Arnaud’s breath hissed out between his teeth. He looked up slowly, his expression exasperated. “What is it?” Even as he snapped the question, the aggravation disappeared.

Remy stepped closer. “Do you remember me? I’m Bijou’s friend, Remy Boudreaux.” He showed his badge just in case he’d spooked the artist. “I’m a homicide detective and we had a murder last night. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?”

Arnaud’s mood changed instantly. His gaze was riveted to Remy’s face. He tossed his sketchpad aside and leapt up, a smile on his face. “Of course I remember you. Your eyes are extraordinary. I’ve been trying to capture that look, but it isn’t right.” He gestured to the many discarded drawings scattered around the floor. “I thought if I came here instead of the studio, I’d remember better and get the actual piercing intelligence and focused danger in your eyes.” He sighed in frustration. “Maybe I could draw your face while we talk?” he said hopefully.

Lefevre was still wearing the same suit he’d had on the night before. Remy thought it should have been 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.”