CHAPTER SEVENTEENAurora steered them to a restaurant in the Garden District, out of the French Quarter, away from the crush of tourists. The silver shone, the linen dazzled, the crystal rang. Aurora ordered poached salmon. Lindsey ordered jambalaya; this he had to do. Marvia tried a dish of chicken made with an array of spices and whole heads of garlic, spread to look like tarantulas, sautéed in blackened butter.
“I’ll be safe from vampires, but you may not be able to get near me.”
The maître d’ obviously assumed that Lindsey and Aurora Delano were a couple, Marvia a mutual friend. They let him think that. After they’d finished their meal, finished their mandatory bread pudding, finished their cups of coffee with chicory, they strolled past mansions on St. Charles Avenue.
Marvia said, “
