“Cat choir?” asked the large cat. “What’s cat choir?”

  “Only one of the biggest and most successful choirs in the world,” said Harriet. “And because of its success, the conductor of cat choir, the famous Shanille, is looking to expand her operation by opening local affiliates in different countries. Which is why we’re in France.”

  The cats all shared looks of confusion. “I don’t get it,” said the red cat. “What’s the point of this cat choir? What does it do?”

  “Oh, are you in for a treat,” said Harriet. “Cat choir is only the most popular pastime for cats in the United States. All cats partake in the event, and so Shanille thought it was time we expanded into other countries, and let you guys share the fun.”

  “Cat choir is a choir… of cats,” Brutus grunted.

  “Oh, but it’s so much more than that!” Harriet said, realizing belatedly that Brutus wasn’t exactly a PR person. “Cat choir is a way of life. It’s a way of being. It’s a soul experience.”

  “A soul experience!” said the mean-looking leader. “You’re talking nonsense, cat!”

  “Yeah, you’re full of it,” said the cat’s red-striped associate.

  “I am full of it,” Harriet agreed. “And that’s because I’m a product of cat choir, and I know what it can do for a person—for a community. Take you guys for instance. You’re probably from around here?”

  “We’re born and bred Villeneuvians,” the big bad bruiser confirmed proudly.

  “So what do you do in your leisure time? Apart from looking for food, I mean.”

  “Um…” The cats all exchanged confused glances. “We don’t do much of anything,” the cat finally confessed.

  “Exactly!”

  “You have to join cat choir,” Brutus grumbled. “Cat choir is fun.”

  “It is fun!” said Harriet, who was quietly hoping Brutus would just shut up, since he made cat choir sound about as much fun as a colonoscopy. “You hang out, you shoot the breeze, you laugh together, sing together, exchange gossip… It’s the shaping of an entire community. And before you know it, you wonder how you could have survived this long without cat choir. It’s that powerful.”

  “Okay,” said the cat. “So how does it work?”

  She smiled. “I’ll tell you exactly how it works.”

  CHAPTER 30

  In spite of everything that had happened, Emily still enjoyed a peaceful night’s sleep. When she woke up the next day she was in fact surprised by how deep she had slept. Almost as if she had received a hit from a hammer and had simply conked out. She could remember Harry leaving her cabin to go to sleep in his own, falling into bed and promptly dozing off.

  She now opened her eyes and glanced up at the ceiling. Light was dancing across it, reflected from the waves that were gently lapping against the boat’s hull. Once again it took her a moment to become aware of her surroundings, and the fact that she wasn’t home in Hampton Cove but on a boat in France with Harry’s family.

  She smiled when she thought back to last night. After what was possibly the briefest fight ever between a couple, they had quickly made up, and promised each other never to fight again—ever.

  She stretched, and that’s when she became aware of an obstruction to her left. She turned and saw that a person was lying next to her. For a moment she was confused. Had Harry returned at some point last night and decided to sleep in her cabin? They had agreed, though, that that wasn’t a good idea, with his parents being as conservative as they were.

  “Harry?” she said as she shook the inert person next to her. When he didn’t stir, she raised herself up to take a closer look, and that’s when she saw it: the person next to her wasn’t Harry but a man she had never seen before. And the reason he wasn’t moving was because he had a big knife sticking out of his chest.

  The man was dead!

  She screamed so loud she probably woke up the entire ship, and scrambled from the bed to get away from the dead man, stumbling over the sheets which were tangled around her legs, and crashing to the floor. She scrabbled back to the far wall, and kept screaming even as the door opened and Kim walked in.

  “Emily, I just wanted to tell you that—” Kim began, but then took a good look at the dead dude on the bed, and Emily on the floor, and also started screaming.

  It didn’t take long for more people to arrive, attracted by all the hubbub and commotion. The first was Odelia, who stumbled into the room, took in the scene, and immediately hurried over to Emily.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked.

