Chapter Nine

I can only talk about things I’ve experienced first-hand. I’m the kind of person who’d have to get into the pan with the potatoes in order to give my opinion on French fries.

—Nina George, The Little Paris Bookshop

I got up early to fry the bacon, slice scallions, and grate cheese for Lorenzo’s eggs. A fresh pot of coffee brewed while I measured flour and baking powder and a pinch of salt for the biscuits. I cut a stick of butter into the dry mixture, added a dollop of milk, and mushed it all into a shaggy dough. I rolled that out into a rough rectangle and cut it into twelve biscuits. When the timer on the oven dinged to announce it had reached the right temperature, I popped the pan into the oven. What he didn’t finish, we could freeze. One of life’s little pleasures was finding a stray biscuit in the freezer when I most needed it.

Since I needed to eat at El Siboney for the Key Zest review, it would be wise to avoid the temptation of a full breakfast. Though avoiding temptation was not my strong suit. Or so both my father and Nathan might say. And that thought, coupling the two most prominent men in my life together, brought an uncomfortable zing of recognition. Somehow I’d chosen a boyfriend who resembled my father, even though externally they appeared nothing alike. That wasn’t all bad—my father was a good guy and he loved me. However, he was quick to leap to judgment, especially if he thought I was acting foolhardy. Nathan Bransford all over.

And my father had walked out on me and Mom when I was a kid. He’d tried to stay involved in child-rearing, but I hadn’t seen him as much as I’d wished. Whether it made fair sense or not, I think I’d concluded that (a) Mom wasn’t serious enough for him and (b) I was very much like her, so (c) I’d been left too. And left with a little sliver of doubt about whether my father—or any man—would stick with me through thick and thin. After all, he bailed on my mother, right? Why wouldn’t I be next?

When the bacon was crispy, the chopped onions were caramelized, and a mound of shredded cheddar was ready to add to the eggs, I heard the soft “yoo-hoo” of Lorenzo as he trotted down the finger that led to our boat. I pulled the biscuits from the oven and went to greet him. Schnootie, the old Schnauzer on the boat next to ours, burst into a cacophony of hoarse woofs. She could no longer see or hear that well, but when she sensed movement or picked up an unusual scent, she sprang into guardian action.

Lorenzo called out a friendly hello to the dog and Mrs. Renhart, who’d come out to see about the fuss. “It smells divine all the way from the parking lot,” he said once inside the cabin. He leaned in to kiss my cheek.

“Grab some coffee, and either sit here while I cook the eggs or go out and enjoy the morning.”

He poured himself a steaming cup and added a glug of milk. “I’ll keep you company. The loonies were out last night,” he said. “It will be a pleasure to talk to someone sane.”

I laughed. “Not all parties would agree with that assessment.”

He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes and his curly hair in disarray. Which made me feel immediately guilty for dragging him out of bed so early. I imagined that in some ways, his job was like that of a therapist. Or a cop. So many problems were presented over the course of a workday, he couldn’t help but absorb some negative energy along the way.

“Don’t worry,” he added with a little grin. “I know I usually keep vampire hours, but this morning I was up anyway.”

“You give me cold chills when you do that,” I said. “I knew you could read cards, but I didn’t know you could read my mind. If I need to block you out of some secrets, I’m going to have to get one of those lead dental aprons to wear over my head.”

“Wouldn’t work on me and you.” He chuckled and adjusted his tortoiseshell glasses to sit further up on his nose. Evinrude sprang onto the banquette, strutted over to Lorenzo, and began to butt his hand with his head. “I can’t read your mind, but I do know you pretty well.”

“I’ll say.” I slid the platter of cheesy eggs onto the table between us, along with the bacon and a plate of biscuits.

“Is Miss Gloria joining us?” he asked.

I gestured at the article from the Key West Citizen that she’d taped to the refrigerator. “Even though the event last night went on forever, she’s already out walking with Mrs. Dubisson. Ever since she read that column by Leigh and Dan at WeBeFit last week explaining that seniors could extend their life expectancy by walking three times a week, she’s been out there every day.”

While he ate and I nibbled, I filled him in on the security, the protesters, the missing medal, and the horrendous discovery of the murder at the end of the night.

“A night filled with emotional swings and contrasts,” he said.

I nodded. “We were so thrilled about the president and Jimmy Buffett and Diana Nyad—it could hardly have been a more exciting trio. You should have seen Miss Gloria—she was positively vibrating. And then to have it all ruined.” I buttered a hot biscuit and slathered on a tablespoon of mango honey. “And even before that, passing the protesters at the gates reminded me that not everyone was happy about this conference.”

“People have very strong feelings about Cuba,” he said, rubbing Evinrude’s jowls as I cleared the table. Sparky made a flying leap, landed on Evinrude’s stomach, and began to rabbit-kick him. Lorenzo giggled as he watched them wrestle. “And they tend to forget that the people who are squeezed by all the political posturing are the Cubans themselves.”

