"We're going back, then?" asked Doreen.
"Yes. And bring Tatiana." She reached over to ruffle the little dog's ears. "We'll find something nice for her supper. After all, she found the bod - OW! Dammit, Doreen, can't you keep her from nipping?"
Doreen carried the dog back to the Inn, which was just fine with Quill, since she was wearing half-boots that left her calves exposed. Back in the kitchen, Doreen set her on the floor, and she promptly fell asleep.
"Put her the storeroom," Meg said callously. "With some food and water. Better yet, give her back to Tutti. Maybe she'll bit Vittorio."
"Are they still eating?" Quill peered through the swinging doors. Everyone at the table seemed to be having a fine time. Two of the Cornell students that worked as waiters in their spare time stood at polite attention beside the mahogany sideboard. Tutti was holding court. Vittorio was leaning back in his chair, genially smiling at Marlon Guppa. Elaine, sitting painfully erect, was chatting with Merry Phelan. Even Claire was smiling, flirting in a gawky way with Joseph Greenwald.
"He looks like a murderer, doesn't he?" Meg said into her ear. "Vittorio, I mean."
"Claire doesn't seem tot be too upset that the senator's not here," Quill observed. "Didn't anyone say anything about it at all?"
"Oh, there was quite a bit of discussion," said Meg. "Claire finally went up to the Adams suite with her bridesmaid and found that all of the senator's clothes and personal effects were gone. They also found that envelope you did, from the travel agency. So they came back down and Claire cried that she'd been jilted and Joseph Greenwald poured her more champagne. After a second bottle of that Avalon Patriot's Red, Vittorio got up and proposed a toast. `To the absent bridegroom,' he said. `May he never return.' That got a big laugh, for some reason. Then Elaine started fluttering on about plumbing money, and about how the senator really wasn't their kind of people and good riddance to bad rubbish, and Vittorio told her to shut up. We should have known he'd done it the minute we saw him."
"But he hadn't done it then. Anyhow, I don't think anyone really looks like a murderer," Quill said in an uncritical way, "but Vittorio's going to get off scot-free if we don't' find that tape."
"When will Myles get here with the search warrant?"
"Not for a couple of hours yet." Quill frowned. "I know the thing's here."
"Gol-durn it," Doreen exploded behind them. "You git!"
Tatiana whose brief nap seemed to have brought an unfortunate degree of vigor to her sixteen pounds, had jumped up on the counter and was worrying the rabbit hat. Quill turned around, regarded the dog, and pulled thoughtfully at her hair. "Hey, guys. I've got an idea. Meg? Can you ask one of the guys to bring another case of champagne?"
"For who? For them? Haven't they guzzled enough?"
"No," said Quill, "not nearly enough. Tell them this one's on the house. Doreen? Dan you keep that darn dog quiet?"
"Prob'ly."
"Good. I'm going to my office. Meg? When you give them that champagne, offer to videotape it. Get the camcorder from Marlon and bring it back with you. If he's drunk enough, he won't even notice that you have it. And then I want the three of us to go upstairs."
It took an interminable time for the McIntosh party to get through the extra twelve bottles of champagne. The Reverend Shuttleworth, who arrived for the wedding rehearsal, only to be told that the groom had failed to show, returned home in mild confusion. (Since mild confusion was a more or less permanent state of mind with Dookie, none of his family noticed.) Quill, Doreen, and Meg waited patiently on the second-floor landing for the party to wind down.
"They're comin'," Doreen said. "Hear that?"
There was a scrape of chairs, the kind of dismissive laughter that signals the end of a long party, a murmur of "good nights."
Tutti, Vittorio, and Elaine proceeded up the stairs. Meg moved the camcorder into position. Doreen set Tatiana on the floor. Quill stood at the head of the stairs.
"Now," Quill whispered.
"Git it!" Doreen roared at the startled dog. She held a mini-sized videocassette above Tatiana's head. The dog leaped for it. Doreen jerked the tape out of reach and ordered, "Git it! Git it!" The dog, irritated to a frenzy by the incomprehensible behavior of this bad-tempered human, barked like Joshua at the walls of Jericho. She leaped, and leaped again.
"They're looking up," Quill said from her vantage point on the landing. "Any time now."
Doreen let the cassette drop. Tatianan snatched it up with a triumphant "Yap!" Tutti, hearing the barks, cried, "Tatty! Come to Mummy!' Tatiana raced down the stairs, videocassette in her mouth.
Tutti caught he dog in her arms and grabbed for the tape. Tatiana wriggled and dropped it. Vittorio picked it up. His swarthy face turned pale.
"Goddammit!" roared Vittorio. "Ma! You told me you hid the goddamn thing."
Quill walked down the stairs. Doreen thumped down beside her and snatched the tape from Vittorio's hand. Meg followed, the camcorer rolling, the camera eye fixed on the group on the stairs.
"Give me that thing," Vittorio demanded. He swayed, caught himself with one hand o the banister, and blinked blearily at Doreen.
"Is it yours?" Quill asked sweetly. "I'm afraid the little dog went through your things when Doreen was straightening your room, Tutti. Where she unearthed this thing I don't know. It can't be yours, can it, Mr. McIntosh? It's marked, `Property Tompkins County Police Department.' "
"Give it to me, you bitch!"
"Vic!" sanpped. Tutti. "Shut up!"
Quill took two more steps downward. "This is it, Mr. McIntosh? The videotape from Frank Dorset's hidden camera? The one that shows you killing Nora Cahill?"
"Yes, goddamit! Yes!"
Meg shut the camcorder off. "Well," she said sunnily, "I got it all. And the little dog, too."
Quill surveyed the wreckage in the dining room with a sense of satisfaction. It was a shame about the roses, or course. But it had taken less than half an hour that morning to strip the walls and windows of the wedding finery.
Mike the groundskeeper poked his head in from the foyer. "You want I should take the?"
Quill nudged one of the garbage bags with her toe. The scent of crushed roses was strong. "Yes. Thanks, Mike."
"I'll bring the tree in, then. You want it here?"
"I think so. Everyone's coming at eight tonight, so we have plenty of time."
"No problem. I got all the ornaments down and I'll bring `em in first. Meg having that oyster stew again this year?"
"And Marge is bringing the pumpkin bread."
"Ahh!" Mike patted his flat stomach. "You didn't hear me say this, Quill, but I'd almost give up the holiday bonus for that pumpkin bread."
Quill stripped the rose-patterned cloths from the tables, bundled them into a box, and replaced them with the red plaid she used for the holidays. She set out the buffet plates, the flatware, and the punch bowl, humming "The Boar's Head Carol" under her breath, then "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen."
Mike brought the tree in, a fifteen footer he'd cut from the woods beyond Hemlock Gorge. It filled the windows overlooking the Falls. It smelled of snow, of cold fresh winds, of pine tar. The two of them strung the hundreds of tiny white lights that Quill had collected over the years, then stepped back to view the result.