down and grabbed the wine bottle to fill both their glasses.

“I guess.” Tessa bit her lip, wondering whether to ask the next question. It had been on her mind since she learned her mother’s true profession, but the time had never seemed right to ask. “Were you there? You know—for Dad. When he . . . when he died?”

Silence stretched for so long that Tessa thought her mother wasn’t going to answer. She was surprised when Cheryl whispered, “I was there.”

“So, you knew ahead of time it was going to happen?” Tessa tried to keep the accusation out of her words, but her stomach clenched in anger. Michael had died suddenly—the coroner said it was most likely some kind of congenital heart condition, even though he couldn’t find any structural defect in the organ.

Tessa had woken up one morning with a dad and gone to sleep without one. There’d never been a satisfactory answer about why.

“A few hours, yes.” Cheryl drank some wine, more of a gulp than a dignified sip. She set down the glass. “There was nothing I could do. There are rules, you know.” She stared at the wine, not making eye contact with Tessa.

Though there was a lot more she was dying to say about the subject, Tessa swallowed the words. Her father was gone, and whether or not Cheryl could have intervened was a moot point.

Nothing could bring her dad back. She cleared her throat and changed the subject. “So, does our agency actually function as a real life insurance company? Like, do we cut checks to beneficiaries?”

Cheryl straightened, her normal cool expression settling over the pain that had been evident there for the past few minutes. “We do,” she said. “And that reminds me—Mark Sanborn has a check coming. You can deliver it to him tomorrow. Just stop by the office and ask Catherine for it. She’ll have it ready by nine.”

Cheryl got up and started clearing dishes. “Remember to keep your eyes and ears open for anything that could lead you to Chet Sanborn’s spirit. You’re running out of time to catch him before there are horrible repercussions. Now, grab that roast, and I’ll package some up for you to take home.”

MARK SANBORN LIVED in a bungalow at the edge of town. Pride of ownership was evident in the way the place was cared for—the lawn looked like it