She grabbed her purse, left Santiago standing by her desk, and crossed the parking lot in quick, clipped steps. When she reached for her car door handle, she hesitated and tipped her face to the sun. Drawing in deep breaths, she considered her options. She could go home and work out in her garage gym, or she could stop by the Saloon and find out what the manager knew about Tammy Fox.

In her car, she switched on the engine, opened her window a fraction, and waited for the air-conditioning to kick in. It was 3:00 p.m. The Saloon likely was not open, but if it was the same manager she remembered, the crew was prepping for the evening. There was also Susie’s roommate, who had called in the missing person report. Jordan opted to start with Sonya Jefferson, the roommate, who according to the missing person report also worked evenings at the Saloon.

She easily found Susie’s apartment building in East Austin. It had seen better days, but she guessed the rent was manageable in a city with exploding rates. She entered the front door and climbed to the second floor. She knocked hard on the door, but there was no answer. She pulled a business card from her pocket, scribbled Call me, and shoved it in the doorjamb.

It took her thirty minutes to find parking near the Saloon on Sixth Street. Though it had been fashioned to look like an Old West saloon, it was new construction. There had been a lot of rehab in the city in the last few years. Old had been torn down for the new.

The front door was locked. She banged on it. The lights were on inside, but she did not see anyone. She knocked louder. Finally, a man appeared from a back room and shouted, “We don’t open until five.”

She pressed her badge against the window. “Got some questions for you.”

The man muttered under his breath and, pulling a bar towel from his shoulder, crossed the room and opened the lock. The guy was midsize with a rounded belly, and he wore a lightweight plaid shirt, jeans held up with a tarnished rodeo belt, and brown cowboy boots.

“I’m Detective Poe.”

“Do I know you?” he asked.

“You’re Dustin Tate. The bar manager.”

“How do you know that?”

“Found my sister here five years ago. Underage and drunk.”

Mr. Tate held up his hands. “Shit. I’ve not seen your sister.”

“I’m not looking for her. And I’m not here to make trouble. Just have a few questions. May I come inside?”

“Yeah, sure.” He stepped back, glancing at the clock as if her visit were already costing him time he did not have.

Jordan pulled out a picture of Tammy and another of Susie. “These two women went missing recently. Do you recognize either of these women?”