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your connection with the dead man?”
    Lorenzo swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and shook his head. “No connection, other than sharing the public space at Sunset.”
    I met Eric’s gaze and he lifted his eyebrows, as though he, too, thought Lorenzo was holding something back. “Who was Bart Frontgate?” Eric asked.
    “He was a juggler,” Lorenzo said stubbornly. “I only knew him in the context of our business connection.”
    “Then help us understand why the cops are after you.”
    Lorenzo’s shoulders lifted in a tight shrug.
    “Do you have a lawyer?” Eric asked. “You’re going to need one.”
    “I don’t mean to be rude, but I think I’m going to be sick.” Lorenzo pushed to his feet and clattered away from our table. He crossed the porch and shot down the stairs. Within minutes, we watched him clop down Petronia Street and disappear into an alley.

4
“The only thing that makes a soufflé fall,” he was talking almost to himself, “is if it knows that you are afraid of it.”
—Ruth Reichl, Delicious!
    Once it was clear that Lorenzo was not coming back (and how much more clear could he have been?), Eric and I did the best we could with all the food I’d ordered. The fried chicken with a thin crisp waffle and spicy maple syrup was my favorite, although Eric was crazy about the cheese grits and the kale salad.
    Finally he pushed away from the table. “Two hundred thousand calories later, I can’t eat another bite.”
    I called the waitress over and asked her to bring samples of her most popular desserts and wrap up the other leftovers so I could take them to Key Zest . Palamina didn’t strike me as a big eater, but Danielle was always happy to graze. And I could use some auxiliary opinions.
    “What do you think’s going on with your friend?”Eric asked after our server had whisked the plates away.
    “Like I said to Miss Gloria this morning, he’s a practicing Buddhist. He’s gentle and peaceful. I can’t believe he would murder another living being.”
    “But how well do you really know him?”
    All the food I’d eaten, in combination with Eric’s tough question, was making me feel a little queasy. “Not that well. But I knew you very well and you still kept secrets about a murder.”
    “That’s my point,” Eric replied. “There’s obviously something he isn’t able or willing to talk about. You don’t think he’d murder someone, but you never know what will happen when someone’s pushed hard.”
    I shook my head. “I don’t see it. If one of the Sunset performers killed Frontgate, it’s more likely it was the crazy man who attacked Lorenzo last night. Now, there’s a guy who is capable of violence.”
    Eric frowned and tipped his head in the direction that Lorenzo had disappeared. “Bear with me here. Just for starters, is Lorenzo a local? If not, where did he come from? What do you know about his background?”
    “I don’t know too much. His name was Marvin growing up. Once he became an official tarot card reader, he decided that no one would want their cards read by a man named Marvin. Hence, Lorenzo.” I snickered but then fell silent. Nothing about this situation was funny. “And I know that he visits friends in Connecticut in the summer when it’s the slow season down here. But I’ve never heard him talk about his family.”
    Eric’s face had grown very solemn. “And that’s the thing about this town,” he said. “Many folks end up here because they don’t fit in anywhere else. And soyou have no idea whether they’re running from something or whether they just love this island.”
    “Really? That’s your theory? He’s running?”
    He flashed a lopsided grin. “Lots of times it’s something as simple as not wanting to grow up. But lots of folks don’t have normal families. Current company excepted, of course. There’s always the exception that proves the rule.”
    “Oh, I was definitely running from something, too,” I said. “Maybe