Wisconsin Wedding. Carla Neggers
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one set of Wisconsin place mats. Inger Hansen, one of the quilting ladies, had bought Wisconsin place mats for every wedding she’d attended since they first came on the market in 1972. Nora had been in high school then, working at Gates part-time.
They got down to business. “Now,” Nora explained to her reluctant customer, “here’s how the bridal register works. You list your china, silverware and glassware patterns, any small appliances you want, sheets, towels, table linens. There are any number of variables, depending on what you and Cliff want.”
Liza wrinkled up her pretty face. She was, Nora saw, a terribly attractive woman. She herself was of average height and build, with a tendency to cuteness that she did her best to disguise with sophisticated—but not too chic—business clothes and makeup. She didn’t own a single article of clothing in pink, no flowered or heart-shaped anything, no polka dots, no T-shirts with pithy sayings, damned little lace. No serapes, no bright orange tops, no skinny black leggings. She preferred cool, subdued colors to offset her pale gray eyes and ash-blond hair, which she kept in a classic bob. Liza Baron, on the other hand, would look wild in anything. Cast them each in a commercial, and Judson Ingalls’s rebellious granddaughter would sell beer, Ellie Gates’s grandniece life insurance.
“Nora, Cliff doesn’t want anything. He’d be happy living in a damned cave.”
But, as Nora had anticipated, in the quiet and privacy of the third floor office, with its window overlooking the Tyler town square, Liza Baron warmed to her task. She briskly dismissed anything too cute or too simple and resisted the most expensive patterns Gates carried. She finally settled on an elegant and dramatic china pattern from England, American silver-plate flatware, a couple of small appliances, white linens all around, Brazilian knives and a special request to please discourage can openers. The stemware gave her the worst fits. Finally she admitted it was Waterford or nothing.
“Go for it,” Nora said, amused. She tried to picture Cliff Forrester drinking from a Waterford goblet and found—strangely—that she could. Had someone said he was from a prominent East Coast family? Like most people in Tyler, Nora knew next to nothing about the mysterious, quiet man who lived at run-down Timberlake Lodge.
Liza slumped back in the delicate caned chair. “Is it too late to elope?”
“People would still buy you gifts.”
Their work done, a silence fell between the two women. Despite her busy schedule, Nora was in no hurry to rush Liza out. The young woman had gone through a lot in the past weeks, and if the rumors circulating in the shops, restaurants and streets of Tyler were even remotely on target, she had more to endure. Falling in love with an outsider had certainly been enough to stimulate gossip, even undermine Liza’s beliefs about what she wanted out of her life. In Nora’s view, that right there was enough reason to steer clear of men: romance caused change.
It was as if Liza had read her mind. “You’ve never been married, have you, Nora?”
“No, I haven’t. I like my life just the way it is.”
Liza smiled. “Good for you. Have you ever been tempted?”
Nora’s hesitation, she was sure, was noticeable only to herself. “Nope.”
“Well, I certainly don’t believe a woman has to be married to be happy or complete.”
“But you’re happy with Cliff.”
“Yes.” Her smile broadened. “Yes, I am.”
Indeed, falling so completely in love with Cliff Forrester had already had an unmistakable effect on one of Tyler’s most rebellious citizens. Liza Baron, however, seemed much more willing to embrace change than Nora was. She seemed more at peace with herself than she had when she’d first blown back into town, if a little rattled at the prospect of a big Tyler wedding.
Nora shrugged. “Romance doesn’t have a positive effect on me, I’m afraid. It makes me crazy and silly…I lose control.”
Liza’s eyes widened in surprise, as if she’d never imagined Nora Gates having had anything approaching a romance, and she grinned. “Isn’t that the whole idea?”
“I suppose for some, but I—” Nora stopped herself in the nick of time. What was she saying? “Well, I’m speaking theoretically, of course. I’ve never…I’m not one for romantic notions.” A fast change of subject was in order. “How’re the renovations at the lodge coming?”
“Fabulously well. Better than I expected, really, given all that’s gone on. You should come out and take a look.”
“I’d love to,” Nora said, meaning it. As if marriage and her return to Tyler weren’t stressful enough, Liza had also come up with the idea of renovating Timberlake Lodge, a monumental project Nora personally found exciting. Unfortunately, the work had led to the discovery of a human skeleton on the premises. Not the sort of thing one wanted percolating on the back burner while planning one’s wedding.
“Anytime. And thank you, Nora.”
“Oh, you don’t need to thank me—”
Liza shook her head. “No, I’ve been acting like a big baby and you’ve been so nice about it. The store looks great, by the way. Your aunt would be proud, I’m sure. You’ve added your own touches, but retained the flavor and spirit everyone always remembers about Gates. When I think I’m living in the boondocks, I just walk past your windows and realize there is indeed taste and culture here in Tyler.” She hesitated a moment, something uncharacteristic of Judson Ingalls’s youngest grandchild. “Ellie Gates was quite a character. She’s still missed around here.”
“She is,” Nora agreed simply.
“Well, I should be off.” Liza rose with a sudden burst of energy. “I guess I’ll go through with this big fancy wedding. If nothing else, Tyler could use a good party right now.”
Now Liza Baron was sounding like herself. Nora swept to her feet. “You’re probably right about that. I suppose you haven’t heard anything more from the police?”
Liza shook her head. “Not a word.”
Without saying so outright, they both knew they were talking about what Nora had begun to refer to as the Body at the Lake. The Tyler Citizen reported every new and not-so-new development in the case, but the rumors were far more speculative. Given her ownership of Tyler’s only department store, her membership on the town council and her circumspect nature, Nora was privy to considerable amounts of local gossip, which she never repeated. Certainly anyone could have been buried at the long-abandoned lodge. Someone from out of town or out of state could have driven up, plucked a body out of the trunk, dug a hole and dropped it in. But townspeople’s imaginations were fired by the idea that the body was that of Tyler’s most famous—actually, it’s only—missing person, Margaret Alyssa Lindstrom Ingalls. People said Liza was a lot like her flamboyant grandmother. Bad enough, Nora thought, that Liza had to cope with having a dead body dug up in her yard. Worse that it could be that of her long-lost grandmother.
“I’ll continue to hope for the best,” Nora said diplomatically.
Liza’s smile this time was feeble. “Thank you.”
But before she left, she spun around one more time, serape flying. “Oh, I almost forgot. Cliff specifically wanted me to ask if you were coming to the wedding. You are, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes, I’d love to, but I’ve never even met Cliff—”
“Oh, he’s seen you around town and admires your devotion to Tyler and…how did he put it? Your balance, I think he said. He says if he has to endure a huge wedding, he should at least have a few people around who won’t make him feel uncomfortable.” Liza’s eyes misted, her expression softening. She looked like a woman in love. “God knows he’s trying. He’s still uneasy around people—I guess you could call this wedding a trial by fire. Not only will half of Tyler be there, but there’s a chance his family’ll come, too.”
“I