“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.”