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?
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.”
Jenna ended the call without leaving a message. It hadn’t served any purpose after all. She hesitated only briefly before calling Jake.
He answered quickly, “Hey. Everything okay?”
“I’m not sure,” Jenna said, her voice tight with tension. “I just left Frank’s, and he told me something... concerning.”
“About the Powell case?”
“Maybe.” Jenna adjusted her grip on the steering wheel. “Frank saw Liza at the Twilight Inn this morning, Jake. It seems that she was not in Gildner working on her sculpture like she led me to believe.”
A pause on the line. “Are you sure?”
“Frank was certain. Said he even waved, but she avoided him.” Jenna accelerated past a slow-moving sedan. “When I called her this afternoon about the mannequin, she acted like she was in her studio in Gildner. She said it would take her forty-five minutes to get to the Powell house.”
“But she was already in Trentville,” Jake finished, his voice thoughtful.
“Exactly. And remember how evasive she was about her falling-out with Marjory? She didn’t want to talk about it, said it was personal.”
“I noticed that,” Jake agreed. “Seemed off, even at the time.”
“And then there’s her expertise. Jake, she knew exactly how that mannequin was made. The materials, the techniques—she laid it all out like she was reading from a manual.”
“To be fair, she is a sculptor. That’s why you called her in the first place.”
“I know, but...” Jenna sighed, watching the yellow lines flash past. “It’s the combination of things. She was in Trentville at the time Marjory disappeared this afternoon. She had some kind of personal conflict with Marjory. And she has the skills to create something like that mannequin.”
The line went quiet for several seconds. Jenna could almost hear Jake thinking.
“Have you considered,” he finally said, his tone careful, “that this might be some kind of prank?”
“A prank?”
“You’ve mentioned before that Liza was the school prankster.
Famous for elaborate setups, right? What if this is just that—an elaborate prank?
Maybe she and Marjory cooked this up together.
Replace Marjory with a mannequin while she hides out somewhere, get everyone worked up, then reveal the joke later. ”
Jenna considered this as she passed the county line sign. “That would be a hell of a cruel prank, Jake. Harry Powell is devastated. The department has spent hours on this.”
“Some people’s idea of humor gets warped over time,” Jake said. “Or maybe it started as something smaller and got out of hand.”
“I don’t know,” Jenna murmured, though a part of her wanted to believe it. A prank, however tasteless, would be far better than the alternatives her mind had been conjuring. “It’s hard to imagine Liza being that callous. The girl I knew wouldn’t have taken a joke this far.”
“But how well do you know her now?” Jake asked gently. “You said yourself you haven’t had much contact with her lately. People change, Jenna.”
His question hit a nerve. The wild-haired girl who’d orchestrated school pranks had grown into a woman Jenna saw only a few times a year, usually at community events where they exchanged pleasantries and promises to catch up properly someday.
“I guess I’ll find out soon enough,” Jenna said. “I’m headed to her place in Gildner now.”
“Want me to come?” Jake’s concern was evident.
“No, stay in Trentville. I can handle Liza.” She paused. “But maybe keep your phone handy.”
“Always do when you’re involved,” Jake replied, the affection in his voice unmistakable. “Be careful, okay?”
“I will. Thanks, Jake.”
Jenna ended the call and turned her full attention back to the road.
The possibility that this was all an elaborate prank kept circling in her mind.
It seemed both absurd and somehow plausible.
Liza had always loved pushing boundaries, seeing how far she could take a joke before it broke.
But this—involving law enforcement, causing genuine distress—felt like a line the Liza she knew wouldn’t cross.
Unless Jake was right, and the Liza she knew no longer existed.
The remaining drive passed in uneasy contemplation.
The farms and countryside gave way to the outskirts of Gildner.
Unlike Trentville, with its historical downtown and sense of permanence, Gildner had the transient feel of a place people passed through rather than settled in.
Perfect for an artist seeking affordable space.
Jenna checked her phone for Liza’s address again, then turned onto a narrow road that wound away from the main street.
The houses here were set far apart, many with detached workshops in their yards.
She slowed as she approached the number she was looking for: a modest clapboard house with a separate structure behind it that she thought must be Liza’s studio.
As she pulled into the gravel driveway, Jenna realized she’d never actually visited Liza since she moved to Gildner five years ago.
Their friendship had been maintained through occasional texts, rare phone calls, and those brief encounters at Trentville events.
The recognition left her feeling oddly hollow.
Jenna parked beside Liza's silver Prius—the same one Frank had described seeing at the Twilight Inn, and that Jenna herself had seen at the Powells' house—and approached the front door.
Light spilled from the house windows, and she could see that lights were on in the outbuilding, too.
She took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.
Moments later, the door swung open. Liza stood in the threshold, dressed in splattered overalls with her dark hair piled messily atop her head. Streaks of what looked like clay dust smudged her forearms, and a fleck of dried plaster clung to her cheek. Her eyes widened with surprise.
“Jenna?” The single word held layers of questions.
“Hi, Liza,” Jenna replied, maintaining the neutral expression she’d perfected over years of interrogations. “Mind if I come in?”
Liza stepped aside, confusion evident. “Of course, but... I’ve been working in my studio, obviously. I could have missed you if I hadn’t just come back into the house. But what brings you all the way out here? Is there something new about the case?”
Jenna entered the house, taking in the eclectic space that perfectly reflected its owner. Art covered every wall—paintings, prints, textile pieces, a collage of creativity. The furniture was mismatched but deliberately so, each piece apparently chosen for character rather than cohesion.
Liza’s own sculptures claimed any available floor space between furniture.
