Table of Contents
Cover
Recent Titles by Heather Redmond
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Acknowledgments
Recent titles by Heather Redmond
The Journaling mysteries
JOURNALED TO DEATH *
The Dickens of a Crime series
A TALE OF TWO MURDERS
GRAVE EXPECTATIONS
* available from Severn House
JOURNALED TO DEATH
Heather Redmond
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
This first world edition published 2019
in Great Britain and 2020 in the USA by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of
Eardley House, 4 Uxbridge Street, London W8 7SY.
Trade paperback edition first published
in Great Britain and the USA 2020 by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD.
eBook edition first published in 2019 by Severn House Digital
an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited
Copyright © 2019 by Heather Redmond.
The right of Heather Redmond to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted
in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8950-8 (cased)
ISBN-13: 978-1-78029-660-9 (trade paper)
ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0358-8 (e-book)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents
are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Except where actual historical events and characters are being described
for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are
fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.
This ebook produced by
Palimpsest Book Production Limited, Falkirk,
Stirlingshire, Scotland.
For all the family who have enriched my life these past few, love-filled months. Leander, Andy, and the assorted offshoots of clan Hiestand, Ruhoff, Austin, Pruett, Perry, Johnston, Ragusin, Levy, and Stokes.
ONE
‘The usual today, Doctor O’Halloran?’ Mandy Meadows couldn’t hide the genuine smile that always crossed her face at the sight of the handsome surgeon. The hospital reminded her of a small town, the way she saw the same people over and over. She moved from behind the coffee bar’s cash register and might have leaned forward a little.
The surgeon quirked a brow, his dark blond hair curling over his forehead. His gaze dipped down. Mandy wasn’t sure if he was checking out the hint of cleavage exposed by her University of Seattle Hospital uniform’s scoop-neck ‘USea’ T-shirt or the basket of almond biscotti next to the register.
A line had formed behind him, though, so she couldn’t flirt her way into upselling his order. Next was Dr Burrell, a neonatologist, and he would be in a hurry. She guessed the men were about the same age, a couple of years older than she was but still under forty.
The surgeon’s voice dipped into a sexy rumble. ‘Thanks, Mandy.’
Mandy ignored the tingles racing down her spine as she rang up his quad shot. He passed his employee card across the reader and the cash register spit out his receipt.
‘I’ll be with you in a moment.’ She flashed a slightly less flirtatious smile at Dr Burrell then turned to the espresso machine to fill Dr O’Hottie’s – no, Dr O’Halloran’s – order.
While she pulled shots, the counter shook. Dr O’Halloran did like to go through her snacks. Dr Burrell’s phone rang but he didn’t answer it. Unlike most of the hospital staff, he respected the sign that said, No phone calls at the counter, please.
When Mandy handed her favorite surgeon his white cup, he half-smiled before walking toward the elevators. Mandy couldn’t help watching his fit, scrub-covered body as he sauntered away.
Dr Burrell cleared his throat and pushed his glasses up his nose.
Mandy’s cheeks flushed. ‘I am so sorry, Doctor. What would you like today?’
‘My usual?’ The words came out with the hint of a question.
She tilted her head. ‘I do apologize. What is your usual again?’
He smiled sheepishly. ‘Just checking. What are your specials today?’
Mandy pointed a perfectly manicured finger at the printed card in front of the cash register. Her daughter, Vellum, had painted black polka dots over her red nail polish. They planned to film for Mandy’s lifestyle blogging accounts that evening and her fingers would be on display.
Dr Burrell let out a deep breath as he scanned the list. ‘Who does all the calligraphy on your signs? It’s really beautiful work.’
‘I do. I teach all sorts of crafty things online. I’m a semi-professional video blogger.’ Now that she was divorced, she needed her income from the coffee bar, her social media, and her tenant to keep up the mortgage on her Maple Leaf neighborhood house.
‘I’ll have to check that out,’ Dr Burrell said with a polite curve of his lips.
Mandy laughed. She could see the reserved doctor keeping a journal, probably a beautifully bound leather edition he studiously wrote in with an old-fashioned fountain pen. But she doubted he’d like her brand of bold, primary-colored, art-focused journaling. All the rage these days, it had taken over from adult coloring books, scrapbooking and rubber stamping as the newest creative craze. It fed her artistic side and helped to build her vlogging business.
She saw two nurses exit the emergency room on the other side of the ground floor. They were coming for their drinks. She needed to move the doctor along because they could be ‘witches with a B’ at this time of day. Three o’clock was shift change at the hospital. ‘That would be great, Doctor Burrell. How about I get a drink order started for you? Or were you looking for one of the cookies? I think the ginger thins came out really well today.’
