“I don’t even know what glamping is,” I confessed.

  “It’s like camping, but with more comfort. Like… camping for rich people.”

  “Well, that’s the problem right there,” I said. “We’re not rich.”

  “We could be rich, once we find that treasure,” said Dooley. “And then we could go glamping.”

  “But I want to go glamping now!” Harriet almost stomped her paw on the little stone wall we were sitting on.

  Darkness had fallen, and it was well past midnight. We’d already seen a couple of cats walk past on their way to Blake’s Field for another night of cat choir fun. Only tonight, cat choir would have to miss four of its most distinctive voices—okay, who am I kidding? One distinctive voice. Neither Brutus, nor Dooley, nor I are exactly standouts in the vocal department.

  Just then, Shanille and Kingman walked past.

  “Oh hey, you guys,” said Shanille, already looking a lot more relaxed and happy than the night before. “Are you coming?”

  “No, we have to go camping,” Harriet grumbled. “Not glamping, mind you—plain old camping. Which means we’ll have to sleep in a tent, with mosquitoes, ants, spiders, and who knows what else.”

  “There might be wolves,” Dooley pointed out. “And bears. Isn’t that right, Max?”

  “There have been rumors about bears and wolves,” I admitted. When Harriet turned her head to stare at me, I quickly added, “But those are just that—rumors. No actual sightings of wolves or bears.”

  “There might be rattlesnakes,” Dooley said, warming to his theme. “And scorpions and crocodiles and coyotes and lions and⁠—”

  “I don’t like this,” said Harriet, which was putting it mildly. “I don’t like this at all. Maybe I should stay here? Someone’s got to keep an eye on things from this end.”

  “Marge and Tex will keep an eye on things,” I said. “And Odelia and Chase.”

  “Aren’t they going camping with you?” asked Shanille.

  “No, they’re staying put. I don’t think they even know we’re going camping. At least Gran hasn’t told them.”

  “And neither will we,” said Kingman, pretending to lock his lips with a key and throw it over his shoulder. “So what’s the big deal about this trip? Where are you going?”

  “Don’t tell me,” said Shanille. “Tex’s cabin in the mountains?”

  “No, a treasure island!” said Dooley excitedly. “And when we find the treasure, Gran will buy a flatscreen TV, a computer tablet, a smartphone, and a gaming console to give away as prizes for the raffle, and the pugs can finally find their forever homes!”

  Shanille and Kingman looked taken aback—understandably, since Dooley’s explanation made no sense on the surface.

  “You’re going treasure hunting?” asked Kingman finally.

  “Yep,” I said. “We’re going to look for treasure.”

  “Can I come?” he asked excitedly. “I’ve always wanted to look for treasure. I mean, The Goonies? Huh? Only one of my favorite movies of all time!”

  “I don’t like treasure,” said Shanille, making a face. “It’s so… crude. All that stuff that’s been stuck in the ground for centuries? I’ll bet it stinks. And it’s probably crawling with germs. Not to mention all the dead people.”

  Dooley gulped. “Dead people? What dead people?”

  “It’s treasure, Dooley,” Shanille pointed out. “There are always dead people. Skeletons, maybe ghosts—and lots of them.”

  “But… why? Wouldn’t the people who buried the treasure have left?”

  “Apparently not. Some of them like to stick around until they’re dead. Don’t ask me why. We all know humans are weird. But trust me—there’ll be dead people. And they’ll smell.”

  Dooley made a face. “I don’t like dead people. And I definitely don’t like smelly dead people.”

  “I’m sure there’ll be no dead people,” I said. The last thing I needed was for Dooley to back out—and Harriet too. After all, the key to hunting for treasure is to have plenty of treasure hunters. These things are often well hidden, and it takes time to find them. Unless you’re many—then it becomes doable.

  “I hope so, Max,” said Dooley, now sounding a lot less excited about going treasure hunting on a deserted island.

  “So can I come?” asked Kingman.

  “Won’t Wilbur miss you?” I asked.

  “Maybe he can come too? And Father Reilly?”

