Page 15 of In Her Wake
“The Great Pirate Invasion of 2003,” Jenna replied.
“Ah, one of my finest moments.”Liza’s eyes crinkled at the corners.
Jake raised an eyebrow.“Do I want to know?”
“Probably not,” both women answered in unison, then exchanged quick smiles.
Liza’s expression sobered.“Before we go in, how’s Harry doing?I can’t imagine what he’s going through right now.”
“He’s staying with his brother Hosmer,” Jenna answered.“We thought it would be best while we process the scene.He was...shaken.”The word felt inadequate.Harry Powell’s face had been a study in contained horror—a man whose understanding of his life had been fundamentally violated.
“Good call,” Liza nodded.
Jenna motioned toward the house.“Speaking of which—are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
They walked up the neat concrete path to the front door to the ordinary suburban home—nothing in its appearance suggesting the strangeness that waited inside.A worn welcome mat, potted geraniums flanking the steps, curtains drawn against curious eyes.
Inside, Officer Mike Donovan looked up from where he’d been examining something on the living room floor.His kind eyes, typically crinkled at the corners, were serious now.
“Any developments?”Jenna asked.
“Nothing significant, Sheriff.We’ve documented everything and collected what little trace evidence we could find.We’ve taken prints from the kitchen doorknobs and table, but there seem to be just two sets.Probably the Powell’s.We’re also checking prints from entry doors just in case.”
“Where are Baldry and Delgado?”
“Still canvassing.They called in about ten minutes ago, said they’re working their way back.”
Jenna nodded toward Liza.“This is Liza Sewell.She’s going to help us understand what we’re looking at.”
Mike acknowledged Liza with a nod.
“This way,” Jenna said, leading Liza toward the kitchen.Jake followed a step behind.
When they pushed through the swinging door, Liza stopped abruptly in the threshold.Her sharp intake of breath was the only sound in the room.
The mannequin sat exactly as before—hands around the coffee mug, vacant hazel eyes fixed on the center of the table.In the dimming evening light that filtered through the window, the figure seemed even more unsettling, accentuating the uncanny valley between imitation and life.
“Holy shit,” Liza whispered.She took a tentative step forward, then another, circling the table as Jenna had done earlier.“That’s...that’s exactly what Marjory looked like when I last saw her.Right down to that little asymmetry in her smile.”
“When did you last see her?”Jake asked.
“About two months ago.At the farmer’s market.”Liza continued to study the mannequin, her artist’s eyes missing nothing.“Can I touch it?”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Jenna said.“But tell me what you can see.What are we looking at, Liza?How was this made?”
Liza leaned closer, careful not to make contact.“This is museum-quality work,” she said after a moment.“Not retail display mannequin material.See how the skin seems to have pores?The subtle variations in tone?”She pointed to the mannequin’s face.“This was made from a detailed mold.Probably using alginate or silicone for the initial impression, then cast in a high-grade plastic resin.”
“Would whoever made this have needed Marjory to sit for it?”Jake repeated.
“Not necessarily.”Liza straightened up.“You can create a reasonable facsimile from photographs, especially if you have them from multiple angles.”She shook her head.“But for something like this, someone must have worked from lots of photos.The texture of the skin, the subtle coloration around the eyes, the precise way the lips curve—those touches are really remarkable.”
Liza stepped back from the table.“The body is less detailed than the face.That’s typical—the face is where we recognize individuality.The hands look like standard mannequin parts, though positioned with care.”She studied the figure’s posture.“The whole setup reminds me of museum exhibits.Historical figures positioned in recreated scenes of daily life.”
“Museum exhibits,” Jenna repeated, a connection forming.“Could you tell who manufactured it?”
“I’d bet it’s Amberson Museum Figures,” Liza said without hesitation.“They were the gold standard for museum-quality mannequins with fully articulated joints.”
