She nodded and drew a packet out of her tote bag. The stack of letters was at least an inch and a half thick and was in a plastic bag. “These are the ones I’m mostly concerned about. There’s a lot more, but these are the worst. My manager told me to keep them inside somethin’ to keep fingerprints off of them.” She pushed the packet across the table with one finger. “They’re all yours. I hope you have fun readin’ them. You’ll need a really good sense of humor.”

Her fingers fiddled with the water glass, idly turning it in circles.

“Bijou.” Remy used his lowest, most commanding voice. “Look at me.”

Her lashes lifted and the impact of those vivid cornflower blue eyes hit him hard. “Has someone or something scared you?” She didn’t respond, but he saw the answer in her eyes. “You can tell me. Just say it.”

Her hand went defensively to her throat, to the thin silver chain that dipped into the neckline of the shirt she wore, almost as if that chain was a talisman. “It’s silly really. I’m becomin’ a little paranoid. I thought if I stayed with a friend—with Saria—I could sort things out. She’s very grounded.”

He resisted the urge to snort his opinion of that. The truth was, for all her wild ways, Saria was grounded and she made a loyal friend.

“I used to get a few threats before Bodrie’s death, nothin’ really scary, just that I didn’ know what a good daughter should be like to her daddy and I was goin’ to learn a few hard lessons.” She nodded toward the packet. “I could recognize his patterns. He’s been writing me a very long time. When I started singin’ on my own, a new theme started. I had no talent. I shouldn’t be tryin’ to capitalize on my daddy’s good name and if I didn’ stop, I was goin’ to find myself in a dangerous position.”

She closed her mouth abruptly, pressing her lips together tightly as Remy swung his head toward two more people approaching. This time it was a couple. They looked to be in their sixties.

“Ma’am. Miss Breaux?” The man held out a napkin. “Would you mind autographin’ this for us? Mr. and Mrs. Chambridge.”

The woman smiled hesitantly. “We try to go to all your concerts.”

“We’ve got all your music,” Mr. Chambridge added.

“Of course,” Bijou said, “I’d be more than happy to give you an autograph. I can’t believe you’re so kind as to come to my concerts and support me.”