‘I’ll have to have one. And a dirty chai, please. Sixteen ounces.’
‘You know, it’s less expensive to get a regular latte with chai syrup instead.’ Mandy blushed. ‘Not that you need to worry about saving money.’
‘No, no, I appreciate the tip.’ He grinned, taking half a decade off his narrow face. ‘But I like that new chai brand Fannah ordered.’
Just then, like a ghost behind her, Mandy’s co-worker Kit appeared. She glanced over Mandy’s shoulder, saw the neonatologist’s order and w
ent to prepare his drink. After he moved to the delivery side of the counter, Mandy quickly rang up the nurses’ orders. By the time she was finished with that, her manager had arrived with the fresh cash drawer. Fannah opened the register and swapped the drawers, then went to count the till. It was the end of Mandy’s shift.
Thank God.
Noting that Kit was finished with the drinks, Mandy quickly went to the sink and washed the pitchers and spoons that had piled up during her time alone. Then she went to the back office, ready to grab her things and maybe even be home before her daughter arrived from school.
When she glanced up, Fannah was blocking the door. One look at her face told Mandy that things weren’t going to go quite that smoothly today.
‘What’s up?’ Mandy asked, twisting her fingers together.
‘Your cash drawer is fifteen dollars short.’ Fannah gave her a level, dead-eyed stare. She could be a lovely person, but also the opposite. ‘You know our policy. It must be paid back immediately unless you want to be terminated right now.’
‘All I have is fifteen dollars,’ Mandy protested. ‘It’s Vellum’s allowance. It’ll ruin my whole night at home with her if I have to give you the money.’
Fannah’s voice stayed level. ‘Then you want to lose your job today?’
Mandy doubted Fannah wanted to fire her. She hated training new staff. ‘Look. I remember being distracted by a trio of teenagers. Maybe one of them put their hand in the till while they were distracting me by asking how various flavor combinations tasted in the drinks. In fact,’ Mandy said, warming to her theme, ‘I think some Kind bars are missing, too. We seem a little light on them and I didn’t sell that many today.’
‘You need to keep an eye on that,’ Fannah snapped. ‘I’ll have to start an inventory right away. You can have an hour of overtime to help Kit while I do it or you can be terminated. Either way, it’s up to you.’ Fannah’s gaze remained unemotional as she held out her hand, palm up, to receive the fifteen dollars.
Mandy gritted her teeth at the injustice of it. She couldn’t afford to lose her job. While her income as a lifestyle vlogger was increasing, it didn’t pay the health benefits she desperately needed. That was what this hospital coffee bar job was for. She supposed Fannah was trying to meet her halfway, since the hour of overtime would cover the fifteen bucks when her paycheck came.
Slowly, she opened her wallet and withdrew the ten- and the five-dollar bill her daughter was expecting when she arrived home. She knew exactly what Vellum planned to spend it on, too. Friday night was movie night with her best friend. Mandy had exactly forty-eight hours to come up with the money or Vellum would go running to her father. The mere thought sent Mandy’s blood pressure racing north.
As soon as Fannah snatched the money, Mandy texted her daughter to say she’d be late. She wanted to promise to pick up pizza on the way, but that would have to go on the credit card. As it was, she might have to withdraw cash on it to pay the allowance. Which would automatically begin collecting interest. But that was tomorrow’s problem.
She turned to Fannah. ‘Don’t we have a security camera watching us? Couldn’t we identify those teenagers? See them with their hand in the till?’
‘No security in this part of the hospital,’ Fannah said. ‘Sorry, love.’ Just like that, nice Fannah had been restored. ‘Why don’t you assist Kit with the drinks while I do the inventory a little early today? If we don’t have many customers, you can mix up cookie dough and get it in the cooler.’
Like most hospitals, much of what they sold was packaged goods from third-party vendors, but the staff loved fresh baked cookies and were willing to pay a premium for them. They used a toaster oven and the small industrial workspace in the back to make their product.
They had a rush for fifteen minutes or so, mostly hospital staff at the end of their shift who couldn’t face the Seattle commute without caffeine in their systems. Or maybe the heaters in their car couldn’t keep up with the bitter February chill outside. Through the glass windows across from the coffee bar, Mandy could see it was already growing dark. Her thoughts went to the art piece she planned to create tonight, a spring scene, something with the cherry blossoms that would make Seattle so beautiful in about six weeks. She and Vellum had sketched and painted the stunning trees at the University of Washington Quad last year and she would happily incorporate those memories into her journal.
After that, Mandy mixed up a batch of dark chocolate chip cookies and one of ginger thins. She covered both bowls with plastic wrap and stuck them into the refrigerator to chill before she clocked out.
