Bobbi Bowen lives in Cleveland. It's 1937 in the second dip of a double-dip depression. When she leaves the apartment, she passes the Holy Rosary soup kitchen, with its straggle of shuffling men and women in their bedraggled coats. Most days she hums the new swing tunes-Cream Puff or Sing, Sing, Sing- because it seems every time she turns the radio on, she hears about another dismembered body left lying around town. At home, she ducks her parents'...