1 Bless Her Dead Little Heart

Praise for the
New York Times
Bestselling Cat in the Stacks Mysteries

OUT OF CIRCULATION

“Humor and plenty of Southern charm . . . Cozy fans will hope James . . . keep[s] Charlie and Diesel in action for years to come.”

—
Publishers Weekly

“The old Southern charm recollects Rita Mae Brown’s Sneaky Pie series (without the talking animals), while Charlie’s investigative techniques may bring some of Agatha Christie’s characters to mind.”

—
Library Journal

“Like its predecessors,
Out of Circulation
offers a pleasing blend of crime and charm, filled with familiar and cherished characters, biped and quadruped.”

—
Richmond Times-Dispatch

“Even if you don’t like cats, there’s plenty to enjoy in this traditional cozy.”

—
RT Book Reviews

“This fourth installment of the Cat in the Stacks series keeps you involved until the last page.”

—
Cozy Mystery Book Reviews

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

“This charming, classic cozy features full-on Southern charm. Well plotted and evenly paced, with fairly laid out clues for those who like to solve along with the sleuth. Charlie and Diesel are a delightful detective team, and the idea of a male amateur sleuth/librarian with a cat is a refreshing twist on an old trope.”

—
RT Book Reviews

“Will make you a cat lover if you are not already one.”

—
Once Upon a Romance

“This cozy mystery makes for a leisurely and enjoyable read. It is well plotted, and the protagonist and the secondary characters are multidimensional and likable. And of course, there’s Diesel . . . a thoroughly lovable cat who is an integral part of the story.”

—
The Conscious Cat

“James has [a] winner with this one, readers won’t want to miss it.”

—
Debbie’s Book Bag

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, national bestselling 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 Reviews 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

Cat in the Stacks Mysteries

MURDER PAST DUE

CLASS
IFIED AS MURDER

FILE
M FOR MURDER

OUT OF
CIRCULATION

THE SIL
ENCE OF THE LIBRARY

Southern Ladies Mysteries

BLESS HER DEAD LITTLE HEART

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA) LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

USA • Canada • UK • Ireland • Australia • New Zealand • India • South Africa • China

penguin.com

A Penguin Random House Company

BLESS HER DEAD LITTLE HEART

A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

Copyright © 2014 by Dean James.

Excerpt from
Arsenic and Old Books
by Miranda James copyright © 2014 by Dean James.

Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.

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For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-14828-4

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition /October 2014

Cover illustration by Dan Craig.

Cover design by Lesley Worrel.

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.

This book is dedicated with love and thanks to the two amazing women who inspired their fictional (and much older) counterparts: An’gel Ducote Molpus and Dickce Ducote Little. Blessings in life come in different guises; if you’re lucky, they sometimes have sassy mouths and big hearts. Thank you for your friendship and your inspiration.

Were it not for my good friend Carolyn Haines and one of her many fascinating brainstorms, I would never have met the real An’gel and Dickce at the wonderful and wacky thing that is Daddy’s Girls Weekend. Thank you, Carolyn, for being such a fascinating influence in my life.

Special thanks also to Terri Dunn, Cheryl Carlson, Carole Sauer, Katie Ruffin, Kelly Robinson, Gail Bonneau, and Betty Milton. These ladies keep me entertained on Facebook on the days when I need it most.

Michelle Vega is awesome (I seldom use that word, and when I do, I really mean it) as my editor and friend. She has more patience than that guy in the proverb, and I would never finish a book without it. My agent, Nancy Yost, and her associates, Sarah Younger, Adrienne Rosado, and Natanya Wheeler, are awesome as well. I cannot thank them enough for what they do to help me earn enough to buy cat food for Pippa and Toby and other good things as well.

My friends in the Wednesday night critique group hold my feet to the fire and help make everything I write so much better: Bob, Julie, Kay F., Kay K., Laura, and Millie. Curry, Susie, Isabella, and Charlie open their home to us every week and give us space to hone our craft, and that is such a generous gift.