A metal deer with elongated limbs stood frozen mid-leap beside the coffee table.
Bronze human torsos emerged from the floor near a chair like shipwreck survivors from dark water.
A pack of small wolves with exaggerated teeth prowled past a window.
Jenna found Liza’s work both beautiful and somewhat disturbing.
“The case?” she turned back to answer Liza’s question. “Maybe. I’m confused about why you were seen in the Twilight Inn parking lot this morning.”
“Whoever said that must be mistaken,” Liza replied, her tone carefully light. “I was here all morning, working on my commission.”
“It was Frank Doyle, Liza, and Frank doesn’t make those kinds of mistakes. He recognized you. Said you ducked your head when he waved, like you were trying to avoid him.”
Liza crossed her arms over her chest, a defensive posture Jenna had seen countless times in the interview room. “I don’t know what to tell you. It wasn’t me.”
“He saw your Prius too,” Jenna added quietly. “With all the bumper stickers.”
“There must be other silver Priuses with bumper stickers in Missouri,” Liza countered, but the argument sounded weak, even to Jenna’s somewhat sympathetic ears.
“Why does it even matter where I was this morning?” Liza suddenly asked, with a note of defiance. “What does that have to do with Marjory’s disappearance?”
“It matters because you didn’t tell me you were in Trentville today when I called you about the mannequin,” Jenna said, holding Liza’s gaze. “You led me to believe you were driving over from Gildner, not that you were already in town.”
"I did drive from Gildner," Liza insisted. "You saw me when I arrived at the Powells', Jenna. I was covered in clay dust and plaster, exactly like I am now." She gestured to her work-stained clothes. "Obviously, I came straight from my studio."
“Then explain how Frank saw you at the Twilight Inn this morning.”
The two women stared at each other across Liza’s living room, the years of friendship suddenly feeling fragile between them. Jenna watched as Liza’s shoulders slumped slightly, resignation crossing her features.
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” Liza asked.
“You know I can’t.”
Liza sighed, then moved to a worn leather armchair and sank into it. “Fine. I was at the Twilight Inn this morning.” She met Jenna’s eyes. “I’ve been having an affair with Chester Callen. We meet there sometimes.”
The admission hit Jenna like a physical blow. “Chester? And you?” She shook her head in disbelief. “But he and Norma—”
“Have been married since high school, I know.” Liza’s voice held no apology, just weary acknowledgment. “They’re Trentville’s perfect couple, right? High school sweethearts living their fairy tale.”
“Then why—”
“Because appearances can be deceiving, Jenna.” Liza’s eyes hardened slightly.
“You of all people should know that, given what you do for a living. How many seemingly perfect homes have you been called to for domestic disputes? How many upstanding citizens have you arrested for things their neighbors would never believe?”
Jenna couldn’t argue with that. Her years in law enforcement had taught her that the face people showed the world often masked ugly truths.
“So you were meeting Chester at the Twilight Inn,” Jenna said, returning to the facts. “Then what?”
“Then I drove back to Gildner to work in my studio. When you called about the mannequin, I drove back to Trentville again.” Liza’s explanation was matter-of-fact. “That’s why I looked like this when I arrived at the Powells’. I really had been working with clay.”
It was plausible. But something still nagged at Jenna.
“Tell me about your falling-out with Marjory,” she said.
Liza's jaw tightened. "Like I told you, I ran into her at the farmer's market a couple of months ago. She cornered me by the tomato stand and said she suspected I was having an affair with Chester." A bitter smile twisted her lips. "She's friends with Norma, you know. Has been for years."
“What did you say?”
“I denied it, of course. Then told her it was none of her business either way.” Liza picked at a spot of clay on her overalls.
“We exchanged some heated words. She threatened to tell Norma her suspicions. I told her to stay out of it. As far as I know, she’s kept her mouth shut. We haven’t spoken since.”
Jenna absorbed this, trying to fit it into the puzzle of Marjory’s disappearance and the mannequin left in her place. The pieces still didn’t quite align.
“So you were in Trentville this morning, with Chester,” Jenna clarified. “Then you drove back to Gildner. Then I called you about the mannequin, and you drove back to Trentville.”
“That’s right.”
“And during all that, you had nothing to do with Marjory’s disappearance?”
Liza’s eyes flashed with hurt. “Is that what you think? That I had something to do with this? God, Jenna, we’ve known each other since we were kids. You know me.”
“I thought I did,” Jenna replied quietly. “But you just admitted to having an affair with a married man and lying to me about where you were today. So maybe I don’t know you as well as I thought.”
Liza stared at her for a long moment, then stood abruptly.
“You want to search my house? My studio?” She gestured widely. “Go ahead. Look wherever you want. No warrant necessary.”
“Liza—”
“No, I mean it. If you think I had something to do with Marjory disappearing or that... that thing in her kitchen, then by all means, search away.”
Jenna heard the hurt beneath the anger, saw the betrayal in Liza’s eyes. But she couldn’t back down, not when a woman was missing and every lead needed to be followed.
“I’d like to see your studio,” she said, softening her tone slightly.
Liza nodded stiffly. “This way.”
She led Jenna through the house to a back door that opened onto a stone path. The separate building behind the house was larger than Jenna had expected—a converted double garage with high ceilings and large windows. Liza flicked on an exterior light, illuminating their way down the path.
At the studio door, Liza paused, her hand on the knob. She turned to Jenna, her expression unreadable in the shadows.
“Just so you know,” she said, her voice taking on a wry, almost challenging tone, “you might not be reassured by what you see in here.”