“[A] promising new cozy series.”
—Lorna Barrett, New York Times bestselling author
PRAISE FOR
File M for Murder
“Readers who have come to love Charlie and Diesel and the small-town ambience of Athena will find File M for Murder another pleasant diversion, complete with an intriguing plot in which the silence of the library threatens to become the silence of the grave.”
—Richmond Times-Dispatch
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
“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
OUT OF CIRCULATION
A Cat in the Stacks Mystery
OUT OF
CIRCULATION
Miranda James
BERKLEY PRIME CRIME, NEW YORK
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
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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.
OUT OF CIRCULATION
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / February 2013
Copyright © 2013 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,
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375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ISBN: 978-1-101-61911-7
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.
ALWAYS LEARNING PEARSON
In loving memory of my two feline companions,
who provided so much more than mere company
for seventeen years:
Marlowe (1994–2011)
Booboo (1994–2012)
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks, as always, to the usual suspects. First, my wonderful, supportive editor, Michelle Vega, and my amazing agent, Nancy Yost. This ride was bumpier than usual, but thanks for cushioning it as much as possible.
My fellow critique group members gave helpful advice as always. Thanks to Amy, Bob, Heather, Kay, Laura, Leann, and Millie for their judicious critiques. Thanks also to the Soparkar-Hairston family for their continued support and the use of their lovely home for meetings.
A special thanks to coworkers Philip Montgomery and M. J. Figard for their expert advice on archives and rare books. Another coworker contributed the title for this book, and she insisted she didn’t want her name in the acknowledgments. She didn’t say I couldn’t put it in the book somewhere, though!
Patricia Orr, Julie Herman, and Terry Farmer continue to cheer me on, and I appreciate them more than they can ever know.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
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
ONE
“Charlie Harris, what are you doing hiding in the kitchen? Stiffen up that spine, young man, and get yourself in there where you’re needed.”
Miss An’gel Ducote didn’t wait for a response. The grande dame of Athena society turned and strode back toward my living room. She had been telling the citizens of Athena what to do for more than seventy of her eighty-odd years. Far be it from me to cast aside my Southern upbringing and defy her—even if the last place I wanted to be this Wednesday night was my own living room. Confrontation unsettled me, and I had taken refuge in the kitchen, ostensibly to brew fresh tea. I wasn’t going to avoid the unpleasantness that easily, however.
The tea forgotten, I scurried after Miss An’gel as fast as my fifty-two-year-old legs could move. My feet tangled together just inside the living room, and I grabbed at the door frame to steady myself.
Miss An’gel had resumed her place on the sofa with her younger sister, Miss Dickce. Her fire-engine red, vintage Chanel woolen dress provided a startling contrast to her sister’s sober black. I didn’t ordinarily pay much attention to women’s clothing, but my actor daughter, Laura, waxed ecstatic whenever we encountered one of the Ducote sisters. Evidently they’d inherited a considerable wardrobe of designer clothing from their mother and grandmother. Laura practically swooned over the creations of Worth, Chanel, Balenciaga, and Dior she’d seen them wear, and I’d picked up enough detail to identify the designers’ work. I drew the line at shoes.
Diesel, my Maine Coon cat, nestled between the sisters. His head and upper torso lay across Miss Dickce’s lap, and his purr rumbled from across the room. He lifted his head briefly to acknowledge my return, but as long as the Ducote sisters remained in my house, he would stick close to them. The ladies adored my cat from the first moment they saw him, and Diesel appeared to be every bit as smitten with them.
Vera Cassity’s strident tones claimed my wandering attention as I eased toward my chair. She cast a frown in my direction as she held forth. “As I was saying before Mr. Harris left the room, it’s ridiculous to consider holding the gala anywhere else but Ranelagh. We have the only private dining room that can seat seventy.” She leaned forward in the wingback chair and glared at the other members of the board of the Friends of Athena Public Library.
Besides Vera Cassity, the Ducote sisters, and me, the board was composed of Teresa Farmer, the library’s new director; my boarder, Stewart Delacorte; and Sissy Beauchamp. The three of them appeared no more inclined than I to wander onto the battlefield.
“Vera, honey, we all know how big the dining room at Ranelagh is.” Miss An’gel treated her adversary to a brief smile. “But we are not proposing to have a state dinner. We’re having a gala, and I believe that means a festive occasion. Darling, there’s nothing festive about a sit-down dinner for that many people.”
“Pardon me for trying to inject some class into the event.” Vera puffed up like a porcupine about to discharge her quills. “I seem to recall last year’s gala at River Hill got downright rowdy, and there were several complaints from your neighbors. Although apparently that’s nothing unusual.” She sniffed and twiddled with the oversized collar of her dowdy pea green dress. The color did not flatter her sallow skin.
The annual duel of the antebellum mansions, I thought. From what I’d heard before I joined the Friends board two months ago, Vera and Miss An’gel argued over the site of the gala every year. Miss An’gel usually won. The Ducotes, after all, had lived at River Hill ever since it was built way back in 1838. Vera Cassity and her husband, Morton (“call me Morty”), bought Ranelagh from its impoverished owners only fifteen years ago. Vera has apparently been trying to wrest control of Athena society away from the Ducote sisters ever since.
