Page 8 of In Her Wake
“What’s your take?”Jake asked, stepping closer to her.
“It’s unlike anything I’ve seen,” Jenna admitted, her voice low.“Either this is some elaborate prank gone wrong, or...”She didn’t finish the thought.They both knew what the alternative might be.
“Mannequins like this can’t be cheap or common,” Jake said.“The face alone would take skill and time to create.”
“And access to Marjory.Detailed photos at minimum.”Jenna circled the table again, studying the figure’s posture, the natural way its hands cupped the mug.“This isn’t random.It’s personal.Intimate, even.”
“Mike’s running the license plate from the security cam footage across the street.Marjory’s car left the driveway at 11:43 this morning.We’re trying to track its movements.”
Jenna nodded, but her focus remained on the mannequin.There was something deeply unsettling about its presence, beyond the obvious wrongness of finding it here.It wasn’t just a representation; it was a replacement.A perfect, silent substitute for a living, breathing woman.
“We need to canvass the neighborhood,” she said finally.“Find out if anyone saw or heard anything unusual today.Check traffic cameras, ATM withdrawals, credit card use.The usual missing persons protocol, plus...”She gestured at the mannequin.“Whatever this is.”
Jake nodded.“I’ll coordinate with Maria when she gets back from dropping off Harry.Mike’s almost done with the photos.Officer Baldry is on his way over here now.”
“Good.”Jenna moved closer to the mannequin, leaning in to study its face once more.The craftsmanship was exquisite, down to the fine lines at the corners of the eyes, the subtle curve of the lips.Someone had spent considerable time and resources creating this facsimile of Marjory Powell.But why?And what had they done with the real Marjory?
The house fell quiet save for the soft click of Mike's camera.Through the kitchen window, Jenna could see the sun beginning its descent, casting long shadows across the Powells' backyard.A couple of hours had passed since Marjory missed her appointment.Hours in which anything could have happened to her.
Jenna stared at the mannequin, its vacant eyes reflecting nothing back.In twenty years of law enforcement, she’d never encountered a scene like this.There was no protocol, no precedent to follow.The mannequin sat in silent mockery of their confusion, holding secrets it couldn’t tell.
What was she supposed to do with this?Where did she even begin?
The mannequin stared back, impassive and eternal, offering no answers.
CHAPTER THREE
Jenna had encountered a lot of strange scenes in her years of law enforcement, but there was no chapter in the Sheriff's handbook for this kind of violation.Crime scenes had protocols—familiar, if grim, routines that guided her actions.Murder called for careful forensics.Robbery demanded fingerprints, interviews, careful cataloging of what was missing.But this?A life-sized doll wearing a missing woman's clothes, seated in her kitchen as if waiting for time itself to resume?
“Who would even make something like this?”she muttered.
“Sheriff, can I show you something outside?”Mike Donovan asked.
She followed Mike through the laundry room and out the back door to the yard.A high fence enclosed them, the wooden planks weathered but sturdy.
“Looks like the easiest way in,” Mike said, pointing to an open gate that led to the alley.“I’m guessing he brought it in from here, so nobody would see.”
“But how’d he get in the house?”Jenna wondered, scanning the back door for damage.It was intact, the paint not chipped, the lock not scratched.
“Doesn’t look like forced entry,” Mike said.“Maybe he had a key?”
Jenna frowned, a ripple of unease running through her.A key meant a plan—someone who knew too much.
She went back inside to the kitchen to look again at the mannequin.She circled the table once more, careful not to disturb anything.Under normal crime-scene circumstances, she’d have called Dr.Melissa Stark immediately—the county coroner’s analytical mind had proven invaluable on numerous cases.But this wasn’t a body.It wasn’t biological evidence.It was...art.Perverse, disturbing art, but art nonetheless.
Art.The thought sparked a connection in Jenna’s mind.
“I need to make a call,” she said, pulling her phone from her pocket.She scrolled through her contacts until she found the name she was looking for: Liza Sewell.
She and Liza had been friends since high school, before Piper disappeared, before life had carved its permanent furrows into both their lives.Liza had moved to nearby Gildner years ago to pursue her art, primarily sculpture.If anyone could make sense of how this mannequin had been created, it would be Liza.
Jenna stepped into the hall and pressed the call button.Three rings later, a familiar voice answered.“Jenna Graves, as I live and breathe.It’s been what, four months?”
Despite the circumstances, Jenna felt a small smile form.“Something like that.How are you, Liza?”
“Covered in clay and wondering why the hell I thought a life-sized commission was a good idea.Even making the model to cast from is daunting.But I’m not really complaining; it’s a good project.What’s up?You never call during work hours unless—” Liza’s voice shifted, concern edging in.“Is everything okay?”
“I’m not sure,” Jenna admitted, her eyes drifting back toward the kitchen doorway.“I need your help on a case.”
