The Tessa Randolph Collection, Books 1-3 Read online

  What’s his name again? Ricardo Vidale.

  Tessa kept wandering through the crowd, and slowly it occurred to her that a lot of people were wearing tank tops like the ones Mr. Sanford always wore when he was alive. Purple, aqua, white, and orange ones that all said MRC on them. Mist River Casino.

  It was all starting to make sense. Too much sense. Sanborn must’ve frequented the casino.

  “Miss Randolph?”

  The barked words made Tessa jump. She whirled around. It was Maddox and Horner.

  “Um. Yes?”

  How had they spotted her? Her eyes floated up to a security camera mounted near the ceiling. Ugh!

  “Come with us, ma’am,” Horner said. “Our boss would very much like to have a word.”

  The goon’s thick hand closed around her elbow, giving Tessa no choice but to go with him. She saw Ricardo glance her direction as they passed the blackjack table. Recognition flitted across his features.

  They headed for a door at the back of the small room.

  For half a second, Tessa wished she was back at the restaurant dealing with misogynistic Ricardo. It had to be better than being escorted by two guys into the dark recesses of a casino where, as she understood it, she was about to be interrogated.

  Chapter 7

  TESSA WAS GLAD TO ENCOUNTER a few other people in the hallways. She’d hate to find herself alone with the odd couple who bounced insults at each other over her head like some weird monkey in the middle game.

  Maddox, with his man bun coming loose and bobbing side to side, was in front. His height meant long strides Tessa had to hurry to keep up with.

  “I’m just saying,” he shot over his shoulder. “You’re going to die of a heart attack one of these days. Plus, eating meat is gross. I’ve been vegan for ten years, and I’m loving it.”

  Behind Tessa, Horner snorted. “That explains a lot, kid. Nobody gets strong on bean sprouts and coconut milk. I imagine there’s some avocado toast in your future.” His rumbling chuckle was full of derision.

  “At least my cholesterol is normal. And I don’t have high blood pressure. You look a little red in the cheeks, there, buddy—like maybe walking down this hallway is too much work for you.”

  Maddox turned down another hallway and rested his hand on a doorknob, pausing to raise an eyebrow. “Don’t worry. You can take a rest while we talk to Chino.” His gaze cut to Tessa, and his features hardened. “Our boss wants to talk to you. Be sure you keep a respectful tone, or—"

  “Or what?” Tessa said, emboldened.

  “Or you’re bound to dislike what happens,” Horner warned.

  Tessa glared at him. She held her tongue and followed Maddox through the doorway into an office three times as big as her apartment’s living room.

  “Wow.” She stopped short and looked around. The room resembled a chic penthouse room in a fancy hotel. One wall was consumed by a huge fireplace surrounded by pale brick and set off with a mahogany mantlepiece holding a single ornate gold and black clock that looked like an antique.

  Queen Anne furniture in cream, sage, and purple was prominent in the room, along with classy violet and beige carpeting that lent the space a femininity Tessa hadn’t expected. The smokey air of the rest of the casino was gone. So were the sounds of slot machines, replaced by the whir of the room’s ventilation system.

  A middle-aged woman sat behind a desk made of some type of pale wood—maybe maple or oak—intricately carved on the edges. The word that came to mind when Tessa saw it was delicate.

  The woman wore a pale pink suit coat over a ruffled white shirt. Auburn hair was piled high on her head, and her eyebrows had been plucked and shaped just a touch too much, leaving her looking more surprised than she probably was. The heavy-handed use of dark brow liner did nothing to relieve the odd expression.

  The woman tipped her head. “You found her? That’s not what you said on the phone.”

  “She showed up here, Ms. Chino.” Horner ducked his head and folded callused hands in an obvious show of respect. “We saw her on the surveillance cameras and brought her back for you.”

  Ms. Chino’s eyes flicked to Tessa. “I’m surprised you came here. I’d thought you’d have left the county by now.”

  Tessa chuckled. Maybe she’d been wrong about Ms. Chino’s eyebrows. Maybe the woman was truly surprised to see her. Then her face hardened—the best it could with the bad brow job—and Tessa knew she’d made a mistake.

  “Why would I leave the county? By the way, I’m Tessa Randolph.” She strode forward, holding out a hand. “And you are . . .?”

  Without taking Tessa’s hand, the woman stood, revealing that she wore a pencil skirt that matched the suit coat and shiny beige pumps. “Melinda Chino. I manage the Mist River Casino and Hotel. And from this point on, I’ll be asking the questions.”

  Tessa bristled. Who did this woman think she was? Not a cop. Definitely not her mother. Her tone reminded Tessa of her fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Gatlin.

  But Tessa wasn’t a child anymore. She opened her mouth to put Melinda Chino in her place but caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. Maddox was shaking his head, clearly counseling her from a distance to keep her mouth shut.

