Bijou shook her head. “Remy, you’ve got a real murder to solve. This is silly stuff. Some of Bodrie’s fans were crazy. They worshipped him and apparently still do. I’ve lived with it all of my life. I’ve come home, bought a club and intend to live out my life in the place I love. Bodrie isn’t goin’ to dictate my life to me, not anymore.”
She had all the money in the world and she wanted to come home to the bayous. Something wild and feral deep inside him settled. He could breathe again, his body once more his own, his cat relaxing, stretching lazily. He took another long, satisfying drink of coffee, regarding her over the rim of the mug.
“Nevertheless, I want to see those letters, Bijou. If you don’ have them, give me the name of your lawyer, or your contact at the FBI and I’ll take it from there.” He wasn’t a man who took no for an answer and his tone said it all.
“If you insist.”
Now that he knew he was getting his way, he relaxed even more. “How long have you been home?” Because if it was longer than a couple of days, he was going to drown his sister.
Bijou looked around the large, homey kitchen. “Isn’t it funny what makes a place a home? Miss Pauline was so good to me. I used to come here or go to Saria when I couldn’t stand bein’ in that house. Neither ever ratted me out, no matter how much money Bodrie offered around the bayous and swamps for my location.”
She was painfully beautiful, with her skin and tumbling hair, that drawling, sexy voice and perfectly kissable lips, and hearing her use the term ratted out made him want to come across the table and find out just how kissable her lips really were.
“I traveled for several years,” Remy said, deciding it would be far more prudent to converse with her rather than assault her. “And I knew this would always be my home. The heat, the mosquitoes, all of it—is home.”
“I agree.” She leaned her chin into her palm, her gaze steady on his. “Why did you call me Blue? You did that once before, a long time ago.”
“I did? I think I have a good memory, and I don’ recall makin’ that mistake when you were a child.” And he’d better start convincing himself she was still a child. Her eyes were too old, held too much knowledge for her age.
“I didn’t mind,” she admitted. “You were one of the few people who ever seemed to give a damn about me. Callin’ me Blue just meant you’d given me a nickname. People do that when they care, at least that’s what I thought at the time.”
She was breaking his heart and clearly she wasn’t trying to. She gave him her little smile that never quite reached her eyes and spoke in that smoky, matter-of-fact tone. She wasn’t looking for sympathy and would be upset if she got it.
He forced a casual shrug, resisting the urge to yank her into his arms and hold her close to his heart. She certainly brought out the white knight in him. He had a protective streak a mile wide when she was around. “That song, ‘Blue Bayou.’” He wasn’t going to tell her that every time he heard it instead of “bayou,” he heard “bijou.”
“Since I love the bayou,” Bijou said, sweeping her hair back over her shoulder in an unintentional sexy gesture, “I’m fine with your nickname for me.”
How old was Saria? Maybe she was older than he thought. “What the hell were you doin’ runnin’ the swamp at night with my crazy sister?”
He looked up as Saria came through the doorway, grinning at him. He had known she was there. She was leopard and moved in silence, but he was leopard and he’d scented her the moment she’d come out of her darkroom and entered the main part of the house.
Saria laughed at him. “You’re not goin’ to think I’m crazy when you see these pictures, Remy. I had Bijou write down everythin’ she could remember, her impressions and even sounds she heard, and I did the same. We didn’t discuss the crime scene so we wouldn’t taint each other’s memory.”
“Good thinkin’, Saria,” Remy admitted.
“Comes from havin’ brothers in law enforcement,” she said cheerfully.
Saria set the pictures she’d developed on the table in front of him. For the first time she seemed to notice the lights were off. “What are you two doin’ sittin’ in the dark?”
“Visitin’,” Remy answered. “Waitin’ for you to get out of that room so I could give you a lecture on safety, which you clearly won’t listen to, and drinkin’ your very fine coffee.”
Saria put her arm around Remy’s neck and dropped a kiss on his cheek, a rare gesture of affection for his younger sister, and one that told him she’d been shaken by finding the murdered man. He patted her arm gently.