Миранда Джеймс: Arsenic And Old Books

Berkley Prime Crime titles by Miranda James

Cat in the Stacks Mysteries

MURDER PAST DUE

CLASSIFIED AS MURDER

FILE M FOR MURDER

OUT OF CIRCULATION

THE SILENCE OF THE LIBRARY

ARSENIC AND OLD BOOKS

Southern Ladies Mysteries

BLESS HER DEAD LITTLE HEART

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Copyright © 2015 by Dean James.

“When Charlie Met Diesel” by Miranda James copyright © 2015 by Dean James.

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eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-14457-6

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

James, Miranda.

Arsenic and old books / Miranda James.—First edition.

pages cm.—(Cat in the stacks mystery ; 6)

ISBN 978-0-425-25729-6 (hardback)

1. Librarians—Fiction. I. Title.

PS3610.A43A88 2015

813'.6—dc23

2014037644

FIRST EDITION: February 2015

Cover illustration by Dan Craig.

Cover design by Lesley Worrell.

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.

Version_1

This book is dedicated in loving memory of Ernestine Pendergrast James (1923–2014), one of the strongest women I’ve ever known.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

As with every book, I owe thanks to many for the support I receive during the process. My editor, Michelle Vega, never fails me with her unflagging support, encouragement, and excellent advice. The amazing and efficient team at Nancy Yost Literary, including their indefatigable eponymous leader, make the business parts of the process run smoothly.

The Wednesday night critique group—Bob, Julie, Kay F., Kay K., Laura, and Millie—share their opinions of the work-in-progress freely and constructively, and I appreciate their help. The Hairston-Soparkar family continues generously to offer their home for our meetings, and I am thankful to have such a pleasant place to work.

For technical information about archives, I thank my former colleagues M. J. Figard, MLS, and Philip Montgomery, MLIS, CA. Any mistakes in archival matters are my responsibility, not theirs. Lynda L. Crist, PhD, assisted with information about paper. Terry Farmer, PhD, and Joseph E. Figard, PhD, also generously shared their expertise in matters of chemistry. Again, any mistakes to do with chemistry are mine alone.

Finally, thanks as always to my two dear friends, Patricia Orr and Terry Farmer (double-billing this time), for cheering me on during the headlong rush of finishing each and every book.

CONTENTS

Berkley Prime Crime Titles by Miranda James

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Acknowledgments

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

Bonus Story: When Charlie Met Diesel

ONE

I checked my watch, then glanced at the clock on my computer. They both told me that it was seven minutes after one p.m. I resisted the urge to get up and pace around the archive office. Instead I turned my chair and looked at the large feline dozing on the wide windowsill behind my desk.

Diesel, apparently sensing my gaze, yawned and stretched. He meowed and rolled onto his side, head twisted so that he was staring at me almost upside down. He warbled a couple of times, as if to ask, Why are you so restless, Charlie?

“The mayor said she’d be here at one, and she’s late. You know how that bugs me,” I told the cat. “I’m curious to find out about these family documents she wants to talk to me about. The Longs have already given so many collections of papers to the archive, I have to wonder what they’ve been holding on to.”

The cat calmly began washing his right front paw.

“You may not be curious, but I am,” I told him. “It’s not every day that I get consulted by such an august person as Lucinda Beckwith Long.”

I heard a cough, and it didn’t come from Diesel.

“I beg your pardon. Are you Mr. Harris?”

I swiveled my chair to face the office door, and I could feel the blush starting. The mayor stood in the doorway, her expression puzzled.

I rose from my desk and walked around to greet Mrs. Long. “Yes, I’m Charlie Harris, Your Honor. Please come in. I was . . . Well, I was chatting with my cat. It’s a habit I have, you see.”

Mrs. Long nodded as she extended her hand. “I quite understand. My husband and I have three poodles, and we talk to them all the time.”

“Won’t you be seated?” I indicated the chair in front of my desk. Mrs. Long, clutching a tote and a black leather handbag, moved forward. She set the latter on the floor beside her when she took her seat. Clad in a chic crimson suit with a white silk blouse and colorful scarf knotted loosely around her neck, she looked cool and crisp and ready to get down to business.

I had seen the mayor on several public occasions, but never this close. She was shorter than I expected, probably no more than five-three, when she wasn’t standing on the spike heels I had seen her wear. Though I knew her to be in her mid-sixties, she exuded an air of youthful energy, as if she could barely contain herself. Even now I could hear her toe tapping on the hardwood floor of my office. I figured a mayor’s life must be hectic, even that of the mayor of a small city like Athena, Mississippi.

Mrs. Long appeared to be assessing me as I waited for her to speak. Diesel hopped down from his perch and padded around my desk to approach the mayor. He sniffed at her bags and then attempted to stick his head in the opening of the tote. Mrs. Long touched his head lightly to discourage him. “No, no, kitty, what’s in there is too old for you to play with.”

The cat stared up at her and warbled as if to say, Are you sure?

Mrs. Long smiled. “He seems to understand what I said, like our dogs do.”