“Can Dickce and I help it if people actually have fun at River Hill?” Miss An’gel’s sweet tone fooled no one, I was sure. “The point of a gala is to loosen people up so they’ll whip out their checkbooks and write numbers with a bunch of zeros in them. The looser they are, the bigger the donation, darling. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
“Getting people drunk, even in the name of charity, is downright disgusting.” Vera bared her teeth in her version of a smile. “But I suppose River Hill has seen its share of heavy drinking.”
Sissy Beauchamp smothered a laugh, while both Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce regarded Vera with catlike disdain. “The Ducote men have always enjoyed their liquor, I must admit.” Miss Dickce coughed delicately. “Before I forget, Vera, honey, how is your poor brother doing these days? Is he comfortable down at Whitfield?”
Whitfield was the state mental hospital near Jackson, and everyone in Athena knew that Vera’s brother, Amory Hobson, had lived there for the past thirty years. According to local gossip, Amory was crazy as a betsy bug and given to stripping off all his clothes and running around hugging anyone he saw.
Vera’s face turned an angry red, and she gripped the arms of her chair so hard I feared she’d rip the sixty-year-old fabric.
Before she could form a reply, Teresa Farmer—brave soul that she was—attempted to scale back the hostilities. “Miss An’gel, Miss Dickce, Mrs. Cassity, it’s really wonderful that you all want to host this year’s gala. If it hadn’t been for your support over the years, the Friends wouldn’t be the highly effective, respected group it is. Everyone in Athena has benefited from your efforts, and I hope we can continue to work together for even more success this year.” As head of the Athena Public Library now, Teresa had to play peacemaker. I knew she hated confrontations like this as much as I did, and I didn’t envy her the challenges of her new job.
Sissy Beauchamp spoke next. Her sultry voice always made me think of Lauren Bacall, but with a Southern accent, of course. “I think we should be guided by the theme of this year’s gala, don’t y’all? We’re going to be dressing up as our favorite literary characters and giving out prizes for the cleverest costumes and holding a contest for who can name most characters correctly. Who’s going to have time to sit down to a formal dinner at a masquerade ball?”
Sissy—real name Judianne—treated Vera to a malicious smile. The two women loathed each other. Sissy—again according to local gossip—had recently started an affair with Morty Cassity. She was nearly half Vera’s age and a real stunner, with gorgeous red hair, a creamy complexion, and a figure reminiscent of Hollywood glamour girl Ava Gardner.
Stewart Delacorte, a new board member like me, nodded emphatically. “A formal dinner would cost a lot more, too, and we need to keep the expenses down as much as possible. Finger food is a lot cheaper and works just fine with a costume party.” He smiled at the Ducote sisters. No doubt at all where his sympathies lay.
Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce exchanged glances, then looked at me. “Well, Charlie,” Miss An’gel said, “what’s your opinion? Formal dinner or finger food?”
That wasn’t the real question, and we all knew it. Was I going to support the Ducote sisters and River Hill publicly or go over to the enemy and vote with Vera Cassity and Ranelagh?
Considering that I didn’t like Mrs. Cassity any more than the other members of the board did, I had little difficulty in answering, “Finger food.” I hated, however, the atmosphere of hostility and dissension brought on by an absurd power struggle.
Diesel had picked up on it as well. He no longer lay sprawled across the sofa and the Ducote sisters’ laps. He sat between them, and I would have sworn he was frowning. He leaped from the sofa, across the coffee table and came to sit beside my chair. I stroked his head to reassure him, and I could feel some of his tension ease.
Vera Cassity glared at Diesel, then her gaze swept upward to my face. The sheer fury in her eyes shocked me, and I looked away, unable to face her. No wonder Diesel wouldn’t g
o near her earlier when she’d arrived. He’d taken one look and backed away, though he usually made a point of greeting guests as they came in the front door.
Miss An’gel broke the silence. “That’s settled, then. We’ll continue with our preparations for the gala at River Hill. Vera, honey, I was thinking that a sit-down dinner at Ranelagh would be just the thing for the fund-raiser next spring. You know, the one for the county mental health association?”
I wanted to run for cover because I expected major fireworks after that little barb. All eyes focused on Vera as we awaited her response.
Her face reddened, but when she spoke, her tone was chilly. “That’s a fine idea, An’gel, my dear. I’ll be happy to have that event at Ranelagh. Then I guess it’ll be your turn to head the fund-raiser for unwed mothers. Or perhaps Sissy would like to handle that one?” Her eyes glittered with malice.
I risked a glance at Sissy Beauchamp and noted that her face was about the same color as her flaming hair. Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce appeared perfectly calm, however.
Diesel muttered, and I understood how he felt. The tension in the room was thick enough to make gravy. I risked another glance at Sissy and was relieved to see her looking calmer.
“I suppose you’re thinking about my cousin Mary Lee Beauchamp.” Sissy shot Vera an icy glance. “Poor girl just can’t seem to get them to the altar until after they get her pregnant. But I do envy her those sweet little babies, don’t you, Vera, honey?”
That was way below the belt. Vera and Morty had no children, and Vera was known to dote on other people’s offspring. Pretty terrifying prospect, if you thought about it much.
Out of Circulation Page 1
