Tattooed to Death

By Heather Redmond

Perfect for fans of Ellery Adams and Eva Gates, this action-filled, entertaining cozy featuring dark family secrets, revenge and friendship goals will have you gripped from the start to its shocking conclusion.

How well do you really know your friends?

Journaling blogger Mandy Meadows is determined to clear her friend’s name when she discovers a body by a dumpster.

Single mom, barista and journaling video blogger extraordinaire Mandy Meadows is distracted from her shift in the University of Seattle Hospital coffee bar when her friend – nurse and fellow journaling video blogger Reese O’Leary-Sett – receives a massage from hell at the hands of Coral Le Charme, the hospital’s new massage therapist. But concern over Coral’s dubious skills is the least of Mandy's worries when she discovers Coral’s lifeless body by a dumpster later that evening.

What dark secrets was Coral hiding? Mandy’s tenant, homicide detective Justin Ahola, is on the case – and he has Reese firmly in his sights. Determined to help her friend, Mandy digs deeper into Coral’s life and makes some alarming discoveries. Can she clear Reese’s name and bring a killer to justice?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Severn House
• Release date: Dec 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781448304608

Heather Redmond

Though her last known British ancestor departed London in the 1920s, Heather Redmond is a committed anglophile, Dickens devotee, and lover of all things nineteenth century. She has lived in Illinois, California, and Texas, and now resides in a small town in Washington State with her husband and son. For more information please visit www.heatherredmond.com and twitter.com/heatheraredmond.

Book preview

ONE

‘I could just kill her,’ a woman griped. ‘Worst massage ever.’

Mandy Meadows scowled as she recognized the voice coming from the front counter of the University of Seattle Hospital coffee bar. Hidden in the bar’s prep room while her boss, Fannah, manned the counter, she ignored the tantrum, tucked her tongue into the side of her mouth, and carefully drew the red lacing on a baseball cookie with a piping bag. When she had finished, she adjusted her Seattle Mariners blue headband, encouraging her curls away from her lip gloss.

Fannah had decided they should enhance their house-made offerings with frosted sugar cookies since Mandy’s creations were already their bestsellers. She did what she could to keep their profit margin way above the cafeteria’s.

Mandy’s new co-worker, Houston Harris, shot Mandy a look of horror through the door as he tied a clean USea Hospital apron over his Mariners T-shirt. ‘I guess the new chair massage service isn’t a hit with someone. Why are they complaining about it at the coffee bar?’

‘That’s my friend, Reese,’ Mandy explained. ‘She’s a nurse in the podiatry office next door. Total pussycat with their child patients.’

‘Umm, that’s great, but shouldn’t you intervene before she attacks Fannah with a plastic knife?’ The Alaska native had only worked at the coffee bar a few weeks.

‘Don’t be silly. It’s not Fannah she’s mad at and I need to get these done.’ Mandy angled the frosting tip over another cookie.

‘Aren’t you curious about what happened?’ Houston asked.

‘Nah.’ Mandy winked at the kid and pressed frosting through the bag. ‘Reese lives across the street from me. I can hear about it after work.’

Houston hunched his narrow shoulders and walked out of Mandy’s view. Just twenty, he still had the look of a newborn colt despite having a face that checked all the cuteness boxes.

She appreciated her new steady seven-to-three-thirty work schedule, but Wednesdays were always extra hectic, because Fannah worked her oddball shift for inventory purposes and the lead weekend barista, Beverly, swapped in for the first part of the day. The hospital’s board of directors met on Wednesdays too, and since the coffee they served in the boardroom wasn’t very good, the directors usually came in a clump during the half hour from nine thirty to ten when all four of the employees were jockeying for space in the tight area.

‘Mandy!’

She shot to attention when she heard her boss’s voice. After setting down her frosting bag, she removed her gloves, washed her hands, and went through the back room into the coffee bar.

Fannah extended a model-slim arm at her and gestured gracefully. ‘Please fill out a catering order for Miss O’Leary-Sett. I need to make a phone call.’

She glided past Mandy as if on the catwalk she used to call her professional home. Mandy was left facing Reese – nurse, neighbor, and fellow journaling video blogger.

Stunning half-Bengali, half-Irish Reese, however, wasn’t at the top of her form. One shoulder was hunched up to her neck, which was tilted at a strange, canted angle.

