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

NO CATS ALLOWED

TWELVE ANGRY LIBRARIANS

CLAWS FOR CONCERN

SIX CATS A SLAYIN’

Southern Ladies Mysteries

BLESS HER DEAD LITTLE HEART

DEAD WITH THE WIND

DIGGING UP THE DIRT

FIXING TO DIE

BERKLEY PRIME CRIME

Published by Berkley

An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

Copyright © 2018 by Dean James

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: James, Miranda, author.

Title: Six cats a slayin’ / Miranda James.

Description: First edition. | New York: Berkley Prime Crime, October 2018. |

Series: Cat in the stacks mystery; 10

Identifiers: LCCN 2018023377 | ISBN 9780451491091 (hardback) | ISBN 9780451491107 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Murder—Investigation—Fiction. | Librarians—Fiction. | Cats—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Mystery & Detective / Traditional British. | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.

Classification: LCC PS3610.A43 S59 2018 | DDC 813/.6—dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018023377

First Edition: October 2018

Cover art by Dan Craig

Cover design by Lesley Worrell and Katie Anderson

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 with great love and thanks to Martha Farrington, my second mother. Her love and support have made a huge difference in my life, and I am grateful that I walked into Murder By The Book so many years ago and found a home.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

First, as always, thanks to my amazing editor, Michelle Vega, and the team at Berkley who do so much for me: Jennifer Monroe, Tara O’Connor, and Elisha Katz. Rock on, ladies!

Thanks also to my agent, the inimitable Nancy Yost, and her team: Sarah E. Younger, Natanya Wheeler, and Amy Rosenbaum. My career couldn’t be in better hands. Y’all rock on, too!

Without the wonderful friends in my life who support me on a daily basis, I wouldn’t get very far doing anything. So many of them to thank: Julie Herman, Patricia Orr, Terry Farmer, John Kwiatkowski, Carolyn Haines, Don Herrington, Sally Woods, McKenna Jordan, Brenda Jordan, Megan Bladen-Blinkoff, Sandy Wallesch, my fellow Femmes Fatales, and my sisters in the Cozy Mystery Share a Palooza on Facebook: you’re all a privilege to know.

Finally, a special thanks, as always, to the readers who have taken Charlie and Diesel to their hearts so fervently. My appreciation for your enthusiasm and support is tremendous. Every book I write, I write for you.

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

About the Author

ONE

I opened the envelope and read the enclosed invitation. After the import of it had sunk in, I balled up the stiff card and threw it across the kitchen. I muttered a curse to myself.

Diesel, my Maine Coon cat, saw this action as an invitation to play. He darted after the wadded-up card and started batting it around the floor. I watched, my mind busy trying to come up with polite ways to say not on your life to the issuer of the invitation.

“What’s Mr. Cat playing with?”

The voice of Azalea Berry, my housekeeper, broke into my thoughts. I looked up to see her, hands on hips, staring at the large cat playing soccer across the room.

“An invitation,” I said.

“Who’s inviting the cat somewhere?”

Azalea’s deadpan expression at first had me thinking she was serious. Then I saw the twinkle in her eyes.

“I wish it was for Diesel.” I couldn’t quite keep the sour note out of my voice. “It’s addressed to me, unfortunately.”

Spatula in hand, Azalea turned back to the stove. “Eggs’ll be ready in a minute. Who’s it from?”

“The new neighbor,” I replied. “The one who bought old Mr. Hardy’s house.”

“Oh, her.” Azalea’s tone indicated that she didn’t care for Geraldine Albritton any more than I did. “What kind of invite is it?”

“She’s having a Christmas party. According to the invitation, it’s a Neighborhood Meet-and-Greet. And it’s next week.”

“She’s not giving people much notice. What if they all made other plans for that night?” Azalea set a plate of scrambled eggs, country ham, and biscuits in front of me. Diesel saw that I now had food, and he left off batting his new toy around. He came up to my chair, placed a large paw atop my thigh, and emitted a sad chirp. Starvation was imminent.

“More than likely she’s thinking the curiosity value will bring them. I don’t know how many neighbors have dropped by to welcome her to the neighborhood so far, but you can bet there will be more than a few people who haven’t who’ll be wanting to see the inside of that house.”

Azalea snorted. “People are always wanting to find out about their neighbors.”

