Bijou sighed. It was Remy who made her wild and crazy. It was Remy she had always trusted, even though she hadn’t really known it. After her behavior last night, who knew what he thought of her.

“Tell me,” he urged, leaning close. “I can see you’re worried about something. I told you about my secret stash of agate and if you insist, I’ll trade your worries for the location of chambersite,” he teased gently.

She flashed him a smile. No way was she going to tell anyone about her wanton uncharacteristic behavior with Remy. She shrugged. “My manager is really, really angry with me. I can’t really blame him.” That was strictly the truth, so she didn’t feel too bad misleading him. She pushed back the stray strands of hair that had pulled free of her braid and were annoying her by falling into her face. She really should have dried it before she left the Inn. It would be a mess for the show. “I made up my mind not to tour anymore. I want to settle here and just sing in my club and record in the studio. I’ll be makin’ considerably less money.”

“So will he, I take it,” Arnaud summed up the problem quickly. He sat back in his chair, his gaze on her face. “Have I met him? Rob something, right?”

She nodded. “Rob Butterfield. You met him briefly in New York when I went to one of your shows. I feel bad about not touring, but I just don’ want that life anymore. He says I’m selfish and only thinkin’ of myself.” She sighed. “It’s probably true too, but I honestly couldn’t live that life anymore. I’m not cut out for the spotlight. I don’ like it. Don’ get me wrong, I love music and I have to sing, that part makes me happy, but all the rest . . .” She broke off, looking at the artist a little helplessly.

Outsiders looking at her life always thought she had it made. She had a famous father. All the money in the world. She could do anything she wanted. She had a voice that was a blend of smoke and fire according to all the critics, and she could draw thousands to a concert and easily sell over a million albums almost within the first week she put her recordings out. Outsiders would say, what the hell was wrong with her. That was her manager. Keep working. Keep going, no matter how unhappy the lifestyle made her.

Arnaud leaned close and laid his hand on her wrist, smiling at her. “In the end, Bijou, you must do what is right for you. This is a place I come to visit because it inspires me, but I couldn’t live here all year-round. The mosquitoes alone would drive me to drink.”

He laughed at himself, making her smile.

“I enjoy New York. The nightlife, the way the city makes its own music. I feel inspired there. I enjoy Paris, and believe it or not, Istanbul. I like to travel and see the world, but in the end, my studio is where I need to be.”

“Do you have secret places you get rocks everywhere you go?” she teased.

“Of course.” He finished off his coffee. “How about you come rock hunting with me?”

“I have a show to do tonight at the club, but it isn’t for hours. As long as this doesn’t take too long,” she said.

There was safety in numbers. Whoever was murdering people caught them alone—at least so far that seemed to be the way. In any case, she didn’t want to go back to the Inn, see her manager or Remy. Playing hooky in the swamp with Arnaud might be the cure.

“I’ll tell you what, chere, do some climbing with me and I’ll go to your show tonight and buy you dinner.”

What else did she have to do, but feel sorry for herself? She could spend the day in Arnaud’s company, have a good time and then do her show. Singing always made her feel better.

“Sounds good to me,” she said and finished off her coffee as well. “But I’m not usin’ that hitch to tie off my rope. I’m using that very strong tree trunk.”

“You’re such a chicken,” Arnaud protested. “I use the hitch all the time.”

“I’m not fallin’ into the disgustin’ water,” Bijou said with a small shudder. “Laugh it up, Arnaud, I’m not smellin’ for a month to prove a point. That water has enough germs in it to kill half of Louisiana.”

“You really are a girl,” he teased. He slapped at his arm. “Damn mosquitoes. How come they aren’t eating you alive?”

“ ’Cuz I’m a girl, not a mean Frenchman,” Bijou said and folded up her chair. She had no idea why mosquitoes didn’t ever bite her, but even as a child, when everyone else was getting attacked, the insects veered away from her and went after someone else.

She sent him a smug look. “Louisiana mosquitos know the natives and just go after the tourists, especially hot French tourists.”

“At least you think I’m hot.” He made a face at her as he put her folding chair in the back of his rented SUV. “Let’s hope your climbing skills haven’t been affected by your sense of humor.”

She peered over the ledge. “I don’ have any intention of endin’ up in that water. I’ve got my own equipment in the trunk of my car.”

“A girl after my own heart. If you have a helmet, you might want to use it. The bank is unstable and juts out in places overhead,” he cautioned. “I get debris falling at times.”

The wind shifted, blowing a slight breeze through the trees. She felt the now familiar itch rising like a wave under her skin and took a deep breath trying to control the need to scratch. For a brief moment, a scent drifted to her and just that quickly was gone. Elusive. She knew it, and yet she hadn’t gotten enough time before the capricious wind changed direction again to identify it. A chill crept down her spine and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.