‘What’s wrong?’ Mandy asked. ‘I could hear you all the way in the prep room. My daughter didn’t yell that loudly when you buddy-taped her broken toe.’

Reese fluttered her eyelashes. Mandy suspected they were real, despite their lush length, even though Reese had been a movie makeup recreator in a past phase.

‘I just had the chair massage from hell in the hospital lobby. How am I going to survive the afternoon like this? I’m due back at work in five minutes.’

Keeping her gaze locked on her friend’s face, Mandy gently placed her hands on Reese’s shoulders, then pressed down on the one that had crept up. She heard a pop somewhere around Reese’s shoulder.

‘Wow, you aren’t kidding,’ Mandy said.

Reese sniffed and rubbed her shoulder. ‘My friendship with Coral is over.’

‘Who is Coral?’

‘Coral Le Charme? The massage therapist? I never should have recommended her for the job.’

‘I didn’t know you had anything to do with the new chair massage people.’ Mandy pulled out a catering form.

Reese’s lips tightened. She bent her head forward, her neck crackling as she lifted it again. ‘I could kill Coral for hurting me so much.’

‘I’ll fix you right up,’ Houston said, as two elderly customers shuffled away, their smoothies tucked into the holding pouches on their walkers. He grinned at Reese and lifted his hands into the air.

She ignored him and kept her eyes on Mandy.

‘Let’s not talk about killing people,’ Mandy begged. ‘It’s been less than a month since the attack on me, and I’m just starting to feel comfortable here again. Now, you wanted to make a catering order?’

‘Fine,’ Reese groused. ‘I’m throwing a little party in the office at the end of the day.’

Houston leaned in. ‘I hope you invite me.’

Reese spoke as if Houston wasn’t there. ‘Baby shower for the office manager.’

‘You didn’t plan ahead?’

Reese’s shoulder made crackling noises as she tried to shrug. ‘I have all the shower stuff and the cake. I just need the drinks. You’re open until six, right?’

‘Can you send someone to pick up the drinks?’ Mandy asked.

‘I’m off at five,’ Houston broke in. ‘I can deliver them.’

‘We close at four,’ Reese explained, turning her big, beautiful eyes to Houston for the first time. ‘I need the drinks then. Mandy, can’t you?’

‘I can bring them after three thirty,’ Mandy offered. ‘Vellum has a yearbook meeting so I can hang out.’ Divorced, she lived with her daughter in the upstairs of her house, and rented out the daylight basement.

‘Stay for the party,’ Reese invited. ‘I’ll buy you a drink, too. Just add yours and I’ll pay for it all now.’ She handed Mandy a list of eight drink orders.

A line had formed behind Reese at the cash register, so Mandy pulled her friend to the side to finish while Houston took care of the next customers. Mandy added a tall mocha to the order for herself and took the credit card Reese offered. ‘Thanks for the invite.’ Maybe cake and the excitement of a little one coming would be just what she needed.

‘Should we invite Fannah, too?’ Reese asked. ‘Does she have friends in the complex?’

‘She works until six,’ Mandy explained. ‘I’m the only one free.’

Reese slowly bent her head from side to side. ‘I just think we should all stick together, after what happened to you.’

Mandy nodded and handed Reese her credit card back. ‘Then maybe you should be nicer to Houston. I know he doesn’t fit your Hindu dating profile, but he’s a decent kid.’

Reese rolled her eyes. ‘Come on, Mandili. We have to have some standards.’

Mandy laughed despite herself. ‘OK, you don’t have to be friendly with him, but I do.’

‘You’ll be fine.’ Reese shuddered. ‘He’s not much older than your daughter.’

Mandy chuckled. Houston and Reese were closer in age than she and Reese were.

Fannah sent Mandy on her lunch break just before noon. An elevator door opened to the lobby before she pushed the button to go to the cafeteria floor, disgorging a couple of nurses from the coronary care unit.

‘What’s the special today?’ one of them asked as Mandy held the door.

‘Matcha latte, in honor of cherry blossom season,’ she told them.

‘That’s green tea, right?’ asked the other nurse.

Mandy nodded. ‘It’s earthy and addictive. It has about the same amount of caffeine as coffee but you get a more sustained energy boost due to the amino acid content.’

The first nurse laughed. ‘You should write ad copy.’