“True.” I put my attention to the food on my plate and let my mind contemplate the looming situation. Azalea refilled my coffee cup before she left the kitchen for the laundry room.

I believed I knew my neighbors well enough to predict that most of them would not react kindly to the overtures of a pushy newcomer. Based on my limited acquaintance with Geraldine—call me Gerry—Albritton, I felt pretty sure that, unless she toned herself down, many of my neighbors wouldn’t want to have much to do with her. Southerners have always prided themselves on their hospitality, but by the same turn, they weren’t always ready to welcome strangers to the inner circle. Gerry Albritton might not find people in this neighborhood as ready to embrace her as she probably expected.

Though I desperately wanted to forget every second of our first meeting, I couldn’t suppress it. The memory of it hung around, refusing to be banished. I recalled it as I ate my breakfast.

Gerry Albritton had moved in a month earlier, and a week later, I decided to do the neighborly thing. Armed with a small basket of baked goods—some provided by Azalea and others from Helen Louise Brady’s French bistro—I walked across the street that morning to introduce myself. I told Diesel we were going to meet the new neighbor, and he chirped happily in response. He was always ready for fresh conquests. He soaked up admiration like a hairy, chirping sponge.

I rang the doorbell. Perhaps twenty seconds later the door opened, and I beheld Ms. Albritton for the first time. Until then I’d caught only brief glimpses of her out the front windows as she went in and out of the house. Up close she was shorter than I had reckoned, probably only about five four and petite with it. I felt far too large as I loomed over her.

Dressed as if she was heading out to a formal dinner party—high heels, pearls, diamond rings, and the ever-fashionable little black dress—Ms. Albritton had an air of sophistication about her. She smiled widely at the sight of me, and I smiled back a bit uncertainly. I wasn’t sure whether she actually noticed Diesel, as she appeared to be so focused on me.

Before I could introduce myself, Ms. Albritton spoke. “You have to be Charlie Harris, the handsome widower of Oak Drive.” She batted her eyelashes at me, tilted her head, and offered a coy smile. “Come right on in, I’ve been just about dying to meet you. You’re even better-looking close up.” She laughed, a light, tinkling sound. “I’ve only been able to peek at you from a distance before now. I just know we’re going to be friends, so you just call me Gerry and I’ll call you Charlie, okay?”

Rattled by her flirtatious manner and thoroughly taken aback, I stared at her and made no attempt to respond. She didn’t appear to notice, though. Her gaze shifted down from my face, over my chest and farther south. I resisted the urge to squirm.

Then she seemed to realize that Diesel was with me.

“And this is the famous Diesel. Oh, you are such a handsome boy. Like father like kitty, and both of you so tall and strong-looking.”

I glanced down at the cat. Diesel stared at Ms. Albritton as if mesmerized. Thus far he hadn’t made a sound, unusual for him. He looked up at me and offered what sounded like an interrogatory trill. He hadn’t met anyone quite like her before, not with that coquettish manner and tone, at least.

I found the dregs of my composure and responded to Ms. Albritton after Diesel’s appeal. “I am Charlie Harris, Ms. Albritton, and yes, this is Diesel.” I thrust the basket of pastries toward her. “We wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

She accepted the basket with another coy smile. Her hand brushed mine. “Aren’t you two the sweetest things?” Her Mississippi drawl drew the words out a few extra beats. “Y’all come on in. I’m afraid the house is still a wreck, but I know you’ll overlook it. A poor woman on her own moving into this wonderful neighborhood. I can’t tell you how thrilled I am this house came up for sale. All the time I was growing up here I wanted to live in this neighborhood, and when I moved back recently I couldn’t believe a house on this street was up for sale.” She turned and walked away.

At that point in our brief acquaintance, the last thing I wanted to do was enter this house, but I couldn’t be rude and simply walk away—or rather, run away, if I had my druthers. I didn’t feel up to fending off a lonesome widow this morning. I intended to tell Ms. Albritton that Diesel and I couldn’t stay, that we were expected somewhere even though it was my one day off during the week and I had nothing planned.

I followed her into the living room and discovered to my distaste that the furniture and decor consisted of what I privately called industrial horror. For a moment I thought I had wandered onto the set of a futuristic movie. Everything I saw was either stark white or deep black, except for dashes of color from photographs placed around the room and on the walls. There was not a book in sight—to me, always the sign of a person with whom I probably had little in common. Most of the rooms in my house had shelves full of books.

