Alex
A floor-to-ceiling window with a wide-open view of ocean and crisp cerulean sky stops me in the doorway. Thick dark drapes frame the window and butt up against the corners, seamlessly blending into the wall. A thick platinum duvet and matching bespoke custom velvet pillows befitting royalty perch atop an ornate, painted, silver queen-size bed. A gorgeous crystal lamp sits atop a mirrored side table with a small bouquet of pale pink peonies. Thick white carpet covers the floor. The walls shimmer in barely there silver wallpaper. The view of ocean as far as the eye can see is breathtaking. The furniture belongs in a high-end design magazine. The effect stuns. But for a teen?
This must be the guest room.
I step down the hall to the next ten-foot open door. Like the other bedroom, thick drapes border an expansive window with an equally stunning view. Only this room doesn’t have a floor-length mirror. Instead of modern, the bed frame with its detailed swirls and curved wood and off-white speckled paint treatment strikes me as French country, similar to the kitchen. Remembering what Wayne said about the rooms they didn’t live in being the prior owners’ designs, I return to the first room.
Neither of these rooms, gorgeous as they are, feels lived in. Both could function as five-star hotel rooms. The one wall of the Pacific Ocean definitely draws the eye. But there’s nothing personal. How would a teenager live in a place like this? Had Sophia been miserable? Should I have been more involved after Cassandra’s death? Had it been wrong to take Jack at his word and believe he’d step up?
To my right, there is a closed ten-foot painted white door with a crystal knob. I assume it leads to the bathroom. I slip on rubber gloves and turn the knob. In a room so clean, with vacuum marks lining the plush carpet, the gloves may not be necessary. But I don’t know what I’m walking into, and my dad drilled into me at a young age the prudence of gloves when entering a potential crime scene.
The door opens into a narrow room. A built-in desk and shelves occupy one wall from floor to ceiling. Above the desk hangs a bulletin board.
Signs of life.
A UCLA banner pinned from left to right covers the top left quadrant. Photos of Sophia and friends line the bottom and right side. Sophia’s blonde curls shine in the photos, as do posed, wide smiles. Based on the eyeliner and lipstick, all the photos are recent with the exception of a line of black-and-white photos from a photobooth. She’s noticeably younger in the photo, and she’s with one friend making goofy, funny faces. My finger traces the curled edge of photo strip. It’s clean, no dust.
A push pin holds two concert tickets to Taylor Swift on the far-right corner. In the center of the desk, a closed silver laptop is charging, and on top of it, neatly placed squarely in the middle of the laptop, rests the latest model iPhone. The phone is not plugged in, and I do not see a charger nearby.
Farther down, a pocket door reveals a stunning walk-in closet. The closet is about the size of my bedroom, and all the clothes hang so beautifully it might be mistaken for a boutique.
Talk about posh.
Each padded hanger is wrapped in silk, and a floor-to-ceiling section holds her shoes neatly displayed on slanted shelves. Beside those shoes are additional shelves with glass fronts. The bottom row holds boots. A small fresh flower arrangement with light pink roses is centered above a marble-topped island. A grand crystal chandelier hangs over the island with sparkling elegance.
Another pocket door leads to the luxurious bathroom I expected to find off the bedroom. The bathroom boasts all white marble with bold streaks, champagne gold hardware, and another elegant crystal chandelier over a gorgeous freestanding soaking tub. A square window offers a view of perfectly manicured bougainvillea vines carefully grown and sculpted to provide privacy. On the bathroom counter, a silver soft-haired paddle brush and a tortoiseshell comb are artistically laid out, along with a silver tray holding a perfume bottle with the words Janie Had A Gun. I lift it and smell. Sweet, fragrant, and subtle. Perfect for a teenager.
Sophia may not have been happy, but she lived a more luxurious life than ninety-nine percent of Americans, or people worldwide, for that matter. Her bedroom, bathroom, and closet are all a dream. A stunning, breathtaking, enviable dream.
Heavy footfalls sound outside the door. I glance around and realize I am trapped in this back room. I am probably as safe as I can possibly be, but I trust my training and rush out into the bedroom.
Ryan Wolfgang fills the doorway, not looking quite so enormous beneath the ten-foot door frame and twelve-foot ceilings. Judging from his expression as he scans Sophia’s room, his impression is similar to mine. The room is unspeakably gorgeous.
“Anything?” he asks.
“It’s…” I search for the most efficient description. “Pristine. There’s no sign of a struggle. Nothing is out of place. I found her computer.” I tilt my head, gesturing for him to follow me. “And her phone. It wasn’t charging.”
“He already mentioned he tracks her with her phone. Leaving it uncharged could have been planned.”
“Did you find anything?”
“The grounds are as immaculate as the house. He has a security system, and there should be video.”
Ryan reaches for Sophia’s phone, and I touch his wrist to stop him. Static electricity shocks us.
“Ow. Sorry,” I mutter, shaking my hand to ease the zap. He scowls. “Let me get photos first. Then you can touch.”
This might not be a crime scene, but it might be helpful later on to reference exactly how we found everything.
“Although I bet the cleaning service has already been through here. There are vacuum lines on the carpet in her bedroom. If that’s the case, this might not be where her phone was when she left it.”Bloody hell.“We’ll have to interview the cleaning service. See if they remember anything suspicious. Those concert tickets. It’s only a couple of weeks away. If she ran away, don’t you think she’d take her tickets?”
“If she’s hiding from her dad? No. He has those seat numbers on his receipt.”
“Why would you run away from all this?” My gaze falls on the open view into her luxurious closet and the sparkling crystal chandelier.
Of course, the suite is the stuff of dreams, but it doesn’t feel authentic. It’s possible that on her phone, or in her laptop, we will discover Sophia’s personality and all the different things she loved. Maybe her desktop is a complete disaster, with fifty browser tabs open, a gazillion images, and everything in disarray.
Ryan’s jaw flexes. He scans the area, floor to ceiling. Silent. Imposing. Unreadable.