Mandy beamed at the praise and stepped into the elevator. The door closed and she was blissfully alone for a few seconds. The placard on the left held the cafeteria specials for the week, which she’d already memorized since it was Wednesday, but a new announcement had gone up on the left. The hospital was being graced by a lecture on Mindful Meditation by a Bodhi Lee next Wednesday.

‘Never heard of him,’ Mandy muttered. Meditation wasn’t for her. Art was her therapy and she was happy to know that what kept her sane also paid quite a few bills.

Her fateful art journaling class with Reese the previous year had led to a side hustle that was on track to pay her more than her barista job by summer. If only microbusinesses came with health insurance.

The best part about it, though, was that her social media presence, her classes and product sales could all be shared with fifteen-year-old Vellum. Even when things were a bit rocky in the parent–child relationship, they worked together well. Vellum didn’t have to babysit the bratty Roswell twins next door for cash anymore, and Mandy had a professional partner-in-crime who added tangible and intangible benefits to her business.

Mandy bypassed the barbecue burger lunch special in favor of the salad-in-a-jar she’d packed, though she grabbed a paper plate. The nook along the windows overlooking the I-5 freeway was only lightly populated, so she settled into a chair and dusted crumbs off the two-top table. Just enough room for her planner and lunch.

She opened the notebook to this week’s journal spread, then unscrewed the metal lid of her mason jar. Homemade lemon Dijon dressing filled an old spice jar she’d tucked inside. After dumping out her salad of mixed power greens, the kind you could eat raw or sauté or turn into smoothies, she stirred black beans, corn, chicken and cheese into the mix, then topped it all with dressing and a hospital pepper pack.

Her phone rang as she was pulling a metal fork from her purse. Her daughter’s frowning face had appeared on the screen. ‘Hi, honey.’

‘Bad news, Mom.’

‘Did your yearbook meeting get cancelled? I’m going to run late tonight, so you’ll probably want to take the bus home.’

‘No, all of the members on our new creative site have filled out the poll for May’s theme.’

In order to secure a steadier stream of income from their business, Mandy had launched a membership on an internet platform, where her customers could pay a monthly fee to receive her stickers and classes. She had followed the model of other creators and set up polls to give her customers some say over the content they received. But that meant giving up control.

Mandy pushed her fork tines into her lettuce. ‘What’s the verdict?’

‘It was a tie. May’s theme is a merge of bunnies and tea.’

Mandy rubbed her nose. ‘Uh-oh.’

‘How did that happen? I know we have new customers signing up every day who could change the poll results. But you like to do our work six weeks ahead, so we’re already running late for May.’

‘Yeah, we need to get started. Do you really think our school-age customers will like that theme? It sounds like an old lady Easter mash-up.’

‘The journaling community loves animal themes,’ Vellum soothed.

‘And beverage themes,’ Mandy added. ‘I guess the bunnies will have to drink tea.’

Vellum laughed. ‘If this new platform causes more problems, we can always shut it down.’

‘We already have enough new customers from it to add five figures a year to our bottom line,’ Mandy said. ‘Let’s make it work. We don’t have to give them options in the poll that we don’t want to do.’

‘We can change the rules to say no ties,’ Vellum added. ‘I mean, we can pick one if there’s a tie.’

‘Exactly. I’ll rewrite the poll rules tonight.’

‘OK, Mom. I’ll see you after my meeting.’

‘Sure thing. I should be home before you.’ Mandy disconnected, then sent a kiss emoji over text. When she set her phone down, a man approached her.

‘Is this seat taken?’

Mandy glanced up the lab coat to see Dr Tristan Burrell, a neonatologist who frequented both the coffee bar and, so he claimed, her social media videos.

His craggy features were punctuated by thick dark brows and piercing blue eyes reminiscent of actor Chris Pine, who Mandy had crushed on since his first Star Trek movie. The unattractive glasses the doctor wore hid his deserved hospital hottie status, and his nature was too unassuming to come on strong, but Mandy had learned what a great guy hid underneath the quiet pleasantry of their interactions.

‘Hi, Stan, of course.’ Mandy waved her hand at the other side of the table.

He placed his tray, with an iced tea and the barbecue burger, then took the seat. ‘Your lunch looks much better than mine.’

‘Brought it from home. I never like the Wednesday specials.’

‘Burgers aren’t their strong suit. But they do a good job with Meatless Mondays.’

Mandy nodded. ‘That three-bean chili is better than what I can make at home.’

