“Oh, my stars,” Lizzy said, wide-eyed at the sight of Verna doing . . . what Verna was doing. “Is that what the shimmy looks like?”

She had heard “Shimmyshawobble” on the radio, of course, but she’d had to use her imagination when it came to the shimmy itself, as well as the Turkey Trot, the Bunny Hug, the Texas Tommy, none of which she had ever seen. She had seen the Charleston, though. Vaudeville acts featuring singers, dancers, and comedians sometimes came to the Dance Barn, out on Briarwood Road. Last year, a pair of girls had danced the Charleston. It had caused quite a sensation. The Baptist preacher (who had dropped in to make sure that there were no “licentious acts” that might sully the souls of his flock) even called the sheriff. When Sheriff Burns got there, he asked the girls to give him a private performance, just so he could see what the preacher was complaining about. He declined to press charges.

Verna dropped her arms and stood still. “That’s what the shimmy looks like—except that I’m not any good at it, compared to her. She shook everything, Liz. And I do mean everything , top to bottom and all parts in-between. Walter was bug-eyed. Gerald said he went to the Frolic whenever he could afford it, just to watch a hometown girl do the shimmy.”

“But how did Gerald know that she was a hometown girl?” Lizzy asked reasonably.

“He said he went to school with her. He and Walter both grew up over in Monroeville, you know. Of course, I had no idea that Lorelei LaMotte had an aunt here in Darling, and I’m sure Gerald didn’t, either. He just thought it was a really swell joke. He got a big kick out of seeing her up on stage, all made up and beautiful, shaking her chassis and belting out those songs. He said he’d never in the world have recognized her.”

“Shaking her chassis?”

Verna laughed at Lizzy’s shocked look. “Well, that’s what she was doing. And you should have seen her costume—what there was of it! For all practical purposes, she was naked. After the show, we went backstage and she signed the playbill for me. ‘For Verna,’ she wrote, ‘with all my love. Lorelei LaMotte.’ This is the same person, Liz. Believe me.”

“What about her sister?” Lizzy asked, by now completely convinced. “The ‘nice’ part of the act. Did she shimmy, too?”

“No, she mostly played the mandolin and sang—not very well, but I think her mistakes were on purpose—and made remarks about how naughty Lorelei LaMotte was and how it was going to get her into trouble if she didn’t watch out. She was funny and everybody laughed. She wasn’t really Lorelei’s sister, though. That was just the way they were billed.” She paused, frowning. “What’s the name of Miss Jamison’s friend? The one who’s moved in with her and Miss Hamer?”

“Miss Lake. Lily Lake, I think she said.”