Finding Julian (9 page)

Chapter Thirteen

“Dead?”
Seven confirmed. “What do you mean he was found dead? We were just here.”

Detective Walters straightened. “Dead.
As in murdered. Now, tell me your names.” He spoke in a commanding tone.

“Seven Monroe, and this is Julian
Rowell.”

He looked up from his notebook in
disbelief. “Your name’s Seven?”

“Yes.”

“Anyway, you said you were just here,
how long ago?” he questioned.

I remained quiet, too stunned to speak.
Seven had to answer. “I’m not sure, probably twenty-five minutes ago. We
stopped by but the office was still closed so we went around the corner to have
breakfast.”

He jotted down the information then
continued, “You didn’t see or hear anything when you first showed up? Nothing
at all to suspect something was wrong?”

This time I answered, nearly inaudible,
“The shades were still drawn. We thought he hadn’t come in yet.” I held back a
sob, remembering the loud sound we heard in the café. It was obviously the
gunshot that killed Mr. Cornwell.

One of the officers came down the steps
of the building, holding a plastic bag with a piece of paper. He showed it to
the detective.

He stared at the paper inside the bag
then looked up at me. “What were you coming here to discuss with Mr. Cornwell?”

“Just some family stuff.” I figured I
didn’t need to give him every single detail.

Detective Walters turned the plastic bag
around so Seven and I could see the paper. It had blood on it, along with my
name.

“What does this mean?” asked Seven in
his confusion.

Detective Walters narrowed his eyes.
“You tell me. What kind of family stuff?”

Seven was growing agitated with the way
he was suspecting us. “Look, we weren’t even here when the gun went off.”

The detective straightened. “I know, I’m
just curious why Mr. