“[A] promising new cozy series.”
—Lorna Barrett, New York Times bestselling author
PRAISE FOR
Classified as Murder
“Bringing local color to life, this second entry in the series…is a gentle, closed-room drama set in Mississippi. Ideal for Christie fans who enjoy a good puzzle.”
—Library Journal
“Readers will enjoy this entertaining regional whodunit as the librarian and the cat work the case.”
—Genre Go Round Reviews
“A hit with bibliophiles and animal lovers, not to mention anyone who likes a well-plotted mystery. The characters are unique and often eccentric. Having a male amateur sleuth with a subplot that explores his relationship with his adult son brings a fresh twist to the genre.”
—RT Book Reviews
Murder Past Due
“Combines a kindhearted librarian hero, family secrets in a sleepy Southern town, and a gentle giant of a cat that will steal your heart. A great beginning to a promising new cozy series.”
—Lorna Barrett, New York Times bestselling author
“Courtly librarian Charlie Harris and his Maine coon cat, Diesel, are an endearing detective duo. Warm, charming, and Southern as the tastiest grits.”
—Carolyn Hart, author of the Bailey Ruth Mysteries
“Brings cozy lovers an intriguing mystery, a wonderful cat, and a librarian hero who will warm your heart. Filled with Southern charm, the first in the Cat in the Stacks Mysteries will keep readers guessing until the end. Miranda James should soon be on everyone’s list of favorite authors.”
—Leann Sweeney, author of the Cats in Trouble Mysteries
“Murder Past Due has an excellent plot, great execution, and a surprising ending. This book is a must read!”
—The Romance Readers Connection
“Miranda James begins the Cat in the Stacks Mysteries with a bang…[An] absolute breath of fresh air.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Readers will adore Charlie and Diesel.”
—Socrates’ Book Review Blog
“Read Murder Past Due for the mystery and an enjoyable amateur sleuth…You’ll find yourself wishing for the next book to catch up with Diesel.”
—Lesa’s Book Critiques
Please visit Diesel the cat at
facebook.com/DieselHarriscat.
Berkley Prime Crime titles by Miranda James
MURDER PAST DUE
CLASSIFIED AS MURDER
FILE M FOR MURDER
FILE M FOR
MURDER
Miranda James
BERKLEY PRIME CRIME, NEW YORK
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
FILE M FOR MURDER
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / February 2012
Copyright © 2012 by Dean James.
Cover illustration by Dan Craig.
Cover design by Lesley Worrell.
Interior text design by Tiffany Estreicher.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
EISBN: 9781101554364
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
For David
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As always, I must thank my Tuesday night critique partners: Amy, Bob, Heather, Kay, Laura, Leanne, and Millie. Their critical input makes a huge difference, and I owe them a great debt of gratitude. Thanks also to the Hairston-Soparkar clan, both two- and four-legged, for sharing their beautiful home with us every Tuesday and allowing us to work.
My editor, Michelle Vega, and my agent, Nancy Yost, have assisted me in so many important ways, and I am incredibly grateful for their support. The same goes for my bookstore family, McKenna, Brenda, Anne, and John. Thanks for selling my books so well and for making the time I spend with them so memorable. Copyeditor Andy Ball did a super job on the manuscript, for which I thank him profusely.
Finally, three friends continue to sustain me and encourage me: Terry Farmer, my Maine coon expert and fellow voracious reader; Julie Herman, fellow writer and the best non-biological sister anyone could have; and Patricia R. Orr, fellow survivor of graduate school and immeasurably dear friend.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
ONE
Connor Lawton made an abysmal first impression on his initial visit to the Athena Public Library.
Now, four weeks later, I’d seen enough of the tattooed playwright to know he didn’t improve on further acquaintance.
This afternoon, I wanted to curse my luck as I watched him amble toward the reference desk, where I waited to help library patrons.
From around my feet I heard an interrogative warble, and I glanced down at Diesel, my three-year-old Maine coon cat. He always seemed to sense when something, or someone, caused me stress or anxiety, and I had to smile. “It’s okay, boy. Nothing to worry about.”
Diesel warbled again and stretched, reassured.
“Talking to your feet?” Connor Lawton gave me a sour smile. He looked more like a prize fighter than a playwright, with his broken nose, buzzed haircut, and muscular frame. Today he wore a sleeveless shirt that revealed the colorful ink on his upper arms. The tattoos, Japanese in style, offered a stark contrast to his tanned skin and white shirt. A diamond stud glittered in his left ear.
“No, I was speaking to my cat. Remember him?”
Lawton grimaced. “Unfortunately. Never seen such an unfriendly animal.”
Now I wanted to laugh. Diesel likes almost everybody he meets. He’s a very sociable, easygoing cat—a lot like me, actually. But there are some people who rub him the wrong way, and that’s what Lawton did the first time he saw Diesel. The man immediately stuck his hand under the cat’s belly and started to scratch, and Diesel was offended by the improper first greeting. He growled, Lawton jerked his hand back, and Diesel turned and stalked off.
Since then Diesel had no use for Lawton, and evidently it still rankled the man.
“I’m surprised they let you bring the beast to the library,” Lawton said. He exaggerated his drawl when he continued, “But at least Ellie Mae ain’t in here with all her critters.”
I suppressed a heavy sigh while I felt Diesel place a paw on my knee. If he stood on his hind legs, he would be able to peer over the counter at the playwright. “What can I do for you today, Mr. Lawton?”
“Old newspapers.” Lawton frowned, and for a moment he appeared troubled by something. “Research for the play I’m writing.”
Ah, yes, the play. Lawton mentioned it frequently. By now every person in Athena knew that the brilliant young playwright Connor Lawton, the toast of Broadway and Hollywood, was in Athena for two semesters as writer-in-residence at the college. The fall semester started in ten days, but Lawton arrived in Athena early to settle in and “immerse the Muse in the fecund atmosphere of the literary South, the home of immortals like William Faulkner, Eudora Welty, and Flannery O’Connor.”
The man’s pretentiousness evidently knew no bounds. He even told me he was named for Flannery O’Connor, but that he had dropped the O’ from his name because it sounded too artsy-fartsy.
“Are you looking for old issues of the local paper? We have access to a number of newspaper archives online, but the Athena Daily Register hasn’t been digitized yet. At least, not prior to 1998.”
“Local, at least for now.” Lawton stared at me and frowned.
“If you’ll follow me, then,” I said as I headed around the desk to the open space in front, “I’ll show you where the microfilm is.”
“Whatever.” Lawton moved closer and pointed to a spot behind me. “Does the cat have to come with us?”
“Yes, he does,” I said as I glanced back at Diesel. “If he wants to, that is.”
Diesel, his gaze intent on my face, chirped a couple of times before he turned and walked back behind the desk to sit with Lizzie Hayes, one of the circulation staffers. Good choice, Diesel. Lizzie is much nicer.
“Follow me,” I repeated as I turned and walked away. I heard Lawton mutter something from close behind me.
We walked down a hall near the desk, and I showed the playwright into a small room with filing cabinets, a couple of small tables, and two microfilm-reading machines.
I paused by the cabinets. “The films for the Athena Daily Register are here. The dates are on the cards on each drawer. When you finish with a roll, please put it in that basket on top of the cabinet.” I stopped a moment to clear my throat. “Have you used microfilm readers like these before?”
Lawton nodded as he approached me. I moved aside to let him peer at the labels on the drawers. He squatted, pulled out one of the drawers, and examined its contents.
“Then, if there’s nothing else, I’ll head back to the desk.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Lawton said.
“You’re welcome,” I said, surprised. This was the first time he had uttered the word thanks in my hearing, despite the other times I had helped him.
I glanced at my watch on the way back to the reference-circulation desk. A quarter to three. Only fifteen minutes more on the desk, and then Diesel and I could go home. I looked forward to some quiet time. This had been a long, hot week, and a brief nap before I cooked dinner sounded appealing.
As I mulled possible menus, I resumed my seat behind the desk. Diesel left Lizzie and came back to me. I scratched his head as he rubbed against my right leg. He was an affectionate creature and didn’t often stray far from my side—except to spend time with one of his many human friends. He was popular with the library’s patrons, and he enjoyed them—as long as they didn’t have small hands that wanted to pull cat hair, that is.
I helped two more people with their reference questions, and when I consulted my watch again, the quarter hour was down to three minutes.
The library’s newest employee, Bronwyn Forster, offered a sweet smile as she neared me, ready to take my place. “Afternoon, Charlie. Has it been busy?”
“About the usual,” I said. “When school starts next week, things will pick up.”
Bronwyn nodded as she rubbed Diesel’s head. She cooed at him for a moment, and Diesel warbled back at her. I knew Diesel would agree with me that Bronwyn, with never an unkind word for anyone, made a pleasant change from Anita Milhaus, the obnoxious woman she replaced two months ago.
I waited until Bronwyn finished petting the cat, and then Diesel and I bade her and Lizzie good-bye. I retrieved my briefcase from the office I shared with one of the full-time librarians on the Fridays that I volunteered. I put Diesel into his harness, attached the leash, and we were ready.
The hot August air slapped us both as Diesel and I left the library for my car. I opened the doors to let the heat out, then got in to crank the car and get the air conditioner going. In the meantime, Diesel hopped onto the floorboard on the front passenger side of the car. I detached his leash and stuck it in my briefcase.
On the way home, I thought longingly about a cool shower. I felt sticky from the heat despite the cold blast of air from the car vents.
I pulled into the driveway and hit the garage door opener. As the door rose, I saw Sean’s car in its slot. I smiled, glad he was home from whatever mysterious errand he said he had to run today. I pulled my car in beside my son’s, and I thought about the change in our relationship over the past five months. We were getting along much better now, and I enjoyed having him with me.
Diesel hopped out of the car and made it to the kitchen door ahead of me. I watched, grinning, as he opened the door. Earlier in the year he had learned how to do it by twisting the knob with his front paws, and I still got a kick out of watching him. I suspected my boarder, Justin Wardlaw, taught him the trick, although Diesel was smart enough to have figured it out for himself.
I followed my cat into the kitchen and closed the door behind us. Diesel loped off to the utility room, home to his litter box and food and water bowls. I followed his example and poured myself a glass of water. As I drank I heard laughter from the direction of the living room. I recognized the baritone rumble of Sean’s voice, but there was a second voice. A female voice, and it sounded oddly familiar.
“It can’t be,�
� I said as I shook my head. My heart beat faster, and I set the glass on the counter.
Moments later I paused in the living room doorway and stared at the two people on the couch—my son, Sean, and my daughter, Laura.
She caught sight of me and jumped up. “Surprise, Dad!” She grinned as she ran to give me a hug.
I threw my arms around her and held her tight. “What a wonderful surprise.” I glanced over at Sean, still on the sofa. He grinned broadly.
“Look at my movie star daughter.” I released Laura and stepped back. I hadn’t seen her since Christmas, and I was thrilled to have her here. Her visits home were all too infrequent. “You and Sean really put one over on me.”
“Not a movie star yet, Dad, but I’m working on it.” Laura laughed as she posed for me. Even dressed in jeans and an old linen man’s shirt she was still beautiful and looked several years younger than her age, twenty-four. Like her brother she had curly black hair and expressive eyes. She had the gamine grace of Audrey Hepburn despite the fact that she was five-ten in her bare feet.
“I had a hard time not telling you on Wednesday when you called me.” Laura laughed again. “I knew Sean would kill me, though, because we wanted it to be a real surprise.” She took my hand and led me to the couch.
I sat with a child on either side of me. “So your mysterious errand was going to the airport in Memphis.” I smiled at Sean, and he grinned.
I turned back to Laura. “How long can you stay? At least a week, I hope.”
Laura exchanged a sly glance with her brother. “Actually, I can stay longer than that, if you can stand having me.”
“Of course,” I said, delighted.
“I’ll be here through Christmas.” Laura giggled at my stunned expression.
“That’s wonderful,” I said, somewhat bewildered. “But can you afford to be away from Los Angeles that long? Career-wise, I mean?”
Laura shrugged. “I guess I’ll find out. But in the meantime I’ve got a pretty good gig here.”
“What kind of gig do you have in Athena?” I couldn’t imagine what kind of acting job she had found here that would last several months.
File M for Murder Page 1