At a difficult time, my friends at Murder by the Book came through. A special thanks to McKenna Jordan, the owner, along with John Kwiatkowski, Sally Woods, and Brenda Jordan for their friendship and support.

Finally, as always, loving thanks to the two bedrocks of my writing life, my friends Patricia Orr and Terry Farmer.
Sine qua non
.

Readers might be wondering how to pronounce the rather unusual names of the Ducote Sisters. Here’s a quick guide:

Miss An’gel’s name is pronounced “ahn-JELL.”

Miss Dickce’s name is pronounced just like “Dixie.”

Their family name, Ducote, is pronounced “dew-COH-tee.”

M
iss An’gel Ducote fixed her houseguest with a gimlet eye. “I expect you to behave like a proper gentleman while you’re here.”

Diesel Harris regarded his hostess unblinkingly for a moment before he meowed.

Miss Dickce Ducote snorted with laughter. “Good gracious, Sister, you don’t need to lecture him on how to conduct himself. Diesel has better manners than some of the two-legged fools who’ve set foot in Riverhill.”

“True.” Miss An’gel pursed her lips as she continued to regard the large Maine Coon cat. “He is in unfamiliar surroundings, though, and I’ve heard that cats don’t like change. He might be upset because Charlie and the rest of the family have gone off and left him.” She pointed to the frayed Aubusson carpet that covered a third of their front parlor. “I’m not sure this can withstand accidents, if you know what I mean.”

“Really, An’gel. That rug has been on the floor for a hundred and twenty years at least and has withstood far worse.” Dickce shook her head. “Diesel is a smart kitty. He already knows where we put his litter box. He’s not going to make a mess on one of our priceless antiques.”

“That’s all well and good.” An’gel glared at her sister, at eighty the younger by almost four years. “Even if his bathroom habits are impeccable, what shall we do if he starts clawing the furniture?”

“If you were this worried about the contents of the house, why did you ever agree to keep Diesel? Most of the furniture survived the Civil War and troops of Union and Confederate soldiers at various times. How much damage could one cat do?” Dickce glared right back. “Frankly, I seem to recall that you
volunteered
to cat-sit. Charlie never once opened his mouth to ask you. In fact, he looked mighty startled when you said we’d be
delighted
, though he’s such a gentleman, he hid it immediately.” She sat back, arms folded over her chest, and waited.

There was no arguing with Dickce when she was in one of her contrary moods. An’gel suppressed a sigh as she threw up her hands in mock surrender. Before she could speak, Diesel warbled loudly and placed his large right front paw on her knee. An’gel stared down into the cat’s eyes, and she would have sworn he was trying to reassure her.

Dickce pointed at the Maine Coon. “See? He’s telling you he’s going to be extra-special good.”

The triumphant note in Dickce’s voice irritated An’gel, but she pretended it didn’t. Instead she stroked the cat’s head and told him twice she knew he was a good boy.

“Come sit with me, Diesel.” Dickce patted the sofa cushion beside her. “You can stretch out and nap with your aunt Dickce.”

Diesel pawed at An’gel’s knee again and meowed. He gazed up at her, and she had the oddest feeling that he was asking her permission. At least the cat was smart enough to know who was really in charge here. “Go ahead, it’s fine with me.”

The cat blinked at her before he turned to amble over to the sofa. He jumped up beside Dickce and settled himself with his head and front legs in her lap. Dickce stroked him and grinned at her sister when Diesel started to purr loudly.

An’gel picked up her glass of sweet tea and sipped at it. There was nothing better during the dog days of summer. Their housekeeper, Clementine, made the best sweet tea in Athena County, if not in the whole state of Mississippi. “The only reason I’m glad to see August come around every year is the fact that we don’t have any committee meetings to attend, any garden club functions to arrange, or any other social commitments. It’s nice to have a vacation.”

