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still air as the group entered the garden. The green space was dominated by the tall white statue of a man with arms raised in welcome.
    â€œSt. Anthony is known as the protector of childless women and finder of lost things,” explained Falkner. “This area has had many functions over the years. It was a place for gatherings, markets, meals—even a dueling ground. Père Antoine, one of the cathedral’s popular pastors, used the space as a kitchen garden to feed his monks. He also worked with voodoo priestess Marie Laveau to assist the large slave population, especially women and children.”
    â€œA Roman Catholic priest collaborating with a voodoo priestess?” asked one of the tourists, mopping his brow with a handkerchief.
    Falkner nodded. “They had more in common than you may think. They both had a desire to heal, sooth, and do good works. They were both very spiritual people. Marie Laveau blended voodoo with Catholicism, especially regarding the saints. Now, if you’ll follow me out through the iron gates, we’ll travel down Royal Street.”
    Falkner pointed out an antique shop that once had been Antoine Peychaud’s pharmacy. “Peychaud mixed brandy and bitters and served the potion to his customers in an eggcup, or coquetier. It’s thought by some that a mispronunciation of coquetier gave us the word ‘cocktail.’ The very first cocktail, then, was born here. Thank you, Antoine!”
    He pointed out beautiful buildings, carefully maintained, occupied now by elegant stores and restaurants. He called the tourists’ attention to the fine oak-leaf ironwork embellishing buildings constructed in the 1800s for a sugar planter. He indicated a small gift shop where Mardi Gras paraphernalia was sold all year long.
    â€œYou can go in there later and get any masks, beads, Mardi Gras snakes, krewe costumes, and posters you want to bring back home,” he said. “But how about we wrap up our tour by going for a muffuletta, the sandwich that had its birthplace in New Orleans?”
    The tourists enthusiastically followed him into the shop. Falkner smiled at each one as they passed him on the way to eagerly place their orders at the counter. Too few pressed cash into his hand. He went to the restroom at the rear of the store and counted his tips. Pathetic.
    Falkner returned to the front, waited until the last of his group had purchased their sandwiches, salads, chips, and drinks. Then he signaled to the owner that he wanted to talk with him.
    â€œI bring a lot of business to your store, Mike. I’m asking you one last time. Will you show me some monetary appreciation or not?”
    â€œYou aren’t the only tour guide that brings in customers, Falkner. I’m happy to provide all of you guys with a free lunch, but I’ve explained it to you before: I’m not going to start paying you to steer business my way. I can’t afford it.”
    Falkner shook his head ruefully. “I’d say you can’t afford not to, Mike.”

Chapter 15
    I t took them a good twenty minutes to drive from the French Quarter to the Garden District. After parking the car, Bertrand, Marguerite, and Piper walked through a gate, passing by rosebushes rimmed with little white lights. Piper held up the hem of her long, flowing cotton skirt as they climbed the steps to the porch of a lavender-painted, double-shotgun-style house. As they entered through the front door of Bistro Sabrina, Piper felt slightly uneasy that Bertrand held her arm instead of Marguerite’s.
    A willowy, red-haired woman dressed in a sleeveless black sheath looked up from the reception desk. She immediately smiled when she saw them.
    â€œMarguerite, Bertrand, welcome,” she said, walking around from behind the desk. “It’s so good to see you.” She kissed both of them on the cheek.
    Piper noticed that Bertrand’s eyes swept over Sabrina’s figure the same way