The Dime Detective was one of the tough-guy crime magazines that Verna read every chance she got. It often included snippets about real-world mobsters—and always lots of information about Al Capone and his gang. For instance, Al Capone had a violent temper and was known to take a bloody revenge against anybody he thought was disloyal. At the same time, he’d been the first to open soup kitchens right after the Crash and distribute clothes and food to the needy. Many people in Chicago saw him as a Robin Hood, a romantic hero who defied the law to give them what they wanted (alcohol) and what they needed (food, clothing, and employment). “Public service is my motto,” Capone was quoted as saying. “Ninety percent of the people of Cook County drink and gamble and my offense has been to furnish them with those amusements.” Lots of people seemed to agree with him.

Verna looked at Liz. “Well, Liz? Would you dig up the address of Miss Jamison’s house for me?”

“Maybe,” Liz said reluctantly. “I guess it would depend on whether it’s really important. And I hope you’re not trying to tell me that Miss Jamison has anything to do with Al Capone.”

Verna was candid. “I don’t know if it’s important. And I have no idea whether Miss Jamison is connected with Al Capone or not. But somebody ought to try to find out who this woman really is and what exactly she’s doing here in Darling, don’t you think?” She gave her friend a closer look. “What’s eating you, Liz? You’ve been quiet all afternoon. Not your usual bouncy self.”

Liz sighed heavily. “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you, Verna.”

“Try me,” Verna invited, and linked her arm in Liz’s. “Come on, Lizzy, give,” she said affectionately. “Something’s up. Is it Grady?”

Liz rolled her eyes. “No. It’s not Grady. I haven’t even seen him all week.”

“Well, then, it must be Mr. Moseley.” Verna chuckled. “I know he’s been pestering you to—”

“It’s not Mr. Moseley,” Liz said, so quickly that Verna suspected it actually was Mr. Moseley. Then she added, in a subdued voice, clearly worried, “It’s my mother.”

“Uh-oh.” Verna frowned. “What about her? Is she sick? Is she—”

“She’s not sick.” Liz sighed. “Although what’s happened makes me sick. She’s lost her house.”

Verna turned to stare. “Lost her house?” she said incredulously. “But I thought your father—”

“He did. He left it to her free and clear, along with enough money to keep her for the rest of her life. But she took out a mortgage a couple of years ago and put the money into the stock market, with Miss Rogers’ broker. And we all know what happened to Miss Rogers.”

“Oh, dear!” Verna exclaimed, feeling a deep sympathy. “There’s nothing left, I suppose.”