  “Do not drag me into this,” Shanille warned. “Didn’t I just give you a full list of why this is a really bad idea?”

  Just then, the front door swung open and Gran stepped out. She was carrying plenty of gear and I wondered how she was going to fit all of that into her little red Peugeot.

  At that same moment, a van pulled up in front of the house. Two men stepped out: Father Reilly and Wilbur Vickery. Both were dressed in clothes fit for some serious outdoor activity.

  “Oh, there you are,” said Wilbur when he caught sight of Kingman. “I was wondering where you’d gone off to.”

  “And here is my sweet girl,” said Father Reilly as he picked up Shanille. He pressed his face close to hers and gave her a kiss on the ear. “We’re going treasure hunting, yes we are! Yes we are!”

  “Oh God,” said Shanille. “This is a nightmare.”

  As Gran started stuffing her camping gear into Wilbur’s van, Scarlett came walking up, carrying Clarice in her arms.

  “And here we are,” she announced. “Ready to hunt for treasure!”

  “I’d rather be dead in a ditch,” Clarice growled. She looked less than pleased to join the big hunt.

  “You and me both,” said Shanille.

  “But there’s bones, Clarice,” said Kingman. “Don’t you like to gnaw on bones?”

  “That’s dogs, Kingman,” Clarice snapped. “Dogs love bones. I’m not a dog.”

  “Wow, this is quite the turnout,” said Brutus. “Are you all coming hunting with us?”

  “Yes, we are!” said Kingman happily.

  “I guess that’s it,” said Gran. “Wilbur, did you bring the rest of the supplies?”

  “The van’s fully loaded,” said the owner of the General Store. Always handy to have a storeowner as a friend—they can get you what you need at a very good price.

  “What about the boat?” asked Scarlett.

  “All taken care of,” said Father Reilly. “One of my parishioners, Rees Levenson, owns a boat and promised to take us across.” He checked his watch. “In fact, we’d better get going. He said he’d be there at twelve-thirty, and I don’t like to keep him waiting. Punctuality is a virtue, you know.”

  And so we all piled into Wilbur’s van, and soon we were off on our big adventure.

  “Devil’s Island, here we come!” Gran cried.

  And I think I speak for most of us when I say that I felt quite excited to go. Okay, maybe not all of us. Shanille and Clarice looked like they’d rather be anywhere else, Harriet didn’t seem too sure, and Dooley was still going on about skeletons.

  But apart from them, the atmosphere was one of great anticipation.

  “Where’s the map?” asked Wilbur.

  “Don’t worry, I have it here,” said Gran, patting her pocket.

  Wilbur gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. “This is going to be so much fun. I can feel it in my bones!”

  “Not bones,” Dooley said. “I don’t like bones. Especially when they’re dead and smelly.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Wilbur parked his van at the marina, and we all got out. The Hampton Cove marina is a sight for sore eyes—it had been fully reconstructed, with more space for luxury yachts than ever before. There used to be a row of old shops that had stood there for decades, but those were all expropriated and torn down to make room for new stores from luxury brands. Not all Hampton Covians had been on board with the new and improved marina, but it was true that the end result was quite spectacular.

  “Are you sure you’re allowed to leave your van here?” asked Scarlett. “Won’t they tow it away while we’re gone?”

  “I’ve got special dispensation,” said Wilbur. “On account of the fact that I’m the shopkeeper who delivers goods to most of these stores. If they tow away my van, they know they won’t get any deliveries in the immediate future—and they don’t want that.”

  “Okay, so where is this boatman of yours, Francis?” asked Gran. “I hope he hasn’t forgotten.”

  “He hasn’t forgotten,” Father Reilly assured her. “He’s a very reliable person. And also, I once saved his life, so he owes me.”

  “You saved his life?” asked Scarlett. “Now that’s a story I want to hear.”

  “Well, it all started with him finding himself in a difficult position. He’d lost his business, his wife, and custody of his one and only child, and found himself at the end of his rope. So I was walking along the coastline one night when I happened to see this guy trying to drown himself. Only he wasn’t doing a very good job, as he kept popping up again and again. Like a cork, you know.”

