“Yay, you ain’t so old,” the plump girl said to Francis. “But my fortune says I’m gonna marry someone from across the sea. So unless that’s you…”

“Um, no. I’m from right here in Chicago.”

She made a show of sighing in disappointment and ran after her friend, the third girl at her heels. Francis stepped to the fortune-teller’s booth and read the sign pinned above the velvet curtains:

MADAME ZANTO ORACLE OF THE AGES

WHAT DOES YOUR FUTURE HOLD?

25 Cents

He hesitated, then entered, removing his hat. “Mrs. Maffucci?”

The slight figure at the table looked up, a flash of panic in her eyes. “My God, is it Pin? Did something happen to Pin?”

“No, no! Or, well, I wouldn’t know.” He stood awkwardly, the heat rising in his face. “I’m—well, I’m off duty, I just thought I’d see how the boy was doing. And you.”

“Have you seen him?”

“Pin? No. Big crowds today. And I’ve been busy.”

“Of course.” She sighed, and he saw how drawn she looked, her eyes deeply shadowed beneath a dusting of face powder. “I can’t bear to think about it. And Pin…I can’t make him stay put.”

“If I had a daughter, I’d be inclined to keep her at home. But I’m sure Pin can take care of himself.” Francis tried to smile reassuringly, and glanced at the objects on her little table. A teapot, two dirty china cups. “I never had my fortune told. Figured I’d try it out.”

He set down a quarter. Gina slid it toward her and dropped it into a small red pouch. He continued to stand, hat in hand and unsure where to look in the tiny space. Gina Maffucci’s black shirtwaist revealed only a demure décolletage, but her skirt was short enough that he could glimpse her legs, crossed at the knee and sheathed in black stockings. Skinny legs, skinny arms, peaked face. Like her son, she looked like she could use a few hot dinners.

“You looking for an answer to a particular question, Sergeant?”

“Francis,” he said.

“Francis,” she repeated. For the first time, she smiled, revealing a tiny gap between her front teeth. “Have a seat.”

He did, trying not to stare at her. But there really was nowhere else to look.

She set a velvet pouch in front of her and removed a deck of cards so creased and worn he couldn’t imagine shuffling them, but she did so with ease. She had small delicate hands, long fingered, with silver bracelets around her thin wrists. A ring winked from her left hand, the gold plate slightly tarnished.

He should have known. He wrenched away his gaze, pretending to show great interest in the cards. After a moment he asked, “Does your husband work here at the park as well?”

Her reply was terse. “He’s dead.”