As she passed by Fannah, her boss called, ‘You’re right. Based on the sales data, it looks like three Kind bars are missing. Having said that, it’s been a week since I did an inventory. They didn’t necessarily get stolen today. But it’s something to keep an eye on.’
‘Can we ask for a security camera?’
‘You probably can.’ Fannah shrugged. ‘Scott likes you a lot more than he likes me.’
Mandy had heard the story. Scott Nelson, their divorced hospital maintenance supervisor, had chased Fannah about six months ago. And who could blame him, given her seductive, husky voice and former fashion model body? But Fannah had shut down his constant requests for dates and Scott had barely spoken to her since.
At the end of her commute, Mandy took a left off Roosevelt Way and pulled into her long, partially paved driveway. A couple of spots of ice formed in muddy depressions. This was the perfect night to hang out with Vellum in their cozy new home art studio. She had paid her tenant, her cousin Ryan Meadows, to haul her plug-in electric fireplace from the basement into the sunroom after her ex-husband had moved out, to make it usable in all seasons.
‘Mom!’ Vellum called as Mandy entered through the back door of the house. Her daughter held an open soda can and a slice of toast covered with peanut butter and bananas.
Mandy kissed her daughter on the cheek and set her purse on the counter. ‘Anything good in the mail?’
‘No. Just bills. Why did you have to stay at work late? I thought we were filming tonight.’
Mandy made a face. ‘There was a problem with my till and I had to give Fannah all the cash I had on me or lose my job.’
‘That sucks.’ Vellum licked peanut butter off her glossy lips.
‘I know, but she gave me an hour of overtime to make it up. I’ll get you your allowance. Just not tonight.’
‘But by Friday, right?’ Vellum asked anxiously.
‘I’ll figure it out. I don’t want to ruin your movie night.’ Mandy glanced around. ‘Is there anything in the fridge? I’m starving.’
‘There’s some of that stir fry you made this weekend, but all the rice is gone.’
Mandy opened the refrigerator and pulled out the container. ‘Is Ryan home?’
Vellum took a bite of her makeshift sandwich and spoke around it. ‘I don’t think so. All the leftovers would be gone if the human vacuum cleaner had been upstairs.’
‘Hmm. I could call a certain teenager the same thing.’ She dumped some of the mushroom, carrot, celery and tofu dish into a bowl, leaving one last serving for Ryan. It was hard to keep good boundaries where her cousin was concerned. Six years older, he’d protected her from bullies in her grade school years and they’d remained close ever since. Unfortunately, he’d developed a drinking problem about fifteen years ago. He’d managed to hold on to his job as part of the maintenance staff at the hospital, but he drank heavily outside of work hours, often with a questionable group of friends. Though he would never eat upstairs family-style, she’d long since persuaded him he was doing her a favor by eating their leftovers so she could keep meals fresh. He was very private, but she had seen him every day since he’d moved in last spring. He always responded when she texted him and scheduled a time to chat or do small projects around the house.
Mandy checked her social media on her phone while she waited for her food to heat. She and Vellum ran her ‘Mandy’s Plan’ empi
re together, consisting of an online craft shop with fully monetized social media sites complete with videos, classes, and sponsors. More than a year ago, Mandy had taken a class about journaling for record-keeping and stress relief. When her marriage broke up just weeks later, her mother helped her assess any skills and interests she had that might help her earn money. Since she had dabbled in art for most of her life and had learned how to create digital art a couple of years ago, she decided to make stickers for her journal and anyone who might buy them from her. To highlight her products, she filmed herself and Vellum using them and posted the video logs online. Soon, tens of thousands of people were following her on social media and she worked hard to give them what they wanted, with fully realized monthly setups for journals as her business’s cornerstone.
‘What are we going to sell for April, Mom?’ Vellum walked over to the large wall calendar and looked at the dates.
Mandy planned her monthly journal layouts, called spreads, at least six weeks in advance. Everything had to be done early if customers were going to design their own journals around her artwork, whether they bought her stickers or art pieces, copied her or Vellum’s work directly, or used it as a jumping-off point for their own creativity. March was already in the can, even though it was only February fourth. She was starting to design her April spreads so she could go back and build up sticker sets using her iPad and some software.
‘I think cherry blossoms are the way to go this year,’ Mandy said. The microwave dinged. ‘They’ll just be starting to bloom when most people are designing their April spreads. We can do a variety of flowers for the stickers.’
‘What headers are you going to do?’
‘A “to do” list, of course. The month and the numbers. Mood tracker. Habit tracker.’
Journaled to Death Page 1