Elaine gestured. Her eyes filled with tears. Quill, who'd been seriously alarmed the first, second, and third time Elaine's eyes had filled with tears over a crisis reached automatically for the box of Kleenex on her desk and handed it over. John, rarely demonstrative, put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder.
Elaine, hand stuffed against her nose, shook her head and wailed, "No! No!"
"She is coming," guessed Quill.
Elaine nodded, gulped, and folded the Kleenex into a neat oblong. "She's coming. And she had a vision. Tutti's famous for her visions. She's always right."
"A vision? You mean, as in a psychic vision."
"Yes! About... you know."
Quill, who'd been experiencing some mild concern about her level of tolerance - an essential trait of any innkeeper - for some hours since she'd allowed Alphonse Santini to provoke her into battery, made a conscious effort to be calm. "Your mother-in-law had a vision about the wedding?"
Elaine picked up a fistful of Kleenex. "She said... she said... he was going to leave Claire. At the altar. That the wedding's not going to come off. That I've been pushing. That it's my fault. That he really doesn't want to marry Claire."
"Of course he does," soothed Quill. "I mean, all grooms are supposed to be a little anxious before the wedding."
"The thing is, I just know everyone thinks that Claire's marrying him because... you know... plumbing fixture money. Not the same!"
"Oh, Elaine, Al loves Claire. I'm sure he'll make a good and reliable..." She tried to think of a polite substitute for demagogue and gave up. There were limits to her policy of honesty. "You've spoken with him, John, about the bachelor party. He seemed... you know, didn't he?"
"AI Santini?" said John. "Oh, yeah, Quill. Very you know."
"But you don't understand!" wailed Elaine. "Tutti wants to call the whole wedding off!"
"With all due respect for your mother-in-law, how can she?" Quill asked gently.
"You don't know her," Elaine said tragically. "You just - what's that?"
A soft tap came on the office door.
"Our receptionist, I think." Quill called, "Come in, please," with a guilty sense of relief. Dina poked her head around the edge of the door, her eyes large. A low-pitched wailing from outside accompanied her. "Excuse me. Quill? You'd better come."
"What's that noise?"
Dina glanced nervously over her shoulder. "It's Mrs. McIntosh. The mother-in-law. Claire's grandmother. She says to call her Tutti. She's standing in the middle of the foyer. Prophesying."
-6-
"There will be three knocks!" cried Tutti McIntosh. "Three knocks on the door! And then... blood, blood, BLOOD!" The hairy little dog in her arms yapped twice. Tutti rather absentmindedly set the dog down on the Oriental rug. With a pugnacious scowl he squatted and piddled on the celadon and ivory rose medallion in the center.
"Oh, Tutti, dear!" Elaine McIntosh burst into tears. Quill, nonplussed, stood for a moment to assess the situation. Claire's grandmother was plump and wide, with the frilly softness of a crocheted doll over a telephone. She had dimples, soft white hair, and very pink cheeks. The dog was some sort of pug. Tutti was wearing a fur coat the same color and texture as her little dog - a burnished red that was close to Quill's own hair color. Her prophecy wail was low, windy, and dirgelike, which made it easy to hear Dina's perplexed explanation.
"She came in. Saw the plaque that says 'Established 1693.' Closed her eyes. Spun around for a second saying 'prophecy' a couple of times and then started hollering about three knocks on the door and blood, blood, blood, blood, blood..."
"Stop," said Quill.
Dina gazed consideringly at the little old lady for a moment, then said indignantly, "I didn't do a thing to her."
"Of course you didn't," Elaine McIntosh said in a helpless way. "She does this all the time!" She grabbed her mother-in-law's wrist and shook it gently. "Tutti. Tutti! TUTTI!"
"What!" Mrs. McIntosh demanded in a suddenly pragmatic tone of voice.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, dear. Thank you." Mrs. McIntosh regarded Quill, John, Dina, and Doreen - who had appeared at the dining room entrance rolling her mop-bucket - with cheerful equanimity. "How do you all do?"
"Lot better since that caterwauling stopped," said Doreen. "What'n the hell was that all about? You woulda thought..." Her suspicious gaze fell on the carpet. "Dog pee!" she murmured. "Dog pee. On my carpet."
"Tatiana didn't do it," Mrs. McIntosh said immediately. She bent to pick up the pug, who backed away, snarling ferociously. She sang, "Good doggie, good doggie, good - OW!" Then she dropped it.
"Outta the way," Doreen snarled. She jerked the bucket forward, the water sloshing. Tatiana stood defiantly over the small pool on the rug and yapped.
"G'wan," said Doreen, brandishing the mop. "You little bastard."
"Doreen," John said mildly.
Tatiana's yaps ascended the scale and increased in pitch. Dina clapped her hands over her ears. Doreen bent over, pushed her nose into Tatiana's and roared, "SHUT UP!"
Tatiana's little pink mouth closed. Her button eyes bulged. She panted, yipped once, rolled her eyes up into her head, and spasmed. She rolled on her back and lay upside down, all four legs in the air, motionless.
"My God," breathed Dina. "It's dead!"
"Huh," Doreen said, pleased.
Quill clapped her hands over her mouth.
"She's not dead," Tutti said briskly, "she's fainted. Actually, she just wants us to think she's fainted. She's faking. Does it all the time." She nudged Tatiana with her toe. "Up, darling. Up. Up. Up."
Tatiana, still upside down, opened her eyes and gave Doreen an evil look.
"Come to Mummy!"
Tatiana rolled to her feet, gave a standing jump, and landed in Tutti's arms.
"Wow!" said Dina. "That's a valuable dog, Mrs. McIntosh. I mean, jeez. Did you see that, Quill? John? How did you train her to do that, Mrs. McIntosh?"
Doreen, on her knees scrubbing at the damp spot on the rug, looked up at Tatiana with a steady considering stare. Tatiana stared steadily back.
"Um, Doreen," said Quill. "Maybe we could all just kind of forget this. Mrs. McIntosh, I'm Sarah Quill - "
"Sarah Quilliam," she said with a gracious air. Her voice was high and sweet. "The noted painter. I am very, very pleased to meet you. I've seen your work in the galleries in New York. Such an eye for color, my dear! Such sensitivity! You of all people should understand the aura here. You feel it, too, don't you?"
"Well, actually," said Quill, "I don't... feel what, Mrs. McIntosh?"
Her voice dropped an octave. "The Coming Disaster. I felt the vibrations as soon as I walked in that door. This marriage must not take place!"