  Emily stared up at her, then shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Who is that man!” Kim yelled. “He’s dead, isn’t he! There’s just so much blood!”

  Odelia’s cats had also walked in, followed by Harry, who joined Odelia in helping Emily to get up off the floor.

  Next were Amanda and Steven, who were dressed in their pajamas. Amanda frowned at the dead man, but to her credit didn’t even flinch. “I’ll call the police,” she said. “And an ambulance.” Then she took another look at the guy. “On second thought, just the police will do. He doesn’t look like he needs an ambulance.”

  “I think Emily needs an ambulance,” said Harry.

  “No, I’m fine,” said Emily. She had recovered from the first shock of finding a dead man in her bed, and now that she was on her feet again, was starting to come to terms with the fact that this was all real and not a nightmare.

  “Daddy, he’s dead!” Kim was saying.

  “I know, honey,” said Steven, and gave his daughter a comforting hug, then led her out of the cabin. “Let’s get you someplace quiet.”

  “Do you know this person?” asked Odelia.

  “No, I’ve never seen him before in my life,” said Emily.

  “You, Harry?” asked the reporter.

  “Nope,” said Harry. “How did he get here?”

  “I have no idea,” said Emily.

  She now saw that Harry was staring at her searchingly. “You didn’t… invite him to your cabin last night after I left?”

  “No, of course not! How can you even say that!”

  Harry held up his hands. “Okay, fine.”

  Amanda had returned. She was holding her phone. “The police will be here soon. In the meantime we’re not supposed to be in here. So everybody out. Now, please.”

  Emily did as she was told, before realizing she was in her PJs and barefoot. “Can I put on some clothes first?”

  “Fine,” said Amanda, as if she was granting her a huge favor. “But be quick about it. The police want us all out of here. Something about preserving the crime scene, whatever that means.”

  “It means they don’t want us to contaminate any potential evidence,” Odelia explained.

  Emily saw more familiar faces in the corridor: Eric, Chloe, Sarah, Brian, Heather… Several crew members were also there, attracted by the noise. But Amanda closed the door decidedly, then pocketed the key.

  The key…

  She turned to Odelia. “How did this man get into my cabin? I’m pretty sure I locked my door last night. With everything that’s been going on, I figured I’d better make sure no one else snuck into my room.”

  “Like Brian Johnson,” Odelia said, nodding.

  “Or whoever stole my phone and sent those messages to Eric. Oh, I forgot. I haven’t told you about that yet.” And so she told Odelia about the stirring events of last night. The woman didn’t seem surprised. As if she already knew. Which was impossible, of course, unless she was psychic. Or could read the minds of her cats.

  They had entered the main dining room, which was being prepared for breakfast, and had taken a seat at a table near the door. Harry had also joined them, and Odelia was trying to get the facts as they had occurred straight in everyone’s mind.

  “So Harry left your cabin, you locked the door, and went to bed. And at no point did you notice this man entering your cabin?” the reporter asked. She exuded a sense of urgency, and Emily understood why. The moment the police got there they would probably take over the investigation.

  “No, I didn’t notice this man entering my cabin,” she said emphatically, for she noticed that Harry was still looking incredulous. “I’ve never seen this man before, and I didn’t let him into the cabin,” she added for good measure.

  “But then how did he get in?” asked Harry. “And how come you didn’t wake up when he did? And how did he end up dead?”

  “I have absolutely no idea,” she said. She frowned. “I did sleep more deeply than usual, and this morning when I woke up I felt… dizzy. Took me a while to wake up, too. As if I’d taken a sleeping pill.”

  “For the record, you did not take a sleeping pill?” said Odelia.

  “No, I didn’t. But still I slept right through whatever happened with that man.” She buried her head in her hands. “What is happening? I just don’t understand. And who is he?”

  “And who killed him?” said Harry softly.

  It was the question that had been on all of their minds, but Harry was the first one to voice it. Someone had killed that man, in her bed. But who? And why? The whole thing was like a nightmare, only it was actually happening, and it was happening to her!