After the breakfast dishes were cleared and stowed, he brought his cards out from his voluminous pant pocket. “Three cards okay?”

“You’re the best friend ever,” I said.

He shuffled the deck over and over and then set the stack of cards in front of him with both hands resting on them. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. If I’d been a new customer sitting with him at his table on Mallory Square, he would have explained that this was a small meditation to clear his mind, to clear the path from the cards—and the energy with which I’d infuse them—to his brain and his heart. Often at that point, the visitors who had chosen to have their cards read as a lark began to sense that his gift was very real.

He asked me to cut the deck into three piles and then choose which one I wanted. This was by far the hardest part of a reading—what if my real cards were in the pile I failed to choose? Did other people actually feel a connection to one of their stacks? I was flying blind, as none of them ever called to me. These kinds of silly thoughts kept me busy while I was waiting for him to deal out my three.

The space between his eyebrows furrowed once the cards lay exposed on Miss Gloria’s burnished Formica table: the ten of swords, the two of swords, the two of cups. He rubbed a forefinger across his upper lip and cleared his throat.

I had never seen him take this long to read the meaning of any cards.

“At least it’s not the tower,” I said brightly.

“It’s not the tower,” he agreed, “but remember what I told you about the tower–”

“I know, but that card still freaks me out.” I hate seeing that card turned up, with its burning structure and people flinging themselves out the windows to their deaths. Lorenzo has assured me that it’s not as bad as it appears. It’s a card about learning that something we believed to be true is actually false. The true meaning has to do with facing the fact that things need to change. But change is hard, and I’m not famous for gracious transitions.

“The two of cups suggests love and friendship,” he said, pointing to my first card, containing figures of a man and a woman facing each other, holding large golden cups. A lion with wings hovered above them. “This relationship is built on passion and strength and a healthy attitude. Do you see the way the man and the woman are gazing into one another’s eyes? They have developed a strong understanding, are maybe even considering marriage.”

He quirked one eyebrow, waiting for me to comment.

“That’s a mystery to me,” I said with a grimace, my eyes cast down at the table, studying the card. He knew I was dating Nathan, and unlike some of my other friends, he had yet to reveal his feelings about the relationship. “You wouldn’t have guessed that from our interactions over the past couple of days. Don’t get me wrong, I’d like to be married. And I think Nathan’s my guy. But I don’t want to leap into that for the sake of being married. For the sake of the wedding, if you know what I mean?” I looked back up at him and he nodded in agreement. “Right now, the whole idea of marriage kind of wigs me out. Like, I have no idea what makes one relationship work and another one tank.”

“You know more than you give yourself credit for,” he said as he touched the second card.

This one scared me, featuring as it did a set of swords stabbed into a prone man’s back. I shivered, flashing to the horrible sight of Maria stained with her brother’s blood. And how shocked she must have been when she found him. I couldn’t imagine what she must have seen and how she processed that horror.

“The ten of swords,” he said. “This can mean failed plans, loss, and defeat. Although so many swords might suggest that the negative tends to be overdramatized. The background of the card shows more optimism. Though the top is black, underneath the clouds are lifting and the sky is blue. Maybe the storm has passed? Maybe this night is over?”

“I don’t like it,” I said. “All I can think of is that knife stabbed into Gabriel.”

“Was it more than one?” Lorenzo asked, his hands moving to his chest, as if he could feel the pain of that moment. And perhaps he could.

“Only one. But that’s all it took,” I added. “Maybe this means the investigation will be wrapped up quickly?”

“Maybe,” he said. “But remember not to be too literal. I show you what’s there in the cards, and you discern the meaning.” He reached over to straighten the third card. This one was simpler in design, a large red heart with three swords plunged through it. In the background, there was nothing but gray. Clouds and rain. Even Lorenzo would have trouble brushing the gloom off this one.

“This card can be disquieting,” he admitted. “The three of swords. It can mean loss and pain, maybe a death or divorce?”

“I’m not even married yet!”

He barely smiled. “Rain, as you know, brings growth after the storm has finished.”

“You’re reaching for something positive so I don’t come unglued,” I said, imagining that maybe I’d left my real cards in one of the other two piles.

“No need for that,” he said. “Just keep your eyes open for darkness. I know you like to see the light, but be careful. And anyone could have told you that, based on what you’ve been through the past twenty-four hours.”

“And of course, Nathan did tell me.” I sighed and pushed the cards back across the table.

By the time Lorenzo left, I was not only exhausted from the night before but also nervous about his warning, worried about Bill’s mental health and my mother’s catering business, and fussing about who would take up the slack if Maria and Irena didn’t show up for the next catered event. And why would they, with such a painful, violent death in their family?

And all of that was probably covering my own anxiety about the worst of everything: coming so close to another tragic murder.