  Tessa stabbed a finger toward the two men. “Why were your thugs at my apartment, banging on my door and bothering my sweet old neighbor?”

  Restraint was never her strong suit.

  The corners of Melinda’s mouth twitched downward, and Tessa got the distinct feeling she wasn’t used to being challenged. The casino boss rounded the desk and leaned on its edge, crossing her ankles. She studied Tessa’s face for a moment and came to a decision.

  “Sanborn owed this casino money,” she said.

  “You can owe a casino money?”

  Melinda raised one too-thin eyebrow. “If you spend enough money in this establishment, you may qualify for a line of credit. And he spent a lot of money here.”

  Horner snorted. “He spent a lot of money gambling anywhere he could. Not just the legal stuff either. He’s known in all the illegal circles around town.”

  Melinda glared at Horner, who didn’t seem to catch her point at first.

  “What? I heard he knew nothing about sports. And yet . . .”

  Horner finally caught on to what Melinda’s hard look meant and stammered to a halt.

  Melinda shifted her gaze back to Tessa. “Unfortunately, Mr. Sanborn abused his privileges with us. Ultimately, we had to cut him off. And he was delinquent in his payments.” She narrowed her eyes. “Something I understand you’re familiar with. Yes, we did our research on you as well.”

  “How much did he owe?” Tessa found herself asking.

  “Something to the tune of forty thousand dollars.”

  Tessa let out a low whistle. She couldn’t imagine gambling away that much money.

  Melinda nodded toward the men. “My associates went to Sanborn’s apartment to pick up a payment. He’d promised us half the money. Swore that he had it on him. Then they saw you exit the apartment and get arrested. “Now, where’s the money?”

  Briefly, Tessa wondered where in the world Maddox and Horner had been hiding to see all that go down.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know anything about any money.” That part was true, but how was she going to get out of this confrontation? “I work for Mr. Sanborn’s life insurance company,” she said, thinking of the lie Cheryl told the police. “I was there to go over some paperwork on a new rider we’re offering. He was already dead when I got there. I swear.”

  “And who’s the beneficiary on this policy?” Melinda leaned forward.

  Tessa shook her head. “I don’t know. I didn’t have access to that part of his account. I’m kinda new.”

  The casino manager didn’t look like she believed Tessa. She pursed her lips, thinking. Finally, Melinda pushed away from the desk and rounded it to sit down again. She shuffled papers. “So, why are you here today? Did you come to play the slots? Blackjack? I’m not sure po
ker would suit you.”

  “No.” Tessa shook her head. “I saw your guys pounding on my apartment door and followed them here. I don’t gamble.”

  She didn’t add that the main reason she didn’t frequent the casino was she didn’t have the money for it. The idea of playing a hand of poker and winning enough to pay her rent for six months was actually pretty appealing, no matter what Melinda thought of her abilities. “Now that we’ve had a chance to talk,” she said, drawing up her courage. “And you know I don’t have any information about the money Mr. Sanborn owed you, I look forward to never seeing your men at my door again.”

  Melinda didn’t even look up. “I won’t guarantee that.”

  Maddox moved forward and took Tessa by the elbow, giving it a pull. She yanked it out of his grasp and glared at him. He jerked his chin toward the door, making it clear the boss was finished with her and it was time to go.

  Keeping her spine as straight as possible and holding her head high, Tessa left the office. She was seething inside. Melinda’s holier than thou attitude had gotten to her. Just because she had like a bazillion dollars didn’t mean she could treat Tessa like trash.

  The two men marched Tessa back to the main floor and left her there without a word. She glowered at their retreating backs before heading toward the door.

  Once again, she tried holding her breath to avoid the smoke, but it didn’t work for long. She lamented her inability to go more than ten seconds without taking a breath. She really should have focused more on singing or swimming or something. You never knew when you may need to refrain from breathing for a minute or two.

  As Tessa passed the blackjack table, she glanced over again, hoping the annoying guy from the restaurant, Ricardo, would be gone.

  But he was still there. And now he had a visitor. Hovering just over the creepy guy’s shoulder as he slammed a card on the table and shouted, “Twenty-one,” was the ghost of Chet Sanborn.

  Tessa stopped in her tracks, staring at the spirit. He looked much the same as the last time she’d seen him—dressed in gray polyester shorts and an ill-fitting green tank top. She could even see the ratty flip-flops on his feet. They appeared to defy gravity to stay on his feet as he hovered in the air, partly transparent.

  After hesitating for a second, Tessa decided the best way to handle the situation would be to take the bull by the horns and confront the spirit head-on. As she strode toward him, wishing she’d learned how to do that force-hold thing Gloria had done on her mark, Sanborn saw her. He shook his head and then darted away.

  Tessa jogged around the blackjack table, drawing the attention of the dealer, who said, “Hey, what’s your hurry?”

  She ignored him and kept going, but only for a few steps. Then, Sanborn disappeared through the wall. There was no way she could follow him through. Or, if there was, she didn’t know how.