Gerry Albritton motioned me toward a leather sofa with tubular black legs. I took one corner, and Diesel huddled by my legs. I could tell that he found the atmosphere of the room as sterile and off-putting as I did. Our hostess set the gift basket on the coffee table, the top of which appeared to be made of some kind of white synthetic substance. Then, to my alarm, she seated herself so close to me that her knee brushed against mine.

My deeply ingrained manners precluded my being rude to her. But I decided to make an exception. I got to my feet quickly, before Gerry Albritton had a chance to speak.

“I do apologize,” I said, trying hard to sound sincere, “but I just this second remembered that my daughter is coming by any minute to drop off my grandson. It’s my day to babysit. I’m sure you’ll excuse me.”

“Now that’s just too bad.” My hostess sounded put out with me and wasn’t bothering to hide it. “I was really hoping for a chance to get to know you better.” Then she smiled, and her tone became friendly again. “But of course children and grandchildren come first.” She rose from the sofa. “It must be so nice to have family like that. I’m all on my own.” Her expression had suddenly turned forlorn.

“That’s too bad,” I murmured. Diesel and I followed her to the front door.

“You’ll have to come back when you can stay longer.” Gerry Albritton laid a hand on my arm and squeezed it. “I know we’re going to be good friends.”

“How kind,” I said. “We hope you’ll be happy here.” Diesel and I scooted out the door and headed home. I was never so glad to get away from someone in my life.

I suppressed another shudder as I tried to push the memory of that encounter away yet again. Since that time I had done my best to avoid Gerry Albritton and had been mostly successful. Diesel and I ran into her twice on walks, but on both occasions I got us away from her as quickly as I could. The woman made me uneasy. It was more than her aggressive friendliness, simply something I couldn’t define, that made me wary of her.

I still hadn’t told Helen Louise about Gerry’s blatant flirting with me. I wasn’t sure why I hesitated to share it with Helen Louise. Perhaps it was because I suspected so strongly that Gerry had an underhanded purpose in behaving like that. The more I was exposed to it, the more I began to think the flirtatiousness had a forced quality to it. Until I could figure out what lay behind it, I planned to keep it to myself.

Compounding the situation was the mystery surrounding Gerry Albritton herself. Right after that first meeting, I questioned Melba Gilley, my friend since childhood and my coworker at the Athena College Library, to discover what I could about my new neighbor.

Gerry claimed to have lived in Athena when the subject arose during my first encounter with her—yet Melba didn’t know Gerry Albritton, and Melba knew everyone who had lived in Athena over the decades.

“Only Albrittons I know don’t have a single Geraldine in the family,” Melba said, obviously puzzled. “I could be wrong, of course, but none of the Albritton boys our age married a Geraldine, either.”

“That’s the name she claims now,” I said. “Maybe she used to go by a name besides Geraldine.”

Melba frowned. “Maybe, but I don’t think so. If I got a good look at her, I could probably figure out who she is.”

“I asked her if she’s related to the city councilman, Billy Albritton,” I said. He did not represent my district, but I had seen him around town, and his picture turned up in the local weekly newspaper on a regular basis. He was around seventy, I thought.

“I know Billy and his sister, Betty,” Melba said. “I’ll ask him if he knows her. I don’t get along well with Betty.”

I didn’t want to delve into Melba’s potential feud with Betty Albritton, so I didn’t inquire why the two didn’t get along.

“Talk to Billy, if you like,” I said. “Gerry professed not to know him, though. Said it must be a different set of Albrittons.”

Melba snorted. “All the Albrittons around here are one big family. Some of them are pretentious as all get-out, but that’s another story.” She locked gazes with me. “What’s all this interest in another woman, anyway?”

I hesitated. “I’m curious about this woman because something seems off about her.” I didn’t want to tell Melba about the flirting, or she might take it into her head to confront Gerry Albritton herself on Helen Louise’s behalf. Melba was fiercely protective of her friends.

“Like what?” Melba asked.

I shrugged. “I can’t really say. She seems fake somehow. But maybe I’m making way too much of the whole thing.”

Melba shook her head. “No, you’ve got great first instincts about people. If you’re feeling like something’s off about this whoever-she-is, then something sure is off.”