  She looked Harry in the eye, and said, “I did not kill that man, Harry. You have to believe me. I don’t know what happened, but I didn’t do it.”

  He studied her for a moment, then nodded curtly. “I believe you,” he said simply, and his words provided her with a wealth of relief.

  “The police are going to question you,” said Odelia. “And they’re probably going to accuse you of murder, Emily. So you just tell them the truth, all right? And I’ll try to figure out what actually happened.” Her expression turned grim. “Someone murdered that man and is making it look as if you did it. So it’s important we find out who he is—and who the murderer is.”

  Emily stared at her cousin in horror and shock.

  Odelia’s words made her realize for the first time how much trouble she was in.

  CHAPTER 31

  Tex stumbled out of bed. He felt like he hadn’t slept a wink. In spite of the AC the mosquitoes had kept pecking away at him. He staggered to the door of the balcony and located the source of the sound that had dragged him out of bed: Harriet and Brutus were mewling piteously, and pawing the closed door to attract his attention.

  He slid open the door and let them in, then yawned even as he swiped at another mosquito that was buzzing around his head. Who would have known that French mosquitoes could be so darn annoying!

  Turning to look at his wife, who was still fast asleep, a smile slid across the doctor’s unshaven face. He’d suddenly had a great idea. What better way to start the day and get rid of the memory of a dreadful night than to head down to the beach for a morning swim?

  But even as the idea started to form in his mind, the recollection of that jellyfish sting returned, and he paused.

  The next moment he was rummaging around in the closet, and soon found what he was looking for: a pair of goggles!

  The same person who had put that ointment on his wounds yesterday had also told him of a neat trick the locals used. They ducked down beneath the waves, outfitted with goggles, and took a good look around. If they spotted one or two jellyfish floating nearby, they didn’t bother to stick around. But if they didn’t, they ventured a little deeper, and scoured the seascape beneath the waves for a sign of the dreadful creatures. Once a stretch of sea had been declared safe, they relaxed and enjoyed their regular swim.

  Moments later Tex could be seen venturing out to the beach. His plan was to go for that nice refreshing swim, and pick up a bag of croissants on his way back to the Airbnb to surprise Marge. Breakfast in bed!

  It was a great plan, as plans go, and the first part went off without a hitch. He arrived on the beach, found three or four people of advanced age donning colorful swimming caps and in some cases even a full-body swimsuit swimming laps, dropped his towel near the shoreline, and started removing his T-shirt and shorts and pulling on the aqua shoes he had bought the previous day. It helped with the rocky beach.

  Venturing into the water was the easy part. And so was submerging himself to take a closer gander at possible jellyfish. When no creatures stirred, he smiled and allowed himself to jump in head first, and experience the exhilaration he had anticipated. So much fun!

  And as he was swimming, he suddenly imagined himself to be like a second Michael Phelps or Mark Spitz. And soon he was swimming laps like a man on fire. And he’d just perfected his technique when all of a sudden he felt a sort of twinge or spasm in his lower back.

  “Ouch!” he said as he resurfaced. And as he swam back to shore, he immediately knew something was terribly wrong.

  It was a broken Tex Poole who emerged from the surf. Instead of walking ashore like an Olympic champion or Daniel Craig in his first outing as James Bond, he crawled out of the water on hands and knees like a rheumatic crustacean. Much to his surprise, he found himself face to face with his wife.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Marge, who was donning a pink swimming cap, and had been getting ready to join him. Behind her, he could see Grace, looking sleepy and not all that excited about being on the beach.

  “My back,” he groaned. “I think I pulled a muscle or something.”

  But as he tried to get up, it soon became clear it was a lot more serious than that.

  Early beachgoers that morning were treated to a strange sight. A woman was supporting a man, who shuffled along with extreme difficulty, his face contorted into a pained grimace, as they ever so slowly made their way to the Poste de Secours. Following in their footsteps, a gibbering toddler waddled along.

