“Maybe not, but think of what’s not being said.” Caitlin checked her phone. Five past eleven. “No hot dog cart tonight.”

“Not enough traffic on a Tuesday. What’s not being said, Caitlin?”

Caitlin thought about Lakshmi and Angela’s last text exchange.

F’d up. Going to Sports. Gonna eat some SAUSAGE first.

“It’s your body,” she said aloud.

Lakshmi looked at her like she’d spoken in tongues. “Sorry?”

“The night Angela disappeared—”

“Of course, our texts. Angela’s end of that happened somewhere on this block. The cart was across the street under that light.”

“Were you fighting? It seemed like Angela was teasing you.”

Lakshmi bit a nail. “We were teasing each other. It was girl’s night and she chose to go out with them.”

“Dave Amireau and Kieran Michelson?”

“Yes. Apparently she’d made the plans earlier but didn’t tell me until they showed up. I didn’t want to hang out with a bunch of frat boys and was hurt that she did.”

A sensible answer, almost practiced.

“Angela typed the word sausage in all caps,” Caitlin said.

“I know. The detectives made a big deal about that too. Can you imagine having people analyzing your text messages, even the emojis or typos?”

“Words are my thing,” Caitlin said. “I divine a great deal from their usage.”

“So do I, but Angela? Not so much.” She shrugged.

“Do they still have bands at Sports?”

“Depends on the night. Could be a band, could be a DJ. The place is humongous. According to them, it’s the biggest college bar in America.”

Caitlin started walking. “Let’s find out what happens on a Tuesday.”

*   *   *

The bouncer looked up from Caitlin’s ID. “You don’t look—”

She grabbed her driver’s license. “Thanks, but don’t.”

Lakshmi took her into the fray. The downstairs felt familiar: a long bar and two rooms full of booths, a mix of people chowing down on chicken wings and pounding shots. Everywhere Caitlin turned, her eyes adjusted to TV screens showing sports highlights.

“Want to go upstairs?” Lakshmi said, her voice fighting the sounds of dance music.

Caitlin read the sign on the wall. “Sure, let’s check out the Jungle.”

A wall of humidity hit her as they edged near the crowded dance floor and its mélange of lithe, gyrating women and dudes struggling to keep their tongues in their mouths.

Caitlin pointed toward a patio. “Let’s go there.”

Plastic chairs circled outdoor tables with closed umbrellas. People puffed on e-cigarettes and spoke at drunk volume.

“It’s nicer in the beer garden,” Lakshmi said.

“Good God, there’s a beer garden too?”

They made their way to a high-ceilinged, glass-walled patio big enough for two hundred. Maybe thirty people Lakshmi’s age occupied various parts of the atrium and bar.

Caitlin took a stool.

A male bartender let them know he’d be right with them.