I had to smile. Melba never failed to support me, and her friendship all these years was a blessing I never took for granted and hoped I never failed to return.

When I came out of my reverie I discovered that my plate was empty. I noticed that Azalea stood by the stove, and she was staring at me.

“I don’t reckon you heard me,” Azalea said.

“Sorry, I didn’t. What did you say?” I asked.

“Wanted to know if you wanted another biscuit and more ham.”

“Gracious me, no, thank you. I’ve had plenty.” The truth was, I would happily have eaten another biscuit or two, packed with ham, but I had to make some effort to keep my waistline under control.

“If you’re sure.” Azalea gazed at me a moment longer. When I didn’t respond, she sighed and turned back to the stove.

Diesel had resumed batting the crumpled invitation around the kitchen, and I knew I had to take it away from him. I couldn’t ignore the invitation, much as I would have liked to. No, I would probably have to give in and accept. But only if Helen Louise was available to go with me, I decided. The invitation had said and guest.

I heard the front doorbell ring, one sharp, quick note. I pushed back from the table and rose. “I’ll get it,” I said.

Diesel preceded me. He loved visitors and was invariably first to the door.

I opened the door, a smile of greeting ready, but no one waited on the other side. I was about to step forward onto the porch, but Diesel’s growl alerted me.

As I halted and glanced down, I heard faint sounds of mewling from the area near my feet. I had been about to step into a box containing five kittens.

TWO

Two days after The Great Kitten Rescue, as Stewart insisted on calling it, my new four-legged boarders came home from the veterinarian’s office. Dr. Romano, Diesel’s vet, had checked all five kittens thoroughly. She estimated they were about eight or nine weeks old, ready to be weaned. They were healthy and had obviously been cared for before they wound up on my doorstep.

Prior to my discovery of the note in the box with the kittens, I considered taking them to the local shelter. I didn’t think I could cope with five additional felines in the house. The note changed my mind, though. In block print, it read, He says he’ll drown them. Please take care of them for me. The emphasis on that first pronoun bothered me. I immediately imagined a heartless father or stepfather who didn’t want to feed five cats. The poor author of the note was desperate to save them.

The paper with its ruled lines had been torn from a school notebook, and that made me think the person who wrote it was young, perhaps an adolescent. The letters were well-formed enough that I figured they weren’t written by a young child. I showed it to Dr. Romano, but since the paper contained no real clues to the identity of the writer, she shrugged and confessed to being as puzzled as I was.

The upshot was that I had five more mouths to feed. I had been worried that Azalea would have a fit with more cats in the house, but after she held one of the kittens, an orange tabby, I knew the battle was over. Azalea pretended to be gruff and tough much of the time, but at heart she was kindness itself. I suspected that at least one of the kittens might go home with her, if at all possible, once I resolved the mystery of their sudden appearance in my life.

In addition to the kitten Azalea favored, there were two other orange tabbies. The remaining two kittens were tabbies also, but dark gray with black markings. These two reminded me of a much-loved cat I’d had once, named Marlowe. She was named for the Elizabethan playwright, and I had adored her. I decided that I’d call one of these kittens by her name. Fortunately for me, Dr. Romano had determined the sex of each kitten. There were three males, the orange tabbies; and two females, the gray tabbies.

The two females were easier to tell apart. One was darker than the other, and that was Marlowe. I decided to call her sister Bastet, in honor of the cat in Elizabeth Peters’s Amelia Peabody books. Two of the boys looked almost identical and were dark ginger. After some thought, I settled on Fred and George, the names of the ginger-headed Weasley twins from the Harry Potter books. The other was lighter, and I named him Ramses, again in honor of a character from the Peabody books.

Azalea was one major concern. Diesel was the other. He had been around other cats occasionally, like Endora, the Abyssinian belonging to the Ducote sisters and their ward, Benjy Stephens. Adult cats were one thing, however. Five kittens—five active kittens—were quite another matter. Diesel exhibited a lot of curiosity about the brood. He was tall enough to look over the side of the box they arrived in, and while I stood at the door staring down at them, he regarded them for perhaps thirty seconds before he turned his head to look up at me. He meowed, and I would have sworn he was asking me, Well, what do we do now?

