a little more rumpled since he’d worn it all night. Clearly he hadn’t slept, but he still looked elegant. Even his hair seemed to fall naturally into place.
Remy sighed, grateful Bijou wasn’t interested in Lefevre romantically. There was no competing with the wealthy, talented artist. Remy’s leopard despised him on sight. If only he could get his leopard to understand Bijou wasn’t at all interested in the man, maybe it would be easier to be around him.
“Sure.” He glanced at his watch. “I don’ have a lot of time, but I’ll come back if you don’ get whatever it is you’re lookin’ for.”
Arnaud indicated a chair where the light spilled directly into Remy’s face. “Sit there. Can you just look at me the way you did last night, when you first walked in?”
“I’ll try,” Remy said. “I’m not certain how I was lookin’ at you.”
“Like I was your prey. Very focused. What were you thinking about? Maybe that would help,” Arnaud suggested as he collected his drawing pad and pencils. He sat across from Remy.
Remy had been thinking he was going to tear the artist limb from limb because Bijou was smiling up at him. He couldn’t very well say that. “Last night there was a murder. A photographer by the name of Bob Carson. He’s the same man who had been stalkin’ Bijou.”
“Yes, yes of course. He pushed my rented car into the bayou. I’ve got my lawyers dealing with that,” Arnaud said dismissively. “Turn your head a little to the right.”
Remy complied. “He was here at the gallery last night for your showing. He was taking a lot of photographs of the event as well as everyone who was here.”
“Yes, I remember,” Arnaud agreed, his voice almost dreamy, as if already Remy was losing him to his art. His attention seemed to be drifting away.
Remy grit his teeth. His brothers would be howling over him sitting there like an idiot while Arnaud Lefevre drew his portrait, or more specifically—his eyes.
“Did you see anything unusual in the gallery that night? Anyone who might have been watchin’ Bob Carson? Did he talk to anyone?”
Arnaud scowled darkly, tore off the sheet of paper he’d been working on and flung it on the floor. He began again. “I noticed him talking to Bijou’s manager. Butterfield slipped him something. But, that wasn’t necessarily out of the ordinary.”
Arnaud continued to draw, glancing up at Remy to look at his face and eyes, his mind on his work, rather than Remy’s questions.
“Not out of the ordinary?” Remy prompted, his teeth snapping together. He detested sitting there like an idiot. His leopard snarled and raged, making it difficult to stay even-tempered. He’d known Arnaud would be difficult if he was working. He’d seen Bijou practically have to babysit him.
“Yes, they often had clandestine meetings no one was supposed to see and Butterfield always gave something to Carson. Really, it was quite childish the way they acted.”
Butterfield probably had been paying Bob Carson to keep feeding the tabloids. He had no way of knowing Carson would have done it anyway.
“After you went back to the studio to work, were you aware Carson followed you?”
That got the Frenchman’s attention for all of two seconds. Or maybe he just scowled and looked up because Remy wasn’t giving him the focused stare he wanted to draw so badly.
“No. Why would he do that? All I did was work last night. All night. A complete waste of time.” Arnaud sighed in frustration.
“He was writing an article about Bijou’s love triangle.”
“She doesn’t have a love triangle,” Arnaud said. “Turn your head a little more. Stop. Hold it right there. I think that’s it.” He tore off another piece of paper and began again.
“He meant you, Bijou and me,” Remy said. “You didn’t see him lurking around? Or anyone following him, maybe across the street?”
For the first time Arnaud lowered his pencil and really looked at Remy. Remy was struck by the fact that he seemed to notice Remy as more than a pair of cat’s eyes he was trying to draw.
“That’s completely absurd.”
“Of course it is, but Carson specialized in seedy headlines. He took photographs of your work with a zoom lens and was going to publish it in a tabloid, stating you were in love with me and Bijou was in love with both of us.”
“He can’t do a thing like that. Publishing a sketch of mine that isn’t right, that I haven’t finished, would be unthinkable,” Arnaud protested. “I have