File M for Murder

“[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
.

Miranda James

BERKLEY PRIME CRIME, NEW YORK

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.

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FORTY-TWO

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.”