had hidden the camera on the frame of one of Alex’s pictures—as if Alex himself was keeping an eye on her from the grave.
What would Alex think about the man in the other room?
She kicked her feet over the side of the bed and tucked them into her slippers. The sounds from the kitchen drew her down the hall, and she peeked around the corner.
J.D. raised a spatula in greeting. “I’m not the best cook in the world, but I can handle something simple.”
“The coffee smells great.” She sat on a stool at the kitchen island, the tips of her slippers scuffing the tile floor.
He held up the pot from the coffeemaker. “Hard to screw up coffee.”
“But not toast.” She leveled a finger at the smoking toaster oven.
“Those are bagels.” He yanked down the door of the toaster oven and forked a bagel half onto a plate. “The edges are a little crispy, but I think it’s still good.”
She took the plate from him and scooped a knife into the tub of butter he’d placed in front of her. The butter melted on the warm bagel, running over the sides and puddling on the plate. She licked her fingers.
“Did you have any luck finding more cameras?” She glanced over her shoulder. “They could be watching us right now.”
“I think the one in your bedroom was the only one.” He splashed some milk in his mug of coffee and held up the carton.
She shoved her cup of coffee toward him and he poured a steady stream of milk into the brown liquid. She held up her hand when the milk had turned the coffee into a toffee color—not quite the shade of J.D.’s eyes.
“I’m going into town to talk to Sheriff Greavy today. I’d like to show him the camera I found last night.”
“Good idea. I’m going in, too, to pick up some supplies.”
“I’ll take you.”
He bit into his bagel and chewed, and she had to restrain herself from dabbing at the buttery crumb at the corner of his mouth.
“Let’s take my truck. Your vehicle has seen better days.”
“That was my dad’s truck. A neighbor, one of my dad’s friends, had been keeping it for me. I don’t even have a car in D.C.”
“What do you do in D.C.?”
“I’m a curator at an art museum.”
J.D. jerked up his head and twisted it from side to side, scanning the room. “Did you paint all of these?”
“Some of them.”
He half closed his eyes and tilted back his head. “There are two different styles—one cheerful and optimistic and the other darker, more introspective.”
She raised her hand. “I’m the dark, introspective one.”
“And the cheerful one?”
“My husband.”
“He was an artist, too?”
“A much better one.” Her words tumbled over each other. “He was the real talent in the family.”
“It’s in the eye of the beholder, I guess.” He nibbled on the side of his thumb. “I guess I find the moody stuff more interesting.”
Warmth crept into her cheeks and she dipped her head to sip her coffee. Yet another betrayal of Alex. Her art had been getting more attention than his toward the end. After he died, she’d given it up. To continue with her art when he was dead and gone seemed even more traitorous than the feelings she’d had toward him at the time of his death.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to bring up painful memories.” He brushed his hands together over the sink. “You did say the shower in the guesthouse worked, didn’t you?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Then I’ll head back over there and get cleaned up before I take you into town. I need to stop by my hotel and pick up my bag and check out.”
She laced her fingers around her coffee cup. How had she allowed this man to take such complete control over her life in such a short space of time? She had to gain the upper hand. He worked for her, and yet he knew more about her life than she did about his. “J.D.?”
“Yeah?” He cranked on the faucet and held his plate under the stream of water.
“What brought you to Buck Ridge after you were discharged from the service? And what branch of the service were you in?” Holding her breath, she studied his reaction, but her questions didn’t seem to disturb him at all.
“Semper fi.” He flashed a grin. “I came out to Buck Ridge for the skiing. Thought maybe I could pick up work as an instructor, but I got here too late. I liked the look of the place