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

had been trimmed on hands and knees with scissors. Not one weed dared poke its head through the cracks in the walk leading to the front stoop.

It was a pity the police officers were smashing the lovely impatiens lining it.

Tessa dove behind the neighbor’s picket fence to hear what was going on.

To her credit, Mark’s wife wasn’t crying about the broken flowers. She wailed about her husband being taken away in handcuffs. “But he didn’t kill my father-in-law!”

The distraught woman pulled on the sleeve of the closest cop, and Tessa recognized Officer Stewart. “What am I going to tell the kids when they get home?”

Stewart shrugged off her hand. “Not my problem, lady. Your husband’s been charged with murder. He’ll have to explain himself to the judge, not to me. I advise you to call your lawyer and tell your kids he went for a business trip.”

The officer shrugged again and hurried after his comrades, who guided Mark toward a police cruiser.

The cops pulled away, leaving Mark’s wife wiping her eyes on the stoop. Tessa straightened and approached cautiously. “Um. I’m sorry to bother you at a time like this.”

The woman turned red-rimmed eyes toward her and sniffed. “Who are you?”

“I’m, uh, I’m Tessa Randolph. I’m from Chet Sanborn’s life insurance agency. Are you Mary Sanborn?” When the woman nodded shakily, Tessa held out the check. “Your husband was Chet Sanborn’s beneficiary.”

Mary took the check, glanced at it, and widened her eyes before looking back at Tessa. “It’s not much, but it’s still a shock that he paid for life insurance at all.”

Tessa nodded. Her picture of Chet Sanborn was already painted. At this point, she wasn’t in need of more details unless they led to catching his spirit.

“At least this will cover the costs for his wake tonight.” Mary winced and glanced the direction the police cars had gone. “Mark is going to miss it, I guess.”

“That’s terrible,” Tessa said. “Maybe he’ll get processed quickly and released in time . . . when is it? Is it close by?” She tried to couch the prying in an empathetic tone, already planning ways to crash the wake. Perhaps Chet Sanborn’s spirit would be there. Gloria had said some of them run from their reaper because they want to attend their funeral.

Mary sniffed and rubbed her eyes one last time. She turned toward the house. “It’s at six tonight in the big room you can rent at Frank’s Bar and Grill.” She shrugged. “Not fancy, but neither was Chet. And it’s affordable.” She waved the check. “Thanks for this. I need to get inside and call our lawyer.”

As Tessa watched Mary disappear into the house, she fought off the groan that wanted to tear out of her throat. Of course Chet’s wake had to be at the very last place Tessa wanted to go.

As she spun around to head back toward Linda, she bolstered herself with the thought that Frank probably wouldn’t even be there. Her ex liked to be home by five to watch movies and eat snacks in his underwear. He usually had staff handle any parties that rented out the big room in the back of the bar in the evenings.

She felt better at that thought.

Yeah. It’ll be fine. Frank won’t even be there.

Chapter 11

WEARING A KNEE-LENGTH navy blue A-line dress covered with white flowers and one-inch beige pumps, Tessa drove to Frank’s Bar and Grill. The drive still felt familiar—the muscle memory of the daily routine, driving there, sometimes twice a day for double shifts, took over. She was able to let her mind wander while her brain automatically handled Linda, whose stubborn phase seemed to be over—at least for a little while.

She stared out at the sun setting on the horizon, thinking about Chet Sanborn and how tragic his life had ended. Had he really been killed by his own son? But that line of thought, paired with the fact that she was going to a wake, quickly led to other thoughts. She couldn’t help but think about her dad.

Michael Randolph had been a kind man—the kindest. Tessa remembered him giving his services as a lawyer pro bono for those who found themselves in need of a defense attorney but without the means to get a good one. And he was a good one. He’d spread his books and papers out over the kitchen table in the evening and pore over old cases, searching for the best way to help his clients. Sure, he had paying ones too. Usually, they were rich people from the city. Essentially, they paid for Tessa’s dad to help the others.

As a result, the Randolphs never had the fancy summer house down south that most of Michael’s lawyer friends had. And sometimes, Cheryl would raise an eyebrow when Michael took on another case for free. At times like those, Michael would grab Cheryl by the waist, swing her around the living room to imaginary music, and make her laugh. He’d make all three of them laugh.

He’d been a great dad and husband.

Tessa remembered going to his funeral but only barely. The whole thing had been a blur. People gave her their condolences. There were lots of hugs. And everyone had a story about her father. Many of them were the people he had helped. Those he’d stood up for in a system that seemed designed to beat them.

Pulling into the parking lot at the bar, Tessa shook off those memories. She needed to stay sharp and have her full concentration on the task at hand. If Chet Sanborn’s spirit showed up, she needed to reel him in. She had to get him to the other side so they could both move on—and she could collect her paycheck.

It felt strange going in the front door of the establishment after years through the back door. But instead of nostalgia, a wave of relief wafted over her. She’d always hated walking past that stinky dumpster and feeling the wave