RED LETTERS SPELLED out THE MULE with a blue-lit logo of the pack animal trudging under the weight of side bags. Quay said, “You know, I did interview people here when Elsie went missing. We’re a small town, but I take my responsibility seriously.”

“I know, Jake. I’m only here because new things turned up in my area. And I haven’t interviewed anyone with regards to Pauline. And that means that McAdams and I have to go back to the beginning.”

“I just want you to know that I haven’t been sitting on my ass.”

Decker placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “McAdams and I work in a small town. We know how dedicated we are. I’m sure you’re the same way. Let’s get this done together.”

“Yeah, well …” Quay opened the door. “Thanks.”

Inside was dark as befit a bar. The floor space held a pool table, currently unoccupied, with about ten small tables around the perimeter. The bar was U-shaped, and the stools looked recently upholstered. Three men and two women took up space, munching on bowls of mini pretzels that sat on the countertop. A white-aproned bartender stood in front of shelves holding a wide selection of libations. There was also a chalkboard featuring a sizable menu from the kitchen.

The bartender was rotund and red-faced—maybe mid-fifties. He looked at Quay and nodded. “What’s up, Sarge?”

“The usual, Jim. Trying to nail bad guys.” Quay made introductions.

Upon hearing the detectives’ names, Jim said, “Then this is business?”

“Yep, but it’s hot outside. I’ll take a beer.” Quay looked at Decker and McAdams, both shaking their heads no. “You don’t mind?”

Decker said, “Not at all.” He pulled out a picture and laid it on the bar top. He spoke to Jim. “Have you ever seen this man?”

Jim gave it a quick glance as he pulled the beer tap. “Looks familiar. Who is he?”

“Maybe you’ve seen him with this woman?” Out came the picture of Corbett.

“That’s Pauline.” He let the suds run over the rim of the glass, then gave it to Quay.

“Ever see them together?” Decker asked.

“Maybe like a while back … like three months ago.”

“That would be about right,” Decker said. “What can you tell me about them?”

“I gotta remember first.” He wiped his hands on his apron and appeared to be thinking. “They sat at the bar. They were here for maybe an hour. They were making the rounds.”

“Meaning?” McAdams asked.

“They’d been drinking before they came in. I could smell it.”

Quay sipped his beer. “Behaving badly?”