‘Hmm.’ The doctor grimaced at his lunch, then opened the mustard and ketchup packets he’d added to his tray and squeezed them on to his burger. ‘I thought this might help.’

‘I’d have added mayonnaise,’ Mandy told him.

‘I didn’t think of that. It might have cut the vinegar.’

‘Do you want me to grab you some?’

‘No, no. I only have ten minutes to eat.’

‘What’s going on in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit today?’ she asked.

‘We’re watching a couple of preemies for pneumonia.’

‘More than one? Are you afraid that infection is going through the unit?’

‘I hope not. That’s when we lose the really fragile babies.’ He sighed. ‘It’s a rollercoaster ride for the families and I hate losing our patients.’

‘It’s one thing to know the odds aren’t great, and another thing entirely to have the worst happen,’ Mandy agreed. ‘I get choked up just thinking about it. I guess that’s why I’m the barista and you’re the doctor.’

Dr Burrell lifted his burger. ‘You brighten a lot of days with that smile of yours, not to mention the excellent coffee and cookies.’

‘Thanks.’ She watched him take a bite. It seemed like their customer–barista relationship had taken a turn toward something friendlier over the past six weeks, but she still didn’t know if he was interested in her or Fannah. He flirted with both of them. His low-key nature made it hard to tell. Because Mandy had yet to start dating since her recent divorce, she left the field to Fannah. But Dr Burrell undeniably appealed. A man who spent his career saving babies – who could compare with that?

Her alarm went off after several minutes of companionable eating in silence. She dropped her fork and dressing container inside and screwed the lid back on her jar.

‘That’s a great idea,’ the doctor said, gesturing at her jar.

‘No plastic,’ Mandy agreed. ‘My daughter found the salad recipes online.’

‘Smart kid,’ Dr Burrell said.

‘Do you have any?’ Mandy asked as she stood.

‘I do actually.’

Mandy paused, surprised. ‘Are you divorced, too?’

‘No, never married.’

She pointed to the corner of his mouth.

He wiped off a small glob of turmeric-yellow mustard. ‘My daughter is seventeen. She’s out there somewhere. An open adoption.’

‘Oh.’

‘She was premature, born almost three months too early. It was more than we could handle, so we let her go to a family that knew what they were doing. My ex gets photos once a year.’ Dr Burrell nodded. ‘Painful stuff, but a long time ago.’

‘Do you see photos, too?’

He pointed to her phone. ‘You’d better get going. I don’t want Fannah mad at you on my account.’

How could she not want to learn more? But shift workers couldn’t be late from breaks. Taking a deep breath, she strode away, shocked by this new dimension to the handsome doctor.

At least she now had her curiosity satisfied about his career choice.

At three thirty, Mandy grabbed her purse, slung it over her shoulder, then picked up two drink holders. Fannah made a throaty noise when Mandy glanced at the third drink holder doubtfully.

‘Don’t go anywhere until I return,’ Fannah told Houston, then picked up the other carrier.

Mandy followed her boss up the escalator to the next floor, where a glassed-in sky bridge led over the front driveway to the office building. The complex was built as three sides of a square, with busy Madison Avenue making up the fourth side.

Reese’s podiatry office was on the same floor as the bridge. Fannah walked confidently across the tiled floor to the right side. Her catwalk stomp remained from her model days, as had her spectacular glowing skin, though she was a couple of years older than Mandy. The soothing tones of her voice came from her native tongue – Amharic.

‘You know where you’re going.’ Mandy trotted behind the floor-eating stride of her taller boss.

‘I’ve been to the podiatrist a couple of times to have my foot wrapped.’

‘Plantar fasciitis?’

Fannah nodded. ‘Too many of my careers have involved standing. Reese can be abrasive as a customer, but she’s a great nurse.’

‘I haven’t needed her services so far, though she helped Vellum,’ Mandy said, smiling at a little boy coming out of a children’s therapy office.

‘You will if you stay a barista.’ Fannah shrugged, making the ice in one of the drinks she held rattle. ‘When I had the chance to get off my feet, I took it, but they were already damaged.’

‘Food for thought,’ Mandy said. ‘Though, other than people trying to kill me, I’ve enjoyed working here.’

Fannah said nothing, just ran a manicured nail along her forehead, under her headwrap. They had never talked about what had happened. Mandy had buried her feelings during the days she’d been given off, then returned to work. Her attacker, and others involved, were awaiting trial somewhere in the region, and she simply chose not to think about it. Fannah must have decided the same, although Mandy had noticed they had three security cameras installed above the coffee bar now.

