Miranda James - Murder Past Due

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Acknowledgements

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

FELINE INTUITION

While I scanned the tiny handwriting of the registrar of the 1840s, I heard snatches of conversation. I paid them scant attention, focusing on my task. But when I heard the words murder and Priest , I started listening.

I found the incident oddly unsettling, though I couldn’t say why. I supposed the conversation was about Godfrey Priest, since he was the hot topic in Athena at the moment. And hearing the word murder in conjunction with his name wasn’t that odd. The man did write murder mysteries. Then I heard the sound of a throat clearing on the other side of my desk. My eyes widened in surprise as I recognized the man. It was Godfrey Priest. What the heck was he doing here?

“Good morning, Godfrey,” I said, extending a hand in greeting. Diesel padded right behind me. “It’s been a long time.”

“What is that? A cat?” Godfrey asked, watching as Diesel made a slow circle around him. Evidently unimpressed, Diesel walked back to the window and jumped up to his bed. Yawning, he turned his back on both of us and settled down for a nap.

“He’s a Maine coon,” I said. “They’re larger than most cats.”

“That’s the first time I’ve ever been snubbed by a cat.” Godfrey laughed, but his expression revealed annoyance. “They always love me because they can tell I’m a cat person.”

I tried not to laugh. “Diesel doesn’t take to everybody.”

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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.

MURDER PAST DUE

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

PRINTING HISTORY

Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / August 2010

Copyright © 2010 by Dean James.

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eISBN : 978-1-101-18904-7

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My first thanks go to Michelle Vega and Natalee Rosenstein, for keeping me in the family. Their support means more than they will ever know. Nancy Yost, my agent, handles the really fun part of the business, so I don’t have to.

The Tuesday night crew gave me valuable input on the early stages of the manuscript. Thanks to Amy, Bob, Joe, Kay, Laura, Leann, and Millie for their insights and advice. A special thanks goes to Enzo, Pumpkin, Curry, and their two-legged staff, Susie, Isabella, and Charlie, for allowing us to invade their home each week to critique in such a warm and inviting venue.

I owe a very special thanks to Terry Farmer, Ph.D., proud mom of three Maine coons, Figo, Anya, and Katie, for serving as my technical advisor in all matters having to do with Maine coon cats. Any mistakes in my portrayal of Diesel and his behavior are mine and not hers. (I do have two cats of my own—but neither of them is a Maine coon.) Finally, my love and gratitude to two very dear friends who never fail to encourage me, Patricia Orr and Julie Herman.

ONE

A hurricane slammed through my kitchen this morning, and his name was Justin.

I sighed, surveying the aftermath of my boarder’s breakfast. What had gotten into the boy?

An open milk carton sat on the table, accompanied by a bowl, a spoon, and a box of cereal. Justin hadn’t closed the box, and he’d left a sprinkle of cereal on the table. Splatters of milk surrounded the bowl and an abandoned plate with a half-eaten piece of toast.

I glanced toward the counter at an open loaf of bread and an uncovered butter dish, sitting in a beam of sunlight. Two pieces of bread occupied slots in the toaster, but from what I could see, Justin had forgotten to press the lever down. I strode over and picked up my newspaper from beside the sink. Justin had somehow managed to dribble water over the paper. I was glad I’d read it earlier, because now it was stuck together.

I stared out the kitchen window into the backyard for a few seconds, calming myself. I turned back. Okay, maybe it wasn’t a hurricane. Just a minor tropical disturbance. I was not one of those neat freaks who hyperventilated at the first sign of a mess.

Like most men, I can be messy—but I’m happier when things are clean and well kept. I really shouldn’t let myself feel so annoyed over something so trivial.

Maybe Justin was in a hurry to make his first class, but the Athena College campus was only three blocks away. He could sprint there in five minutes tops.

He was acting out of character, and that’s what was really bothering me. The eighteen-year-old had been boarding with me for a couple of months and usually was careful to pick up after himself. The past few days, however, he had become increasingly careless about leaving his things lying around the house and not cleaning up in the kitchen after his meals.