  “I didn’t know that was possible,” said Wilbur. “People don’t usually pop up like corks, do they?”

  “I’m not sure about the technicalities,” said Father Reilly. “But that’s what happened. So I decided to wade in—literally—and ask him what was going on and if he needed a hand.” When Gran gave him a strange look, he quickly added, “Not a hand in trying to drown himself, mind you. A hand as in, get him back to safety. I would never assist a man trying to end his life. So as we were floating there, bobbing up and down, he told me the story of his life. And after I had finished telling him the story of mine, we had both gotten quite cold, and so we swam back to the beach to warm up.”

  “So you pretty much bored him to tears until he gave up trying to end his life?” asked Gran.

  “Something like that,” Father Reilly admitted. “And while we were warming up, I offered him a position as sexton at the church. That way he could get back on his feet—financially speaking—and also spend some time close to the Lord, our Savior. And it worked. Over the next couple of months, he really pulled through, and I never had to stop him from trying to end his life again.”

  “Did he ever explain how he kept popping up like a cork?” asked Wilbur, who seemed to have focused on this particular part of the story, to the exclusion of everything else.

  “Could be that he had eaten a lot of salty food,” Scarlett suggested. “Salt floats, doesn’t it?”

  “I’m not sure,” Father Reilly confessed. “And I don’t think he knows either. But the fact remains that even though he has since moved on from being my sexton, he’s still extremely grateful and has never refused me any small favor I have asked of him.”

  “Did you promise him a piece of the treasure?” asked Gran.

  Father Reilly bowed his head. “I may have offered him a small token of our appreciation.”

  “Thought as much,” Gran grunted.

  We had arrived at the location where Father Reilly’s former sexton was supposed to be moored—or at least his vessel—and when we saw that the dock was empty, we all felt a sense of disappointment.

  “I don’t understand,” said Father Reilly. “He has never let me down before. Never.”

  “There’s a first time for everything,” said Gran philosophically. “So looks like we’ll have to find some other way to get to the island.”

  But Father Reilly wasn’t so easily deterred. The priest had taken out his phone and was trying to reach the boatman. Finally, the call connected.

  “Rees? Hadn’t we arranged for you to take us to Devil’s Island?” we heard him ask. He listened for a moment, then frowned. “Canceled? I never canceled. We’re standing here at your dock, packed and ready to go, and you’re not here.” Finally, he hung up, a thoughtful look on his face. “Rees says that I canceled. By text. But I never did. This is all very strange.”

  “He’s just trying to weasel himself out of this arrangement,” said Gran. “He probably didn’t want to do it in the first place.”

  But Father Reilly shook his head. “Rees would never do such a thing. He’s very trustworthy. His word is his bond and all of that.” He shrugged. “At any rate, he said he’ll be here soon. So let’s hope he keeps his promise.”

  And so our humans started unloading the van and placing all of the camping gear on the dock while we waited for Rees and his boat to arrive.

  “This is a bad beginning,” said Brutus.

  “A bad omen,” Harriet agreed.

  “Maybe Father Reilly is one of those people who sleep while they walk?” Dooley suggested. “Or is it walk while they sleep? I saw a documentary about it once, and it’s fascinating. These people do all kinds of stuff, and they do it while they’re fast asleep. And then in the morning they don’t remember a thing.”

  “My human doesn’t sleepwalk,” said Shanille. “If he did, I would have noticed.”

  “But you’re not always there, are you, Shanille?” said Harriet. “Mostly you spend your nights at cat choir, and that’s the time when all of this sleepwalking is going on.”

  “Still, I think I would know if my human walked in his sleep,” Shanille insisted. “And I can assure you he doesn’t. So if someone sent a message to Rees to cancel their arrangement, it wasn’t Father Reilly. Also, it’s exactly as he says. Rees is a very reliable person.”

  “Oh, so you know him, do you?”

  “Of course I know him. He was the sexton for a short period of time, and he did a really good job—one of Father Reilly’s finest sextons.”

