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.”