“That’s a good question,” I responded, looking down at him. “First thing is to bring them into the house because it’s chilly out here.” Diesel moved back when I bent to pick up the box. The kittens squeaked and mewed in alarm, and I spoke in soothing tones to them. “It’s all right, little ones, you’re safe. We’ll look after you.” Diesel warbled as if to reinforce my promise.

From then on, Diesel stayed near the kittens whenever possible. I first considered keeping them in the utility room—until I remembered the tendency of kittens to find tight spaces to squeeze into. The utility room offered several such possibilities, none of them particularly salubrious for small fry. I discarded that idea because I didn’t want to have to move appliances in order to rescue stuck felines.

Finally I settled on the living room for the daytime. I moved furniture around in order to clear a corner of the room. Using two small, wide bookshelves turned on their sides, I created an effective barrier to contain the quintet. At least for a week or so, I told myself ruefully, before they learned how to climb over the barricade. If we had already put up the Christmas tree in the room, I would have probably put them in the den. But our family tradition was to put it up on Christmas Eve. Perhaps by then I would be able to find out where the kittens belonged.

Inside the kitten corral, I placed two litter boxes and two cat beds, along with water and food bowls. The space was large enough for play, plus Diesel could sit atop one of the shelves and monitor the activity of the inmates. He appeared to enjoy this task. In fact, he didn’t want to leave the kittens when I was ready to go to work on the second day we had them.

“I suppose it’s just as well he’s staying here today,” I told Azalea as I gathered my briefcase and my coat. “He can help babysit so that you don’t have to worry about them climbing out somehow and getting lost in the house.”

Azalea chuckled. “Suits me fine, Mr. Charlie. You go on to work and don’t worry about us.”

I nodded. “Call me if you need anything. I can run by the grocery store when I come home for lunch if necessary.” I headed out the back door into the garage.

As I backed down the driveway to the street, I kept my eyes on the rearview camera in my new car. My previous car hadn’t had this device, and I was still getting used to it. Suddenly a flash of movement on the screen startled me, and I hit the brakes as I was about to back into the street.

My heart thudded from what might have been a near miss. I turned to look back and saw a smartly dressed young black woman standing on the sidewalk a few feet away. She was waving at me. I put the car in park and rolled down my window.

“Good morning, Mr. Harris.” She stepped closer and stooped enough so that I could see her face without craning my neck out the window. “Sorry if I startled you, but I saw you backing out, and I wanted to catch you before you got away.” She smiled.

I tried not to sound grumpy when I replied, but I might not have been completely successful. “What can I do for you, ma’am? If we’ve met, I regret to say I don’t remember your name.”

The young woman, who I judged to be in her late twenties, smiled again. “Oh, we haven’t met, but I know all about you. My employer, Mrs. Albritton, told me about you. Actually, she sent me out to catch you.”

I suspected a trap. I had avoided face-to-face contact with Gerry Albritton for the past couple of days because I had still not made up my mind about the blasted holiday party she was throwing. I had no doubt she had sent this young woman to get an answer out of me.

Gerry’s assistant continued to speak. “My name is Jincy Bruce.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Bruce.” I repeated my question. “What can I do for you?”

“Gerry wanted me to ask you about her party,” Jincy replied. “She knows how busy you are, but she’s trying to nail down the guest list before she gives the caterer the final numbers. She needs to do that this afternoon.”

I interpreted the smile that accompanied this message as apologetic. Was chasing down guests part of Jincy Bruce’s regular duties? I wondered.

I was tempted to say that I had other plans, simply to be contrary, but I realized that was a childish response. So I forced myself to smile before I answered.

“Please tell Gerry that I will be delighted to attend and that I will be bringing my partner. I believe the invitation was issued to me and guest.”

“Your partner?” Jincy looked confused for a moment; then she grinned as if struck by something amusing. “Oh, I see. Thanks, Mr. Harris, I’ll let Gerry know. Bye, now!” She waved as she turned to hurry across the street.

I sat there a moment, puzzled by Jincy Bruce’s reaction to my statement. What had she found so amusing? Was it my use of the word partner? What was so funny about that?

Still puzzled, I put the car in reverse and continued backing into the street. Had the day not been on the chilly side with a hint of rain later on, I might have walked to the Athena College Library. The drive took less than ten minutes because the campus lay so close to my neighborhood, and it was an easy walk when the weather complied. Today, however, I might need the car, not only to run an errand later but also to stay dry if the rain came as predicted.

