“Every time I see you, I’m surprised again by your accent.” He glanced back at her over his shoulder, his gray eyes sparkling with laughter. “And you climb. I’d forgotten that as well. Come with me.” He pointed down to the edge of the embankment, a thirty-foot drop, with eroding rock, dirt and root structures. One tree was actually tilted, its weight over time slowly pulling it down.

She moved cautiously to the edge of the trees lining the bank and peered over the side. “Down there? Are you searching for alligators?”

Knobby cypress trees rose out of the water like giant stick figures, branches reaching like arms, moss hanging from them in drapes. The water pooled, dark and forbidding around the barren, misshapen trunks and lapped at the thin strip of a ledge only inches above the surface.

“Rocks,” he said, coming up behind her, and handing her a coffee mug over her shoulder. “You take it black, right?”

She took the coffee cup, frowning at him. “Rocks?”

“For my work. I pulverize them and get a variety of subtle color as well as texture. I get them from all over. Contrary to popular belief, Louisiana has some beautiful rocks and crystals, you just have to know where to look. Just below us, along the bank, there’s a vein of beautiful agate. That might not sound like much to you, but for me, the colors are perfect for my work. I don’t manage to get here that often, so every time I come, I make certain to get a few rocks.”

“You aren’t kiddin’, are you?” Bijou asked. She could hear the ring of truth in his voice, and more, he sounded boyishly enthusiastic.

“No, the rocks are beautiful in color and just the right texture for my sculptures. I don’t mine much of it, just a bit each visit, so hopefully I’m not contributing to the bank eroding.”

Arnaud pulled out a folding chair one-handed and opened it expertly, putting it under the shade of the cypress trees. “Sit down, drink your coffee.” He pulled out a second chair and sat down beside her.

“You do know there’s a killer hangin’ around, don’ you?” Bijou said as gently as possible. She hated to put a damper on his enthusiasm, but he had to take the warning seriously. It had never occurred to her that Arnaud Lefevre haunted the swamps looking for rocks for his sculptures. He was handsome and sophisticated with his thousand-dollar suit and hiking shoes he’d paid a fortune for. She knew he was a bit of an adventurer, but she hadn’t ever considered that he might go into the swamp—especially alone.