Look beyond the obvious.

These kids could lead us down a very different path. This day and age, dangers can look seemingly benign in emails or chat groups.

“If we don’t learn anything at the school, what do you see as our next steps?” This fear gnaws at me. I fear an absence of next steps.

“We accessed street-cam footage. Our team will review the footage today. No matter how she left the house, at some point she had to come onto the streets.”

“Unless she went paddleboarding.”

“I’m focusing on the angles we can do something about. On the off chance she’s somewhere around the beach, I’ve got a couple of men searching the area. Yes, volunteers already did it, but I hired some folks who specialize in tracking.”

“You don’t sound optimistic.” Or maybe he does. His voice projection is business normal. Maybe I am projecting.

“No?” His angular jaw flexes while his eyes remain focused on the road.

I shake my head.

“Are you optimistic?” he asks.

I let out my frustration in a sigh. “No. I was really hoping for a crime scene. A struggle. Or fingerprints.”

“Did you find any prints at all?”

I dusted for prints yesterday afternoon while he was out and about.

“A few of her prints. The cleaning service is thorough. I mean, think about it. There weren’t even footprints on her carpet.”

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.”