“The way she acted. She was all about the partying. She’d get high at work. Like a lot. And I could never prove anything, but I think maybe she was into some other bad stuff. Jaz mentioned it one time, that Neesa wanted her to get in on something, but Jaz wouldn’t. You know Jaz got busted for shoplifting when she was in high school, and she had some weed on her. She told me she got in with the wrong crowd back then, and she wasn’t going to make that mistake again. She wanted to be a good mom for Aliyah. That kid was everything to her.”

“What kind of stuff do you think Neesa was into?”

He shrugged. “Who knows? She was Jaz’s friend, not mine.”

“She was working the night Jazmin was killed, according to the police reports. She left the hotel ten days after the murder. I’d really like to talk to Neesa. Do you know where she is?”

He checked his watch. “Right now? Probably doing Jägerbombs at Mister B’s.”

“That’s a bar?”

“In Seminole. I met her and Jaz there a couple times. Loud country music and kind of a rough crowd.”

Drue pulled up the blurry photo of Neesa and Jaz that she’d found on Jazmin’s Facebook page. “This is Neesa, right? It’s the only photo I could find of her.”

“I’ve got a better one,” Jorge said. He scrolled through the photos on his phone, then held it up for Drue to see.

It was a selfie of Jazmin and another young black woman. Their faces were pressed close together, and they were captured mid-laugh. Neesa’s complexion was two shades lighter than Jazmin’s, and she had a nose with a slight hook. While Jazmin’s hair was worn short and natural, Neesa’s was an elaborate architectural feat.

“This is her.” He tapped the photo. “She’s really good with hair, with the braids and whatever you call it.”

“Great.” Drue handed the phone back. “Now I’ll know her when I see her.” She handed Jorge her business card. “If you can think of anything else I might need to know about Jazmin, I’d appreciate a call.”

“You’ve got my card too,” he reminded her. “Can you let me know what you find out? Like, if the police catch who did that to her? I’m still so sad, you know? Jaz, she was just getting her life together. We had plans…”

38

Mister B’s was loud and crowded, with men in Wrangler jeans, cowboy boots and ten-gallon hats who outnumbered the women three to one. The hot, damp air smelled overpoweringly like Axe aftershave. Drue elbowed her way through the hordes of boot-scooting boogiers to the bar, which was also stacked two deep.