"It'll look great at night," Mike said. "You want I should plug `em in?"
"Degradation!" Evan Blight bellowed, so suddenly that Quill nearly fell over. "Young man? Remove those artifacts of man's inhumanity to the arboreal immediately."
"Hello, Mr. Blight," Quill said. "Can I get you some hot chocolate? I'm afraid that breakfast is over."
"There was," he said a little pathetically, "a disturbance in the night."
"There was indeed. I hope it didn't keep you up."
"She most certainly did," he said with indignation. "Not to mention going through my personal effects."
"She?" said Quill. "You mean someone was in your room?"
"That....dog. That... perverse mutant of the noble wolf."
"Tatiana? Oh, I'm sorry. I guess in all the confusion last night, we sort of ignored her." Quill chuckled. "Tatiana isn't a dog that likes being ignored. But, under the circumstances, I hope you will forgive her."
"I understand from the Red Man that several guests were arrested."
Quill thought about this for a moment. "Do you mean John Raintree?"
"Yes! The Primal Savage. The nobility of him! It's a shame," Blight continued, "to see on him the wrappings required by our so-called civil-ization, although anything less civil..."
"Do you mean his clothes?"
"Why, yes. At any rate, I understand that the primal urge has been satisfied, the blood lust quelled."
"If you mean by that that Vittorio McIntosh has been arrested for three murders, the answer is yes, he has."
"And the motive. Lust, no doubt."
"No doubt at all. It wasn't. He killed for gain. He killed Nora Cahill because she was blackmailing him over evidence she'd gathered of his organized crime connections. He killed Frank Dorset because Dorset recognized him on the videotape and also tried blackmail. And he killed Alphonse Santini because Tutti told Santini about the murders - to guarantee to the senator that she had Vittorio under her thumb, and that she would call the political shots - and Santini was ready to turn all the McIntoshes in to the police." Quill reflected a moment. "So I guess he died a better man than he lived. Or something like that."
"Cherchez les femmes," said Evan Blight.
"If by that you mean that women were behind Vittorio's downfall, you couldn't be more wront." Quill, sorry that she'd lost her temper, asked if he would like some lunch before he checked out.
Mr. Blight ran his finger through his beard in agitation. He circled the dining room. His beard was even wilder and untrimmed than before. He'd exchanged the shapeless gray sweater he'd been wearing for two days to an equally shapeless brown sweater. "As you see," he said grandly, catching Quill's eye on him, "I have donned my holiday garb."
"You were planning on staying over Christmas, then?"
The gray eyes blinked behind the fringe of tangled hair. "I would not be welcomed?"
Quill had the feeling, apropos of nothing whatsoever, that Evan Blight, world-famous standard-bearer for manly men, had nowhere to go. She sat down at the table she reserved for the Inn staff, and indicated the chair next to her. He shook his head warily, rather like a small goat approaching a large obstacle.
"Of course you're welcome," Quill said warmly. "We don't' normally keep the Inn open over Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, but we'd love to have you join us. As a friend, Mr. Blight. Not a guest."
"The bountiful hospitality of Woman!" exclaimed Mr. Blight
Quill held her hand up. "There's just one thing. Elmer Henry. Our mayor. And the gentlemen of S. O. A. P. You may not be fully aware of the - um - divisive nature of your beliefs, Mr. Blight. Especially now, at this particular time in the town's history. Perhaps you could soften your views, somewhat? I mean, in the spirit of the season. We need, Mr. Blight, to have the men and women of this town talking to each other again. And you could help, if you wished."
"Humpf."
"Humpf?" Quill sat back, frustrated.
"You would have me abandon a lifetime of beliefs? A value system carefully built up over years of study, years of effort, years of - "
"Bullshit," said Doreen. She marched into the dining room, clutching a pink, elastic object. Tatiana leaped beside her, jaws snapping for the straps dangling from Doreen's hand.
"Down, Spike," said Doreen.
Tatiana dropped to the floor obediently.
"Spike?" asked Quill.
"They was goin' to shoot her," Doreen said flatly. "On account of she betrayed that Tutti. And her name's Spike. Tatiana's no name for a dog."
Quill sighed. "Okay, I guess. But if she bites anybody, Doreen, that's it, do you hear me?"
"You'd think a lot better of this dog if you knew."
"If I knew what?"
"If you knew how she could keep this here Blight from wrecking our Christmas party tonight."
"The dog's going to do that?" Quill said, bewildered.
"The dog did it already. Look here." She thrust the pink elastic object at Quill. Beside her Evan Blight yelped. Spike yelped back.
"Godo grief," Quill said. She unfolded it. "It's a minimizer bra."
"So it is." Doreen grinned in satisfaction. "Well, Ms. Blight. What you got to say for yourself?"
There was a long, long moment of silence. Blight tugged at her beard, pulled it slightly away from her chin, and winked at them.
"What do I have to say for myself? It's going to be a very Merry Christmas in Hemlock Falls."
"We'll wait to turn the lights on," said Quill. "Myles might be here soon."
Meg gave her a hug. "He'll be here."
"I hope so. He took Vittorio straight to the FBI office in Syracuse. But you know how these things go. He might not make it at all."
They came early, her friends. Marge and Betty, Miriam, Esther, and all the members of H. O. W. Elmer Henry and Adela, Harland Peterson and his wife, Dookie Shuttleworth and the patient Mrs. Shuttleworth, Kathleen and her brother Davy; it seemed as if the whole village gathered together in the warm and capacious dining room.
They talked, and laughed, and sang carols, and listened to Evan Blight talk about the harmony of love.
Meg brought hot stew from the kitchen. Andy Bishop poured hot cider. One by one the ornaments went on the tree; the flying unicorn that Meg had given her years before, the bubbling lights from Marge and Betty, the beaded angel for the top of the tree from John's grandmother.
The sky grew dark. Snow began to fall, tapping against the windows like the tips of feathered wings.
John's quick ears heard it first, the roar of the Jeep as it came up the drive to the front door of the Inn. He switched the tree lights on, and it glowed in the window, a galaxy of stars, to welcome Myles home.
The End