  Biting back a curse, she smashed a fist into the other palm.

  She must be the worst grim reaper in the world. That was twice she’d let a soul get away from her. She wasn’t going to let it happen again.

  Chapter 8

  SHE THOUGHT ABOUT CALLING a cab, but Tessa decided a walk would do her some good. She could use the head-clearing time and exercise. And maybe she’d run into Sanborn’s spirit again. She was determined to nab him.

  The casino was on reservation land just outside the downtown area of Mist River. Tessa hurried along the shoulder of the busy interstate leading to the city a few miles away. She felt glad when she made it the half-mile into town, where the roads were far less busy and there were sidewalks.

  She turned onto Whimsy Street, craving coffee or perhaps the jolt of caffeine and sugar in her favorite drink.

  It was a typical small town downtown street, with a row of colorful buildings, each different, lining both sides of the block. She made a beeline for the pink one with purple shutters—Mocha and Mingle. Tessa ordered a Cuban-style cappuccino and enjoyed the scent of strong coffee with hints of chocolate and caramel while she waited to be served.

  She spent a pleasant hour window shopping and sipping from her small cup before arriving back at her apartment building. With a bucket of sudsy water and a squeegee with a long handle, Silas was scrubbing windows in the lobby. He glanced at her. “Oh, good. You made it back. You know I would’ve picked you up if you’d called.”

  She nodded. She knew. But she also knew she didn’t want to owe Silas many favors. She’d already paid him the rent. But with the way things were going with Chet Sanborn’s spirit, there was no guarantee of next month.

  “Did you find out what those guys were up to?” Silas asked.

  Tessa took a sip of coffee to buy time. She wasn’t sure how much to tell him. But she didn’t really feel like lying either. “They thought I knew something about Mr. Sanborn’s death. I let them know I didn’t.” She hoped he’d accept that and move on. She didn’t want to tell him about Melinda or Sanborn owing the casino money.

  Silas turned back toward the window.

  “It’s sad—Chet dying. I mean, he and I weren’t friends or anything. But he paid his rent on time and didn’t cause any trouble around here.” He glanced over his shoulder and gave Tessa a meaningful look. “Those are nice qualities.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I don’t cause any trouble. And I do pay my rent on time. Mostly. At least I don’t have loud visitors over in the middle of the night.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry. You’re not even on my short list of the most annoying tenants ever.”

  Her ears perked up at that and she moved closer to him to speak quietly. “Who is on that list?”

  He clucked his tongue. “Nope. Not gonna tell you that.” He held the squeegee over the bucket and wrung it out with a metal handle. “But I will tell you that I’m not looking forward to finding a new renter for Chet’s apartment.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Checking people’s references. Interviewing them. Trying to figure out who’s a good risk and who isn’t—let’s just say that’s not my favorite part of this job.”

  “Sounds pretty easy to me.” A wince spasmed her face—she probably shouldn’t have said that.

  “I guess it is easier than waitressing—or whatever it is you do now. And I have a week or so before I have to really think about it. Chet’s son is up there now, cleaning his dad’s stuff out.”

  Tessa’s eyes widened. “Already? I’m surprised the cops are letting anyone in there yet.”

  “Yeah, the forensics team left a couple hours ago and released the apartment. Mark—that’s his son’s name—was already here waiting. Seemed pretty eager to get into his dad’s place. “I wonder if he has siblings he wants to beat to the punch. Although, I’ve been in that apartment. I’m not sure his dad has anything of value. Probably just sentimental stuff.” Silas stretched onto his tiptoes to get the top of the window.

  Tessa was momentarily distracted by the movements of Silas’s arm and back muscles. She had to pull her gaze away. There was enough going on in her life at the moment without giving in to a crush.

  “Thanks again for driving me to the casino. I’ll see you later.”

  Tessa hurried away, deciding distance was the best solution for her less than pure thoughts.

  But instead of heading to her own apartment, she climbed the steps to the second floor and made her way to Sanborn’s door, thinking maybe his spirit had wanted to see his son one more time before moving on. If so, Tessa could let him say his goodbyes and then help him across the veil. And if helping didn’t work, she’d force him over.

  That’d be nice—to be finished listening to Cheryl’s lectures. At least on this particular subject.

  Sanborn’s door was cracked, so Tessa peeked inside. There was a young man on his hands and knees in the living room. He pawed through the drawers of a coffee table. After finding a bunch of papers, he tossed them aside, adding to a mess already piled on the floor. If Tessa didn’t know any better, she’d have thought Maddox and Horner had gott
en there first.

  Tessa’s eyes narrowed. Mark Sanborn didn’t appear to be cleaning out his dad’s apartment. If anything, it was the opposite. If she had to make a determination of what he was doing based on his current body language, she’d say that he was searching for something.

  She cleared her throat to get his attention before pushing the door open wide and peeking in.

  “Hi, there,” 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.