Chapter Thirty-EightDEBOE HOME, LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA,
November 6, 1930
“Ida DeBoe?” a voice said.
“Yes?”
“Los Angeles police. We’re here for your daughter, Daisy. We have a warrant for her arrest. Where is she?”
Without Paw or Charlie around, Grace had found a job at the Jiffy Clean Janitorial Company, and she’d left for work. I had my hands in a sink full of suds and breakfast dishes.
“Arrest? For what?” Maw cried.
“Grand theft,” the man said.
My insides turned to water. I thought about hotfooting it out the back door and escaping down the street, but the angel on my right shoulder talked me out of that. I wasn’t a thief, and I had the proof—Clara’s bankbook. So I strode into the living room. A man in a suit and fedora stood with two coppers in uniform.
“I’m Daisy DeVoe,” I sa