“It sure is.” Dickce nodded. “I keep thinking we ought to retire and live a quieter life, but I know we’d both be bored and ready to strangle each other in a month or two.” She laughed. “This is a big house, but probably not big enough to keep us from getting on each other’s nerves every other minute.”

An’gel chose to ignore that leading remark. “Besides, you know as well as I do that no one else will keep things organized and running the way we do.” She shook her head. “If the community had to pay someone to do what we do, the town couldn’t afford it.” She felt a cool breeze across her neck as the air-conditioner kicked in. How had earlier generations of Ducotes survived the hot summers without it? She took another sip of tea.

Dickce frowned. “Did you hear that? Just before the air went on. Sounded like a car drove up.”

“I heard it.” An’gel stood. “We weren’t expecting visitors this afternoon. I’m not in the mood to entertain.”

“Tell whoever it is to go away.” Dickce yawned. “I think I’d like to go upstairs for a nap.”

An’gel strode to the front window and pulled the heavy red damask drapes aside to peer out at the driveway. “I don’t recognize the car, and I can’t see who’s driving. Clementine is probably taking her break now. I’ll go.”

The bell sounded before An’gel reached the door. She opened it to find a woman about her own age standing there, finger on the bell, poised to ring it again. Her hair was an unnatural shade of red, and her wrinkled face was devoid of makeup. She didn’t look like a salesperson, but she did seem vaguely familiar.

“Good afternoon. What can I do for you?”

Startled, the woman took a step back. “My goodness. An’gel, it’s you, isn’t it? I never expected
you
to answer the door. Surely you have a servant to do that.” She smiled. “Aren’t you going to ask me in?”

An’gel peered at the woman’s face as she tried to recall who she was. Recognition dawned, along with the first stirring of dismay. What on earth was Rosabelle Sultan doing here? The last time Rosabelle had visited, about fifteen years ago, she had stayed three weeks—two-and-a-half more than she was welcome—and had departed with a substantial, and not-yet-repaid, loan.

An’gel stepped back and waved the visitor in. “Of course I am, Rosabelle. This is a surprise. Weren’t you living in California?”

Rosabelle opened her mouth to speak. Her eyes widened, and she dropped her purse. She pointed to a spot behind An’gel. “What on earth is
that
?”

An’gel turned and saw the cat. “That’s Diesel. Dickce and I are cat-sitting for a friend.” She stooped to retrieve the visitor’s purse and handed it back. “I know he’s large, but he’s a pet. He’s friendly and gentle. You don’t have to be afraid of him.”
And if the cat has any sense, he’ll stay away from you anyway
, she added silently.

Rosabelle clasped the purse to her side. “If you say so, but I’ve never seen a house cat that big before. Does he have some kind of glandular condition?”

Diesel moved closer and stood by An’gel. He stared at the visitor but did not approach her. An’gel had never seen him act like that, but she couldn’t fault his intelligence. Rosabelle never brought good tidings. Besides, An’gel realized, Rosabelle smelled funny, like a sweaty bouquet of roses.

“No, he’s a Maine Coon. They are large cats, and he is larger than usual, about thirty-six pounds. Nothing unnatural, though.” An’gel turned and gestured for her guest to follow. “Dickce’s in the parlor. Come along and say hello.”

“I’m so happy to find you both home,” Rosabelle said, sounding tired. “I’ve been driving for such a long time. I’m just glad I remembered the way.”

“Wasn’t that lucky?” An’gel murmured. She raised her voice at the parlor door. “Dickce, you’ll never guess who it is. Rosabelle Sultan.”

Dickce’s gaze locked with her sister’s, and her mouth twisted in a brief grimace. An’gel gazed stonily back. They would find out soon enough what their former sorority sister wanted. Then, with a smile, Dickce stood to greet the visitor. “My goodness, Rosabelle, what a surprise this is.”