Mandy had fun at the little party and ended up in an extended discussion about an exhibit at the Seattle Asian Art Museum with the office manager. Long after dark, Mandy yawned as she walked across the sky bridge from the office building to the parking garage. She noted the sign which proudly declared that the entire sky bridge circuit was a half-mile long, and made her usual unfulfilled pledge to walk the circuit a couple of times during the day, to get her steps in.

She chuckled at the thought. A teenage boy gave her a quizzical look as he saw her laughing face, so she touched her ear, pretending she was laughing at something on earbuds hidden behind her curly brown hair. People talked to themselves all the time these days. It was rare anyone even bothered to notice.

She turned off the bridge at the elevators and rose up to the top floor, partially uncovered to the rainy March sky. A gust of not-quite-freezing wind blasted her as she walked out of the overhang to her car, half an aisle down. Happy first day of spring to her. The streetlamps were coming on as twilight deepened.

She had parked in her favorite spot, next to the dumpster in a triangular space created by one corner of the garage. She never lost her car when she parked there.

Her neck spasmed as she reached her car. She winced as she unlocked her trunk and dumped in her bag of party favors and the slice of cake Reese had insisted she take for Vellum before she had rushed off somewhere.

Mandy rubbed her neck, wondering how she’d managed to be roped into a conversation that kept her at the party longer than the planner herself had stayed. Ugh. She never should have agreed to carry heavy trays all the way to the podiatrist’s office. Walking while holding them had been too much after a day at the espresso machine.

She tucked her chin into her chest, stretching the back of her neck as she stepped around her car to unlock the driver-side door.

With her neck in that position, it was no surprise she saw the foot.

TWO

Mandy did a double take as wind whipped her hair in and out of her eyes. The foot was clad in vertical black-and-white striped fabric. Mandy’s mocha threatened to reappear as her disbelieving eyes followed the foot to the attached leg, then past the thigh to a short black skirt. She swallowed hard as her gaze passed a brief expanse of belly with marks on it, to a black shirt. A black jacket, office-style, opened over the torso.

Mandy’s hand went to her mouth. It shook when she saw the face leaning away from the dumpster, unfamiliar to her with a slack mouth painted vermilion, half-closed eyes.

She knelt down, scarcely noting the freezing concrete under her knees, and wrapped her fingers around the woman’s wrist. Unable to find a pulse, she noted that the woman’s skin still felt warm.

After discovering her cousin’s body last month, she had learned how to feel for a pulse. She didn’t know if this woman was dead exactly, but she was close to death at the very least. Horror hit abruptly.

‘Call nine-one-one!’ she screamed into the parking garage, hoping someone unseen would hear her. ‘Hello! Hello!’

She tilted the woman’s head back and blew two breaths into her unresponsive mouth, following ancient CPR training that she probably remembered wrong.

Nothing happened. Mandy felt for the woman’s sternum and began to compress her chest, trying to remember the rhythm of the Bee Gees’ ‘Stayin’ Alive.’ Wasn’t that what she was supposed to do? Suddenly, she realized her hands were wet.

From her first compression, they seemed to stick to the fabric. She stared down at her hands in confusion and, in the fading light, saw blood coating them.

The dark garage spun with stars for a moment. Oh no. The woman’s black clothing had hidden serious wounds. This wasn’t an overdose or heart attack. Mandy shook her head a little, trying to stay focused. She pulled up the untucked shirt. A nightmare of thin cuts was sliced across the woman’s chest. Tattoos, too – black bullseye tattoos on her belly.

Mandy reached for her phone, buried in her coat pocket, and dialed 911. She’d lost track of time, but no one seemed to be coming to help her.

While she talked to the operator through the speaker, she turned on the flashlight app on her phone. She hadn’t been imagining it. The woman really didn’t have any shoes on. Mandy still didn’t recognize her, but she was young. Fashionable too, with dip-dyed hair, cotton candy blue over blond. Her even features and smooth skin had probably been lovely, though Mandy had smeared her lipstick.

Realizing what that meant, she dropped her phone and scrubbed at her mouth with her wrist. Her lips felt greasy against the soft skin of her inner arm. Nausea rising, she skittered back and wound up leaning against her tire,