Page 22 of In Her Wake
“Rules are important,” Frank agreed.“But so is happiness, Jenna.Don’t let fear keep you from that, too.”
She nodded, grateful for his understanding.Then she told him about the case—Marjory Powell’s disappearance—and showed him the photos of the mannequin left in her place, dressed in the same clothes the missing woman had worn to work that day.
“Sounds weird,” Frank said.“Do you have any suspects?”
“Rebecca Ashcroft, maybe,” Jenna said.“We won’t be able to talk to her until tomorrow.”
Frank clucked his tongue.“Rebecca Ashcroft.I wouldn’t put anything past her.But what’s this you say about a mannequin?”
“I’ve never seen anything like it, Frank,” she concluded.“The level of detail, the planning involved.It’s disturbing.”
“That mannequin really is something special,” he agreed.“It must have been custom made.”
“That’s what Liza said when she looked at it,” Jenna confirmed.“She’s certain it was museum-quality craftsmanship.Not something you could just pick up at a department store.”
Frank’s eyebrows rose slightly.“Liza Sewell?Your old friend from high school?”
"Yes, I called her to consult since she's an artist, a sculptor.She has expertise in materials, techniques."Jenna took another sip of tea."Why do you ask?"
“It’s just that I saw her earlier today,” Frank said casually.“This morning, in fact.I was coming out of Hank’s Derby after having breakfast there, and she was getting into her car in the parking lot at the Twilight Inn.”
Jenna felt a jolt of surprise.“Liza was at the Twilight Inn?Today?”
Frank nodded.“I was surprised myself.She doesn’t come around Trentville much these days.I called out to her, waved, but she ducked her head.I thought maybe she was trying to avoid me.”
Jenna considered the earlier phone conversation.When she’d called Liza for help with the mannequin, Liza had told her she was working on a sculpture in her studio, that she could be at the crime scene in forty-five minutes.She had sounded as if she were in Gildner at the time.
But if she had been in Trentville all along, why hadn’t she just said so?
“Are you sure it was her?”Jenna asked, though she already knew the answer.
“Positive,” Frank confirmed.“I’d know that wild hair anywhere.And that beat-up Prius of hers with all the bumper stickers.”
Jenna’s mind raced through possibilities.Why would Liza lie about where she was?
And then she remembered what Liza had said about Marjory: “We used to be closer, until we had a falling out recently.”
Jenna stood abruptly.“I need to go, Frank.I need to pay Liza a visit.”
Frank rose as well, concern evident in his eyes.“Be careful, Jenna.Whatever’s going on—”
“I will,” she promised, squeezing his arm.“Thank you for the tea.And the talk.”
Minutes later, Jenna was back in her cruiser, headed toward the highway that would take her to Gildner.As the lights of Trentville receded in her rearview mirror, questions about her prankster friend multiplied in her mind.Why had Liza lied about being in town?What was she doing at the Twilight Inn?And what did any of it have to do with Marjory Powell’s disappearance or with the mannequin left in the Powells’ kitchen?
CHAPTER EIGHT
The highway stretched before Jenna, empty except for the occasional truck lumbering past in the opposite direction.Darkness had settled fully now, turning the Ozark countryside into a landscape of indistinct shapes.Her headlights carved a narrow path forward, the white lines of the road appearing and disappearing in hypnotic rhythm.
Frank’s revelation about Liza being at the Twilight Inn that morning had shaken Jenna more than she cared to admit.She’d known Liza Sewell since they were children, trusted her implicitly—but now doubt crept in.Why lie about being in Trentville?What was she hiding?
The dashboard clock showed 8:47 p.m.Gildner was still twenty minutes away.Should she reach out before she arrived?It would give Liza some warning, perhaps even gauge her reaction over the phone, or at least confirm that Liza would be at home.
She tapped the screen mounted on her dashboard, thumbed through her contacts, and pressed Liza’s name.The car’s Bluetooth system buzzed to life, and a moment later, the call rang through the speakers.
One ring.Two.Three.
“Hey, this is Liza.I’m probably covered in clay or plaster right now and can’t get to my phone.Leave a message and I’ll call you back once I’ve washed my hands.”