  “I think that went well, wouldn’t you agree?” said Harriet as she came up for air. She had been digging into her bowl with relish. That lobster from last night had long been digested, and she was starving.

  “I think that went very well,” Brutus agreed. “If we keep this up, we might be able to launch local chapters of cat choir all across the globe.”

  “With me as cat choir’s global ambassador!” Harriet cried.

  Brutus grinned. He could have pointed out that he was as much cat choir’s ambassador as Harriet, but he was happy to let her have all the glory. “Shanille will be thrilled,” he said. “She always did want to take cat choir on the road.”

  “This is even better,” said Harriet. “With local chapters in every country, cat choir will become an international brand.”

  “And you its brightest star,” said Brutus.

  “Oh, snookums!” said Harriet. “Finally I will be famous!”

  “You better believe it,” said Brutus, happy when his beloved was happy.

  “An international star! Just like Céline or Mariah or Barbra!”

  “The name Harriet will be on everyone’s lips,” Brutus assured her.

  “A diva at last!” Harriet chirped.

  Just then, the door opened, and Marge and Tex strode in. Though it was probably more accurate to say that they shuffled in.

  “What’s going on?” asked Harriet.

  “Tex pulled something in his back,” said Marge. “He needs to rest.”

  “It’s that mattress,” Tex said, his face contorted in a grimace. “It destroyed my back!” For some reason he got down on the floor and rolled over onto his back. “Oh, darn it,” he lamented. “Oh, darn it to hell!”

  Grace, who had also entered along with her grandparents, said, “This vacation is really fun, isn’t it? So many things happening!”

  “Yeah, so many things happening,” Brutus agreed as he shot a look of concern at Tex. The doctor did not look like he was having fun.

  “I wonder what will happen next,” said Grace. “Maybe we’ll meet a dinosaur, or we’ll run into a real shark!”

  “I hope not,” said Harriet. “Sharks and dinosaurs are not very nice. Plus, they have a tendency to want to try and eat you alive.”

  “Oh,” said Grace. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound like a lot of fun.” She took in Harriet and Brutus. “So what have you guys been up to? Don’t think I didn’t notice that you slipped out last night.”

  Harriet and Brutus both smiled broadly. “We launched the French chapter of cat choir,” said Harriet proudly. “And I’m its leader!”

  “Oh, well done, Harriet,” said Grace. “So can I also join?”

  “Um, it’s called cat choir for a reason, Grace,” said Brutus. “Meaning that only cats are allowed to become members.”

  “But that’s discrimination!” said Grace.

  “Can you sing?” said Harriet sternly. “Cause only talented cats can join cat choir. Cats like me and Brutus.”

  “Don’t encourage her,” Brutus whispered. “If she wants to sing, let her launch a kids choir instead.”

  But Grace wasn’t deterred. And so she opened her mouth and started ‘singing.’ It sounded neither harmonious nor melodious but it had one advantage in that it was very, very loud. And since musical talent ran in the family, and singing is infectious, soon both Harriet and Brutus decided to join in.

  But that was before Tex picked up a solid object and hurled it across the room in their direction. “Give a dying man a break!” he cried. But as he threw the object, which turned out to be a sock, he yelled in sudden pain. “Ouch!” he screamed.

  “Tex! What’s wrong!” Marge said, as she came hurrying over.

  “Now I’ve gone and pulled another muscle!” the doctor said.

  CHAPTER 32

  It didn’t take long before the French police arrived, and in due course they were interviewing Emily, and swarming all over the ship, though mostly rummaging around in Emily’s room, of course. The body of the man who had been found in her bed was brought out on a stretcher, covered with a sheet, which is how we knew that the investigation was proceeding nicely.

  Next thing that happened was that Emily was accused of murder, her hands shackled with a pair of shiny handcuffs, and carted off to a French police precinct. Before she left, Harry was allowed a quick word with her, and he promised he would find her a good lawyer. And then she was gone. Her cabin was sealed with police tape and locked up tight, and the police left, leaving us all reeling in shock.