What the Cat Dragged In (Cat in the Stacks Mystery)

Product Description

Librarian Charlie Harris and his faithful feline companion, Diesel, have inherited Charlie’s grandfather’s house, along with a deadly legacy: a decades-old crime scene, in this all-new mystery in the New York Times bestselling Cat in the Stacks series.Charlie has always believed that his grandfather had sold his house to his longtime tenant, Martin Hale. So when Martin dies, Charlie is surprised to discover the house was not left to Martin but instead belongs to Charlie. As he and Diesel check out the house he remembers fondly from his childhood, he is pleasantly surprised that it is in better condition than expected. That is, until they find a literal skeleton in a closet.While the sheriff’s department investigates the mysterious remains, Charlie digs deeper into the past for clues to the identity of the bones and why they are there. But the cold case heats up quickly when Martin’s grandson is found dead on the farm.As Charlie delves into his own family history, he encounters many people who might have been motivated to take a life. But Charlie and Diesel know that things are not always what they seem, and that secrets seemingly lost to time have a way of finding their way back to haunt the present.

About the Author

Miranda James is the New York Times bestselling author of the Cat in the Stacks Mysteries and the Southern Ladies Mysteries.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

One I hadn’t been down this road in over four decades, not since shortly before my paternal grandfather died. New houses adorned the landscape, taking the place of the fields of cotton and soybeans I remembered, among other crops, and I saw fewer cows and horses. To my surprise, I did espy several goats in one pasture. My goal lay only three miles ahead, I thought, not completely trusting my rusty memory. “We’ll be there soon,” I said as I glanced over my shoulder at my passenger in the backseat. Diesel, my Maine Coon cat, chirped in response. He enjoyed riding in the car, even if we were headed to the veterinarian’s clinic. They made such a fuss over him there, he never seemed to mind when I took him. He would find today’s destination fascinating, I was sure. There would be much to explore. I spotted fewer houses along the road now and more land dedicated to farming. Slowing, I could see my turn coming up. As I drove up the graveled drive, I realized that the old cattle gap right off the road was no longer there. I missed the sound of the car bumping over the spaces in the boards that I had always loved as a small boy. Framed and shaded by five towering oaks, each well over a century old, the white frame house stood a couple of hundred feet back from the road on a gently rising slope. The front yard with its randomly placed small flower beds had recently been mowed, and the structure appeared to be in good repair. I pulled the car up close to the old, detached garage to park. I left the engine running for a moment. Why am I hesitating? I asked myself. What memories of this place do I have to fear? Nothing terrible had happened to me in my grandparents’ house that I could recall. I thought perhaps I was feeling a bit overwhelmed by the past suddenly rushing over me. My childhood felt so far away, and yet here I was, at a place indelibly linked in my mind with those years of my life. A happy time for me, for the most part. I didn’t fear the memories themselves, I realized. I feared the feelings of loss the memories triggered, a longing to see my parents and my grandparents again. I blinked back a few tears and resolved to get on with inspecting the house. As an only child with no first cousins, I had felt the lack of family keenly when my parents died. My mother’s parents had died some years before, and she had been an only child as well. From the backseat I heard an inquisitive warble and a loud meow. Abruptly, I switched the engine off and got out of the car. I opened the back door for Diesel, and he hopped on