Going to work at the archive without Diesel felt odd. Over the years since I found him, wet and shivering in the bushes of the parking lot at the public library, he had rarely missed a day accompanying me. I knew Melba would be disappointed not to see her little buddy, but she would get a kick out of hearing about Diesel the kitten-sitter.

I stuck my head in Melba’s office to wish her a good morning. She looked up from her desk with a grin—that slowly faded when she realized I was alone.

“Good morning, Charlie.” She got up from the desk and walked toward me, her expression anxious. “Where’s Diesel? Is he sick?”

“No, he’s fine.” I grinned. “He decided he’d rather stay home with the kids today.”

Melba laughed. “Has he decided to be their nanny?”

“Looks like it,” I replied. “Frankly, I’m relieved that he has taken to the kittens so well. I was worried that he would be upset with five more cats in the house.”

“He’s such a sweet boy,” Melba said. “Have you found out any more about who left those babies on the doorstep?”

“No, not yet. I haven’t really had much time, other than to make a few calls around the neighborhood. So far nobody knows anything about them. Or at least, that’s what they’re saying.”

“They’re probably better off with you, anyway,” Melba said. I had told her about the note I had found with the kittens. “Imagine someone wanting to drown those five darling little babies.” She shook her head. “That’s one mystery that maybe you shouldn’t solve.”

“Maybe not.” I had considered that option but hadn’t made a final decision yet.

“Speaking of mysteries, though,” Melba said, “I’ve been doing some calling around of my own since you first told me about that new neighbor of yours, Ms. So-Called Geraldine Albritton.”

From her tone, I figured Melba had not dug up anything yet.

“I managed to get a hold of Billy Albritton, and he says he doesn’t know any Geraldine Albritton. He couldn’t talk but a minute, though, so I didn’t get to ask him anything else.

“Then I talked to a couple more Albrittons I know, and not a single one of them has ever heard of a Geraldine in the family. And you know what that means?” Melba fixed me with a stern gaze. “It means that woman is an impostor. You’d better find out who she really is and what she’s up to before she causes any serious trouble.”

THREE

“I’d swear she told me she’s lived in Athena all her life.” I frowned. “Why would she lie about that?”

Melba shrugged. “Maybe she’s not lying about it. Maybe she did grow up here. I bet you what she’s lying about is her real name.”

“What can she be trying to hide? Jail time, for example?” I could come up with numerous lurid possibilities based on the thousands of mysteries I had read since childhood.

“Could be. What if she’s hiding from an ex-husband or a stalker?” Melba asked. “Maybe she’s really from somewhere else, and she came here under a new name to get away from an abusive man and just happened to pick Albritton.” She shrugged. “If you want to get real crazy, maybe she’s in some kind of witness protection program.”

“Hold on a minute,” I said. “Let’s not get too carried away and get the FBI involved. She could very well be hiding from someone, but if she is, then that’s her business.”

“Unless she’s running from the law.” Melba looked grim. “She could be wanted for the Lord knows what somewhere else, and here she is, trying to hide out in Athena to keep from going to prison. We don’t need a dangerous criminal right under our noses.”

I knew if I laughed I would hurt Melba’s feelings, but she was getting more and more off-the-wall with her speculation. After a cough to cover an inadvertent snicker, I said, “There could be some offshoot of the Albritton clan that people have forgotten about. Didn’t you tell me that it’s a big family?”

“Yes, it is. Old Mr. Albritton, the one who died last year at ninety-nine, had thirteen brothers and sisters, and they all married and had children, and those children have children, and so on, so you might be right.”

“You’ll keep digging, I’m sure.”

“Darn tootin’, I’ll keep digging.” Melba shot me a look full of determination. “I want to know who that woman really is and what she’s after.”

“Let me know if you find out,” I said in a light tone. “In the meantime I’m going to go upstairs and get to work.”

Melba nodded, but I could see that her mind was still preoccupied with the mystery of Geraldine Albritton. I knew the problem would worry her until she found an answer.

I had more than enough to do that day without spending time thinking about my mysterious neighbor. Two graduate students from the history department had been working in the archive recently. One was a master’s degree student, the other a doctoral one. Both specialized in Southern history, and the archive held several collections of diaries and private papers of great interest for Mississippi and for Southern history in general. The students could only work with the documents under my supervision, however. No one was allowed to remove documents from the archive without special permission, and that was rarely given.

