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We’d reached St. John’s, the church where Father Reilly has his spiritual and worldly headquarters. St. John’s is a nice red-bricked building with a gabled roof and an actual spire. The oak front doors were huge and heavy, and there was no way we would ever be able to open them if they hadn’talready been slightly ajar, hospitably bidding parishioners to enter. We weren’t parishioners, exactly, but we were here on a mission. Not a mission from God, maybe, but still a mission.

We carefully made our way inside, and were struck by the cool and dark atmosphere. Father Reilly obviously didn’t believe in wasting money on electricity, as the lights were dim and the temperature low. But since we’re cats, and our eyes are more accustomed to the darkness than human eyes, I found our new surroundings soothing, if not a quiet relief from the hustle and bustle outside this high-ceilingedspace.

“This is a very big house, Max,” said Dooley. He’d dropped his voice to a whisper, for some reason, and I felt compelled to do the same.

“It’s not a house, it’s a church,” I whispered back.

“You mean like inThe Da Vinci Code? I liked that movie. I like all Tom Hanks movies. Except maybeCloud Atlas. I didn’t really get that movie, Max.”

“Nobody got that movie, Dooley,” I said, scanning the pews for a sign of Shanille.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” asked Brutus. “I don’t see any cats.”

“Shanille usually hangs out in here. She once told me she likes the peace and quiet.” She also told me she liked the acoustics. And since she’s cat choir’s conductor, she probably needs a place to practice so why not practice in here? I doubted whether Father Reilly would appreciate her brand of singing, though. Shanille doesn’t sing so much as shrieks.

I sniffed the air and got a whiff of an aroma that was a blend of burnt candles, incense and humidity. Statues of stern-looking saints looked down on us from their high perches and the little bit of light that filtered in came through high, stained-glass windows depicting more stern-looking saints. The place reminded me of a tomb for some reason.

“I like this place,” said Harriet, displaying the first signs of animation since we’d left The Hungry Pipe. “It soothes my soul. Maybe I should have been a holy cat, like Shanille.”

“Shanille is not a holy cat,” I said. “Shanille’s human may be a priest, but that doesn’t make her holy.”

“You know what I mean,” said Harriet. “Maybe I should be one of those cats that dedicate their existence to the pursuit of spiritual engagement and the meaning of life.”

We all stared at her. Harriet was the last cat I’d ever suspect of searching for the meaning of life. And the closest she ever came to the pursuit of spiritual engagement was when she got to choose a new bow to wear on top of her head. She loved those bows.

Just then, we heard a soft splashing sound, and quickly deduced it came from somewhere near the back of the church, to the left of the altar. And as we passed pew after pew, I saw that the church was empty, not even Father Reilly having put in an appearance. Behind us, Harriet had slipped into a pew, and murmured,“You guys go ahead. I need to pray.” And she actually closed her eyes, put paws together, and was soon lost in prayer!

“There’s something wrong with Harriet, Max,” said Brutus. “She’s not herself today.”

“I can see that,” I said. “Did she say anything?”

“She said something about a dismal future lacking in hope and brightness.” He shook his head. “I don’t like it, Max. I don’t like it one bit.”

“It’s FOMO,” said Dooley knowingly. “It’s a disease that makes you sad but doesn’t kill you.”

“FOMO? Never heard of it.”

“It’s what Princess has, and Harriet wants it, too,” said Dooley.

“Princess? That jumping bean?”

“Harriet wants to be just like Princess.”

“She shouldn’t. Harriet is a lot prettier and a lot nicer than Princess. In fact Princess can’t hold no candle to Harriet. Not by a mile.” He shook his head. “I wish those Interesting Cats had never set paw in Hampton Cove. Filling Harriet’s head with all kinds of nonsense.”

“You guys,” I said. “I think it’s Shanille.”

We’d reached the source of the splashing sounds and found ourselves looking up at a large stone structure, a cat perched on the rim, splashing herself with pawfuls of water. It was Shanille, and she was muttering strange oaths under her breath. It sounded a lot like, “Through my fault, through myfault, through my most grievous, grievous fault…”

Chapter 8

“What are you doing?” asked Dooley curiously.

Shanille, who hadn’t been aware that she was no longer alone, jumped about a foot in the air, vaulted from her perch on the stone structure and landed on all fours on the granite floor below. She clutched a paw to her chest. “You scared the living daylights out of me! What are you doing here?”

“We’re looking for Patient Zero,” Dooley explained helpfully. “And Max seems to think you’re she—or her—or it.”