  After the camping gear was unloaded, we all sat on the dock, waiting for this very reliable former sexton to arrive. It was then that we suddenly noticed some strange activity further down the dock. And since by nature cats are an investigative species—some might even say curious—we decided to investigate.

  We didn’t alarm our humans—no need to worry them over something that might be completely innocuous—and so we snuck away while they discussed what they were going to do when they found the treasure.

  Gran wanted to use it to expand the animal shelter, Father Reilly to fix the church roof and possibly buy more artwork to adorn the interior, Wilbur wanted to expand his store, and Scarlett felt she needed to do something about her jawline, which according to her was sagging.

  All in all, these were worthwhile projects to pursue, and it made us all think what we would do if we found the treasure.

  “I want to launch myself on the international scene,” said Harriet. “You know, get an agent and a publicist and really go for it.” She sighed wistfully. “I’ve got the talent—now all I need is the money to capitalize on it and take things to the next level.”

  “And I want weekends at the cat spa,” said Brutus, causing us all to give him a look of surprise.

  “I didn’t even know such a thing existed,” I said. “A cat spa?”

  “Not cat’s paw,” said Brutus. “A cat spa.”

  “I know, but what is a cat spa?”

  “Well, it’s a spa,” he said patiently, “for cats. You know, like a spa for humans, but for cats.”

  “But… what do they do at a cat spa?”

  He suppressed an urge to roll his eyes. “They do everything they do at a human spa—but for cats.”

  I still had absolutely no idea what a cat spa was, but decided to let it go.

  “So what do you want, Max?” asked Harriet. “If we find the treasure, what do you want to get for yourself?”

  I thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Actually, there’s nothing I really want at the moment. I’m pretty happy with the way my life is going, so…”

  Brutus and Harriet both stared at me. “But there has to be something,” said Brutus.

  “Yeah, everybody wants something,” Harriet added.

  But I shook my head. “Nope. Nothing comes to mind.”

  “Weird,” Harriet muttered. She turned to Dooley. “What about you, Dooley?”

  “I would like to try that new brand of kibble that Odelia saw at the mall the other day.”

  Brutus laughed. “She doesn’t need a treasure for that, buddy. She can get that kibble any time she wants. It’s not that expensive.”

  “Oh,” said Dooley. “Well, then maybe I want Harriet to get into the Guinness Book of Records by balancing a ball on the tip of her nose.”

  “Same thing,” said Brutus. “No need for any treasure to accomplish that.”

  Dooley stared at him. “But balls cost money, Brutus. Everybody knows that.”

  “Not that much money,” said Brutus with a smile. “Okay, let’s make a deal right now. When we find that treasure, you will get your kibble and your ball, Max will get absolutely nothing, I will get my cat spa, and Harriet will get her international showbiz career. Deal?”

  “Deal,” I said. In my personal opinion, sometimes it’s more important to make other people happy than to pursue happiness for yourself at all costs. If Harriet’s international career made her happy, that would make me happy, too. And the same could be said about Brutus’s cat spa.

  “You know what?” said Brutus. “I’m feeling magnanimous right now. When I get my cat spa, you guys can also use it. How about that?”

  “That’s… very kind of you, Brutus,” I said. I had a feeling I wouldn’t like a cat spa, but since Brutus was being so generous, I decided not to mention it. Don’t look a gift spa in the mouth, right?

  We had reached the location of the commotion and saw that a man was busy loading up a yacht with supplies. It was quite a fancy yacht, too—very large and outfitted with all the amenities you’d want. I didn’t recognize the man carrying stuff on board, but he was quite handsome. A so-called silver fox who wouldn’t have looked out of place in a movie.

  “Probably a Hollywood star,” Harriet decided. “Going on a trip.”

  In other words: nothing to see here.

  But then we noticed more activity at the far end of the marina. So we made our way over there.

  Pretty much the same thing was happening: a fancy yacht being loaded up. And as we looked closer, this time we did recognize the people engaged in all this frenetic activity.