To my surprise, neither student was waiting, as at least one of them usually was. Moreover, neither made an appearance that morning. I finally remembered why. The semester was almost at an end, and their Christmas and New Year’s break loomed closer. This was finals week, and they were far too busy elsewhere. They might even have headed home already for the holidays. I had the office completely to myself. No Diesel, no students.

With the quiet around me, I decided I would have a productive day with few distractions. That meant I could get on with cataloging a collection of nineteenth-century Southern novels from a recent donation. The donor had collected the work of writers like John Pendleton Kennedy, William Gilmore Simms, Kate Chopin, and George Tucker. I had to resist the temptation to read instead of catalog, though, because—with the exception of Chopin—I had not read these writers. Two of the books even featured inscriptions by the authors, and that made them even more interesting to me. I liked that personal touch.

I happily spent a couple of hours immersed in cataloging after I finished checking and responding as needed to my e-mail. A little after ten thirty, the ringing of my office phone pulled me from my absorption in creating detailed notes about the copy of Kennedy’s Swallow Barn from the collection. I laid it aside to pick up the receiver.

“Charlie Harris. How can I help you?”

“Hey, Charlie, hope I’m not bothering you, but I wanted to talk to you a minute if you’ve got the time,” a man’s voice said.

After a moment’s hesitation I recognized the caller as Milton Harville, the owner of one of the pharmacies in town. The business had originated with his grandfather and had remained in the family since. Milton’s daughter Jenny had recently graduated from pharmacy school and had joined her father in the store. The Harvilles had also lived in my neighborhood for several generations, and Milton and I had been in the same class in school. We had been friends since elementary school.

“Hi, Milton, sure thing, what’s up?” I replied.

“Well, I feel kinda funny even asking about this, but you and me, well, we’ve known each other forever, besides being neighbors, so I reckoned you might not mind talking about it.”

Milton, whose house stood in the middle of the block on the street behind mine, had always taken forever to get to the point in a conversation, and today was no exception. He was a nice guy, so I responded in a friendly tone. “Talking about what?”

I heard an indrawn breath at the other end of the line. Then the expulsion of a sigh. “It’s this new neighbor of ours, Gerry Albritton. You must have met her by now, surely.”

“Yes, I’ve met her,” I said. “She can be a little overwhelming.” That seemed a safe enough comment.

“You’re not kidding,” Milton said. “Pushy ain’t the word, I gotta tell you. She’s been after me and Tammy about this party of hers. Tammy don’t want to go, but you know I’m in business, and I can’t afford to offend potential customers. Gerry looks like she wears a lot of makeup, and she could be a real good customer. We sell a lot of cosmetics here, you know. So, I feel like we kinda have to go to this shindig of hers, even if I have to go without Tammy, but I’ll never hear the end of it if I do go without her, so I’m wondering what the heck I oughta do.” He paused for a breath, then hurried on before I could respond.

“So, I got to thinking about our neighbors, and you’re the one who’s closest in age to me, so I decided I’d ask you what you’re going to do about it. Are you going? And is Helen Louise going with you? Because if Helen Louise is going, I can probably talk Tammy into it because she loves Helen Louise’s place and is always going in there and buying cakes and pastries to bring home. It’s a wonder I can fit through the door, I eat so much of that stuff.”

I seized my chance when he paused. “I am going, and I imagine Helen Louise will go with me, though I haven’t asked her about it yet. I’m sure enough of the neighborhood will be there, for curiosity’s sake, if nothing else, so no one person will have to spend much time talking to Gerry Albritton. That should make Tammy feel better.” I didn’t know Tammy well. Milton had met and married her when he went to pharmacy school in Jackson, and they didn’t move back to Athena until Jackie and I had moved to Texas. In the years since I had come home to Athena, I saw her occasionally in the store, but she hadn’t been particularly friendly. A cold fish, in my opinion, not exactly a woman that I would have pictured the gregarious Milton marrying. He seemed devoted to her, though.

“Well, maybe so.” Milton didn’t sound all that sure. “You know what Tammy’s like, she thinks every woman I talk to is trying to lure me away from her, and I keep telling her, I don’t have time for that stuff, I have a business to run, and besides, I’ve never wanted any woman besides Tammy ever since we met, but you know how she is. And I sure ain’t no movie star, never have been, so I can’t figure out why Tammy thinks women are so hot for me all the time.”

