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. Product DetailsISBN-13: 9780593199480 Media Type: Paperback Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group Publication Date: 05-02-2023 Pages: 304 Product Dimensions: 4.10(w) x 6.70(h) x 0.90(d) Series: Cat in the Stacks Series - #14About the Author Miranda James is the New York Times bestselling author of the Cat in the Stacks Mysteries and the Southern Ladies Mysteries.Read an Excerpt Read an Excerpt 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 onto the graveled drive. We stood there for a few moments longer as I gazed at the building. This early-August day promised heat, and I could already feel the perspiration starting. I walked the several yards to the house and mounted the five steps up to the front porch. Diesel trotted along beside me, emitting an occasional chirp. A faint breeze wafted along the open porch, and I sank into one of the elderly rocking chairs to stare out at the lawn and the road beyond. Diesel stretched out at my feet. I closed my eyes, and I could see my father and my grandfather sitting on the porch. My mother would have been in the house helping my grandmother prepare the Sunday meal. We visited my grandparents on Sundays twice a month. I was about four on the last Sunday we saw my grandmother. She died of a heart attack at home shortly afterward. I had only vague memories of my grandmother, a short, plump woman with a loving smile. As her only grandchild, I knew that I was special. She spoiled me as much as my parents would allow, and now, all these years later, I felt a sudden pang for her. I wished I'd had many more years to get to know her, but that wasn't to be. Forcing my mind away from my grandmother, I focused instead on the conversation I'd had earlier this morning with my lawyer, who also happened to be my son, Sean. When he told me that I had inherited my grandfather's house, I honestly thought he was kidding me. "There must be some mistake. My grandfather sold that house right before he died." "Weren't you listening, Dad?" Sean scowled as he leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. The light hit the polished sheen of his now exposed cowboy boot. I stared at it for a moment as I struggled to take in the import of Sean's news. Another house-I had inherited another house. My paternal grandfather's farmhouse. That was what Sean was telling me, but I found it hard to understand how this had come about. "Start over, and go slowly," I said, "with less legal jargon." Diesel warbled in support, or so I imagined, and Sean grinned. "If Diesel is confused, then I guess I threw too many legal terms at you. All right, Dad, I'll go over it again." Sean opened the folder of papers that he had closed only moments before and scanned the document on top, evidently my grandfather's will. "Your grandfather, Robert Charles Harris, leased his house to one Martin Horace Hale until said Martin Horace Hale's death. The original date of the lease was almost forty-five years ago. Your grandfather died about three months later. At the time of his death, he was a widower residing in a nursing home in Athena." I nodded. I vaguely remembered going to the nursing home a couple of times to visit my grandfather, but I was only about six at the time. "There is correspondence with the will," Sean continued, "to indicate that, as your parents did not wish to occupy the house, it being out in the country, your grandfather decided to make other arrangements." I nodded. "Dad had no interest in being a farmer. I know that disappointed my grandfather, and I think it caused some hard feelings between them. I thought that was why my grandfather sold the house and the farm." "He never sold any of it. He leased the house and the farmland to Mr. Hale for fifty dollars a year." Sean glanced up from the papers to look at me. "It's what they call a peppercorn rent, because according to the taxes paid, the property was worth quite a lot more." "I've heard the term before," I said. "Was this peppercorn rent paid every year?" "Yes, it was, without fail. The most recent payment was made in January of this year," Sean said. "It's in an interest-bearing account at the Athena bank." "Who paid the taxes on the property?" I asked. "Martin Hale," Sean said. "Part of the lease he signed. In return for paying the taxes, he kept all the profits from farming." I thought about that for a moment. "An odd arrangement." Sean shrugged. "I guess since Granddad didn't want to be a farmer, your grandfather did what he thought was best at the time. He obviously didn't want to sell outright. Maybe he hoped Granddad and Granny would retire there." "They might have, I suppose," I said, saddened by the deaths of my parents at far too young an age. I felt a paw on my leg, and Diesel chirped at me. I knew he felt my sadness. I rubbed his head. "I take it that Martin Hale died," I said, trying to focus on the present. "Yes, about nine weeks ago," Sean said. "He was in California at the time, visiting family, and they didn't think to inform anyone in Athena until about a week ago, when the grandson came to clear Mr. Hale's effects from the house." "Why haven't you told me about this before now?" I asked. "Because I didn't find out any of it until a couple of days ago," Sean said patiently. "Mr. Hale's grandson didn't have any information about his grandfather's will or even the identity of his lawyer. He went through the house looking for his grandfather's papers, and he finally found them in an old dresser, or so I was told. He didn't do anything with them, however, until late last Friday. He reported his grandfather's death to the sheriff's department, asked about finding my father-in-law, and was referred to me." "What did he tell you?" "The basic facts of his grandfather's death," Sean replied. "He handed me an envelope marked the lawyer, and inside I found a brief explanation about the property. I was shocked, of course, but I decided there was no point in going into it with you until I'd had a chance to study the documents. Plus, I had to track down a copy of your grandfather's will." Sean reached into a drawer and pulled out a set of keys, four in all. He handed them over to me. "I thought you might want to go out there this morning," he said. I nodded. "Will you come wit