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Blue skies fill the horizon. Rain would better fit my mood. That is one thing my dad has going for him. He is bound to have some dreary weather when working on his cases.
“When do you think you’ll head back to Santa Barbara?” Ryan asks as he pulls into a parking space.
“This afternoon. Unless we come up with another lead. I mean…unless you see a reason to stay. I’m hoping your IT team comes up with something.”
“You and me both.”
When Ryan exits the car, he releases a high-pitched whistle.
“It looks like a TV set,” I say in agreement. The pristine campus, perfectly manicured lawn and flowerbeds, and wood-carved directional signs all speak to an abundance of money. “This reminds me of UCSB.”
“Definitely well-funded,” Ryan comments under his breath. Three students in plaid skirts and starched white blouses pass by on a distant sidewalk.
“Uniform school.” I catalog the details. Maybe Sophia hated uniforms? But no, I push the random idea out of my mind.
Grasping at straws won’t help. The Sophia I remembered didn’t have an issue with uniforms and wouldn’t have run away because of a mundane issue. She had a good head on her shoulders.
The woman behind the front desk greets us with a pleasant, glossy smile.
“Hello. Welcome to Palisades Day. How can I help you?”
“Principal Esteban is expecting us. We’re here to talk to students about Sophia Sullivan.” The woman’s smile falls. Her palm flattens against her chest, and an eye-catching diamond sparkles on her ring finger.
“That poor girl. Mr. Sullivan must be beside himself. Yes, come right this way. We have a room set up for you. I hope one of these students can help you.”
“We’ll also meet with any faculty who knew her well or might have some information.”
“We discussed it in the staff meeting after school yesterday. No one…I mean, of course our faculty will talk to you. But at least as of yesterday afternoon, no one could think of anything useful to share. She was a happy student. She landed a lead role in the spring production. For her age, it was a big deal. Sophie inMamma Mia.” She leads us into a conference room with an oblong table and six chairs. Before leaving with a promise to call the principal and bring students over, she adds, “I hope you find her soon. She’s a great kid.”
Sophia’s bestie, a girl I’ve heard lots about over the last couple of years, Lauren Hill, is the first student we meet. She’s in the school uniform. Her brown, shoulder-length hair is pulled back in a barrette on one side, and she sports platform Converse shoes. She gets teary when we talk to her. Her body posture is open, and her hands remain away from her mouth and ears during our conversation. Her cheeks flush when I ask about a love interest, but she looks me straight in the eye. If anything, she’s flustered I am asking about a boy. She leans forward when she swears that this is not something Sophia would plan. The pitch of her tone rises. She’s sincere, and she’s frustrated because she believes we’re off course.
Zane Oglethorpe is the fourth student we meet. Like the others, he is in uniform. His white button-down shirt is half untucked, the collar is unbuttoned, and his tie is loosened at the neck. He has a bit of a bad-boy vibe, partially due to the unkempt uniform, and partially due to the brown hair that flops over his forehead. Every minute or so he jerks his head to toss the hair off his forehead, but it falls right back in place.
Zane’s lawyer extends his hand and introduces both of them. He’s a short, friendly looking man in a suit. He’s the first to sit, and it occurs to me someone probably coached him to encourage everyone to sit when possible to level the perceived playing field.
“We’re sorry to hear about Miss Sullivan. My client is willing to answer any questions you may have.”
The lawyer positions himself beside Zane and looks him in the eye. There’s a silent communication passed between the two, and I get the distinct impression he is not authorized to answer any question. I exchange a glance with Ryan, and he nods for me to proceed.
“We’re really gathering her friends to ask if you might have any idea where she might—”
“No. None.” Zane blurts his answer. His hands remain by his side.
“Have you seen her talking—”
“No.”
“Are you good friends with her?” I didn’t ask the others that, but he’s the first student to interrupt me, and the attitude puzzles me.
He shrugs. His gaze travels upward to the ceiling. “We’re friends.”
“Are you in any of her group chats?” We obviously know the answer, but now I want to know how honest he will be.
“Yes.”
“Do you ever talk to her privately? Or do you only text?”
“Why?” His lawyer’s hand brushes his wrist, and Zane exhales. “We mostly text. Sometimes we meet up on the beach.”