Milton was right—he didn’t have movie-star looks, but he was still an attractive man. He worked out and had all his hair, and he had a friendly, engaging manner that served him well at the pharmacy. His wife went overboard with the jealous routine, but I figured there were probably more than a few of Milton’s female customers who shopped more often than was strictly necessary at the pharmacy in order to chat with him.

I decided not to address Tammy’s possessiveness; otherwise Milton might complain about it further, and I’d be on the phone several minutes more. Instead I reiterated my previous comments.

“I sure hope you’re right,” Milton said, “but the Lord only knows what Tammy might do.” He paused for a moment, and I was hoping he was ready to end the conversation. Instead, he surprised me with his next words.

“I can’t help thinking I know her, Charlie, but I don’t know how I know her, you know what I mean? There’s something about her that’s familiar, and it’s been nagging at me. But for the life of me, I can’t put a finger on it. You ever had that feeling about someone? Because if you have, you know how annoying it can be, it’s like a little worm in your brain wiggling around trying to find the way out.”

I suppressed the sudden mental image I had of a worm burrowing in my brain and addressed Milton’s main point.

“I’ve had that feeling, certainly, but not about Gerry Albritton,” I said. “Remember, I was gone from Athena for a long time, so there are a lot of people here now that I don’t know. I’m pretty sure I’ve never met her before.”

“Well, if you say so,” Milton replied. “Look, guess I’d better get off the phone, you’ve probably got a lot to do, and I’d better get back to work before Jenny fires me.” He chuckled.

“All right,” I said. “Tell Jenny hello for me, and I guess we’ll see you at the party, if not before.” I ended the call before Milton could launch into another ramble. He was one of the nicest guys around, but have mercy, he could talk the trunk off an elephant and probably its ears and tail, too.

I stared blankly at the work on my desk awaiting my attention. I thought about what Milton had said. He had the feeling he knew Gerry Albritton, but he couldn’t remember how or why. I wondered if I ought to share that with Melba. Maybe if the two of them got together they might figure it out between them without any further help from me.

I laughed at that idea. This was one rabbit hole I didn’t need to fall into, trying to solve a mystery where there probably wasn’t one. None of my business who Geraldine Albritton was, if she wasn’t who she claimed to be. Besides, Tammy didn’t need to come into the store and find Melba and Milton in a corner somewhere, talking ninety to nothing. She’d try to scratch Melba’s eyes out.

For another hour I managed to keep focused on work. When I checked the clock next I discovered that the time was eleven forty-six. Might as well stop now and go home for lunch, I decided. My neck and shoulders needed a break. I tended to hunch over the desk while working.

On the way down the stairs I heard my cell phone ringing, and I dug it out as I reached the bottom of the flight. I glanced at the caller ID. Azalea. Probably wanted me to run by the grocery store.

“Hello, Azalea, what can I pick up on the way home?” I said.

“Mr. Charlie, are you about ready to come home for lunch?” Azalea sounded annoyed, and I figured the kittens had gotten loose and she needed help finding them.

“Yes, I’m on my way out of the building this minute,” I said.

“Good. Somebody’s been peeking in the windows,” Azalea said.

FOUR

I cut Azalea off in my haste to get going. “Call the police. I’m on the way.”

I stuck my phone back in my pocket and hurried out of the building to my car. Traffic thankfully stayed sparse. I made it home in under seven minutes. When I pulled in to the garage and stopped the car, I saw no sign of the police. I thought they might have arrived by now. Athena wasn’t such a large town that the police were ever very far away.

Heart pounding, I stumbled once climbing out of the car but managed to get to the kitchen door without falling. I opened the door and stepped inside to find Azalea and Diesel waiting. Considering the situation, I found their calmness unnerving. Azalea was frowning at me.

“Did you call the police?” I asked.

Azalea shook her head. “No need to call them. I would’ve told you, Mr. Charlie, but you hung up on me. Didn’t try to call you back because I figured you’d be rushing to get here.”

Diesel came to me and rubbed against my legs. He could tell I was worried and wanted to reassure me. I scratched his head to let him know I was okay. My heart rate began to drop back toward normal.

“What about the prowler?” I asked. “Weren’t you afraid he might try to break in?” ...