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

times as though something had gotten into her eye and then grinned. “Have a good time, The—Tessa,” Cheryl corrected.

“I’ll try.” Tessa snatched the umbrella off the coat rack and left.

Outside, the rain had turned to a drizzle. Linda grumbled like a slumbering beast woken by a gallant knight when Tessa turned the key in the ignition. “Come on, girl. Mama needs a paycheck.”

The car let out an irritated breath and then roared to life. Tessa hooted and fist-pumped. “Good girl!” she cried.

The weather began to clear up as she drove to the golf course, and Tessa even rolled down the window and turned on the radio. I Wanna Dance with Somebody blared from the speakers, and she sang along with abandon until she pulled into the golf club parking lot where the sun was shining.

Just like her father always joked, it never rains on the golf course.

Managing to slide past the front desk workers, Tessa went through the clubhouse and emerged onto a putting green, breathing in the smell of freshly cut grass. Ah. This was more like it.

She glanced at her watch, frowning a little. Dale Jeffries was supposed to pass away in four minutes, but it seemed highly unlikely to occur the way the assignment had said it would, given the current weather conditions.

From the green, she scanned the course and saw a group of golfers up on the final tee. She wandered that direction and immediately recognized her target.

He saw her too and approached, grinning. “Hey, sweetheart. Can you bring me a beer and some pretzels? I’ll give you a good tip.” He winked, obviously thinking she was a cart girl.

Tessa narrowed her eyes at the man. She’d spent enough years waitressing and should probably be used to men taking liberties—talking their cutesy, degrading terms and giving thinly veiled orders. But she wasn’t. She still wanted to deck every guy who did it, including this one.

But it wasn’t necessary to put Dale in his place. Anyway, she’d soon be delivering him to a new plane of existence. Then maybe he’d learn.

“I’m all out of pretzels,” she said, putting up the umbrella in her hand, gazing ruefully at him.

As though someone had flipped off a light switch, the sky suddenly darkened, only to brighten again almost immediately by a flash of lightning. The thunder followed it so closely they seemed to overlap, and a sheet of heavy rain poured down like someone had turned on a faucet. “You should get inside. The lightning’s close.”

She knew it was probably against the rules for her to say such a thing. Dale Jeffries was her mark, and saying anything that may cause him to avoid his scheduled death had to be forbidden.

It didn’t matter, though. Dale just shook his head, sending rain droplets spraying all over the place. “Bah,” he scoffed. “I’m having the best round of my life. There’s no way I’m going in now. One more shot. Then, even if I two-putt, I’ll win.”

The other three men in his party hurried past, racing for the clubhouse, but Dale turned back to the cart, searching for the club he wanted. Finding it, he held it over his head in triumph.

He never saw the lightning strike coming, and when Dale’s soul emerged from his body, it looked hopping mad. “What? Now? Now is when I die? When I was going to hit under eighty!” He shook both transparent fists in the air and raged at the storm in the sky. “Why?”

His angry cry ended on a sob, and he covered his face.

“I’m sorry,” Tessa said. She meant it. Sort of. “But it’s time to go. I have to take you over now.”

Dale peered at her between his fingers. “I’m going to heaven with a cart girl?”

“No,” she snapped. “You’re being escorted to the other side of the veil by a professional reaper. That’s me. Now, let’s go. My socks and shoes are soaked. And this caps one of the worst weeks of my life.”

“Life,” Dale said sadly. “At least you’ve still got one.”

Chapter 2

TESSA GROANED AS SHE shuffled through envelopes she’d pulled out of the tiny metal cubbyhole marked 114. All three were bills. Of course. But really, what was she expecting? A check from Frank for all her back pay and overtime?

She snorted. He’d made it pretty clear they were finished. And that he was done dealing with her.

She stared at the empty mailbox, part of a long bank of them in the small room attached to the Mist River Manor lobby, thinking it would’ve been nice to see a rebate flyer. Or maybe a coupon for a few bucks off a pizza. This was what it came down to—wishing for junk mail. For anything except multiple demands for money she didn’t have.

Tessa sighed and stuffed the envelopes into her purse. She took a second to caress the soft material. At least she still had her knock-offs. And a new job that should help her get caught up quickly.

She squeezed the bag to her side like a child might hug a favorite stuffed animal for comfort and turned away from the bank of mailboxes, gasping as she found herself face-to-face with a man.

“Oh! Sorry, Mr. Sanborn. I didn’t see you there.” Tessa shrunk backward. She pulled the bag in front of her, close to her chest, as though it could somehow create more space between the two of them. Chet Sanborn was inside her bubble, and he was in the way.

Sanborn lived directly above Tessa, on the second floor. She saw him around sometimes but did her level best to avoid him. He was an unpleasant man who always managed to make Tessa’s skin crawl with his ogling. And if his leering eyes weren’t enough, sometimes he added lewd comments to the mix.

He waved away her apology. “Call me Chet.”

He said that every time they had an interaction. Tessa never complied. Somehow, using his last name felt like keeping him at figurative arm’s length. If only