“It’s odd that in some religions priests or pastors are allowed to marry and in others not,” said Dooley. “Who makes up these rules anyway?”
“The people who start these religions?” I ventured.
“Can anyone start a religion?”
“I guess so,” I said.
“So maybe we should start a religion?”
This had Harriet and Brutus in stitches.“Start our own religion?” said Brutus when he was finally able to speak again. “And who would be the leader? You?”
“I don’t see why not,” said Dooley with a shrug. “If anyone can start a religion, why not we? And if anyone can lead a religion, why not me?”
“And what would you call your church, Father Dooley?” asked Harriet, wiping a tear from her eyes.
“The Church of Dooley,” said Dooley decidedly. “And I would accept anyone, not just cats. Dogs can be members, too, and even humans. I’m fair-minded.”
“And what are you going to preach?” asked Brutus. “What are your teachings?”
This had Dooley stumped for a moment, but he soon rallied.“Peace and good will,” he said decidedly. “And kibble for all.”
“Now that’s a church I wouldn’t mind joining,” said Brutus with a grin.
“Look, you guys,” said Harriet, as she pointed to the front door of the rectory. “Another note.”
She was right. On the door of the rectory a note had been pinned, just like at the church. This one read,‘No deliveries until further notice.’
“I don’t like this,” said Harriet. “Looks like they’ve left town or something.”
“See?” I said. “I told you they’re on holiday.”
“No way,” said Harriet. “Not without telling us first.”
It was all very odd, of course. And not a little bit worrying.
“That note doesn’t mean they’re not home, though, does it?” said Brutus. “It just means Father Reilly doesn’t want anything delivered. So maybe he’s home, but he’s in bed with the flu or something. And Shanille won’t leave his side.”
“You know, Brutus,” I said. “You may well be right.”
“Of course I’m right,” said the cat. “I’m always right.”
That wasn’t perhaps the case, but it was true that Shanille was exactly the kind of cat who wouldn’t leave her human’s side when he was in bed with some illness. She was like a Good Samaritan in that sense. Always ready to lend a helping paw.
“Let’s see if we can’t get in through the back door,” I suggested.
And so we circled the rectory, in search of some means of entry. But when we arrived at the back, the place was as locked down as the front, with even the blinds having been pulled, and the windows closed shut. There wasn’t even a convenient basement window we could use to get in.
And we were ready to give up when I saw movement from the corner of my eye. And when I glanced over, I saw Gran exiting the church, carrying two bottles of wine in her hands!
CHAPTER 6
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“Gran, do you know where Father Reilly is?” asked Harriet.
“Or Shanille?” I added.
Gran, who seemed taken aback by the sight of the four of us, was curt in her response.“I have no idea,” she snapped. “I’m not my brother’s keeper, you know.”
“Gran!” Dooley cried. “I didn’t know Father Reilly was your brother!”
“He isn’t. Now leave me alone,” said the old lady, and tried to make herself scarce. But it’s not so easy to get rid of four cats who’ve made up their minds to find a person.
“Are they in the church?” Harriet insisted. “Cause if they are, you have to let us in. Shanille hasn’t shown up for choir practice two nights in a row, and if she thinks she can get away with this kind of irresponsible behavior she’s got another thing coming.”
“They’re not in there,” said Gran, as she tried to get past us.
“So what were you doing in the church?” I asked. “And how did you get in?”
“Francis gave me a key. Now can you please leave me alone, you busybodies?”
“Why are you carrying two bottles of wine, Gran?” asked Dooley, who had only now recovered from the shock of discovering that Gran might be Father Reilly’s sister. “And why are you holding them behind your back?”
“She thinks we can’t see them,” Harriet clarified.
“Oh, for crying out loud!” said Gran, clearly annoyed by this third degree. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re far too nosy for your own good? Now clear off!”
But instead, it was she who cleared off, hurrying away, still clutching those bottles as if they were her lifeline to a better future. A future in which cats weren’t so nosy.
“What is Gran doing with those bottles?” asked Dooley. “And why was she sneaking in and out of the church? And why aren’t we supposed to know what she’s up to? And where are Father Reilly and Shanille!”
“Wherever they are, it’s not here,” said Harriet.
That much was obvious, and Gran’s peculiar behavior had made the priest and his cat’s sudden disappearance only more puzzling.
“I think we should tell Odelia,” said Harriet. “So she can tell her uncle, so he can start a search.” Her eyes went wide. “You guys, Shanille could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere as we speak, and so could Father Reilly!”