“Dickce, I declare, you are just as darling as ever. I never did know how you and An’gel managed to keep your figures.” She dropped her purse on the floor and plopped down beside Dickce. “I always felt like such a lump around you two.”

An’gel could have told her how, but good manners precluded her telling a guest that she always ate like a pig at a trough. She eyed their visitor critically. Perhaps Rosabelle had reformed her habits, or had been seriously ill. She was thinner than An’gel ever remembered seeing her. Her dress was at least two sizes too large, and it had surely come off a bargain-store rack. The hem of the skirt was unraveling on the right side, and the material had the threadbare look of a long-used garment. Rosabelle must have fallen on hard times. An’gel took a deep breath. She and Dickce were going to be hit up for money—money that would never be paid back, if the past
loans
were anything to go by.

“Would you like some sweet tea?” An’gel recalled her duties as a hostess. “Or something else?”
Like leech repellent
, she added silently.

“Sweet tea would be fine.” Rosabelle leaned back and closed her eyes. “That might revive me.”

“I’ll go,” Dickce said. “You rest there, and I’ll be back in a minute.” She frowned at An’gel as she headed toward the door. “Where is Diesel?”

Startled, An’gel glanced around. “He was with me in the hall. He didn’t go outside. Maybe he went to see Clementine.”

Dickce glanced at their visitor, who still had her eyes closed. She pointed at Rosabelle and pinched her nose before she left the room.

“What brings you all the way to Mississippi from California?” An’gel resumed her seat. “I can’t believe you drove all that way by yourself.”

Rosabelle’s eyelids fluttered open, and she blinked at An’gel. “Oh, dear, I fell asleep for a minute there. I am plumb worn down to the bone from all that driving.” She covered her mouth as she yawned. “It took me several days to get here, but I had to come.”

“Do you have business here? I didn’t know you still had family in the state.”

“Nobody in Corinth anymore,” Rosabelle said, her eyes tearing up. “Everyone left years ago. No, I came because I had to get away from California.”

An’gel waited a moment but Rosabelle did not continue. “We haven’t had a word from you in many, many years, I reckon. Last we heard, though, you had remarried.”

“That was my second husband.” Rosabelle nodded. “Tom Thurmond. He was a dear man, but he died seven years ago. I married again a while after Tom passed.” She sighed. “Antonio Mingione. Handsome as the devil, but a rat. A complete and utter rat.”

“A rat? Where?” Dickce sounded alarmed as she arrived with a silver tray bearing a glass of tea and a pitcher. “Maybe Diesel will catch it for us.”

“Not that kind of rat,” An’gel said. “A two-legged one. Rosabelle’s current husband.”

“No, not current.” Rosabelle sniffled. “He died a year ago.”

“My goodness, how awful.” Dickce handed their visitor the glass and took her place on the sofa.

Rosabelle sipped at the tea. “I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to be back here, where people know how to make sweet tea.” She drained the glass, and Dickce refilled it for her. “Thank you, so kind, like you always were. I could always rely on the Ducote sisters for their kindness.”

The sisters exchanged wary glances.

“We’ve always done our best.” Dickce patted the woman’s arm. “Sounds like you sure are in need of some kindness.”

“Kindness and sanctuary,” Rosabelle said. She burst into tears.

An’gel had seen this act before. No doubt the
rat
of a husband had run through her funds and left her destitute. The only way to deal with her was to be firm. “Buck up, now, and tell us what’s wrong.”

Rosabelle stared at her two hostesses in turn through streaming eyes. She looked so intentionally tragic, An’gel wanted to smack her.

“Come on, now,” Dickce said gently. “Whatever it is can’t be that bad.”

Rosabelle sniffed loudly and groped in the pocket of her dress for a tissue. “Oh, yes, it is. It’s murder.”

“Murder? What on
earth
are you talking about?” An’gel said.

Dickce spoke at the same time. “Who’s been murdered?”

Rosabelle glanced at each of them in turn. She drew a deep breath. “Me.
I’m
going to be murdered.”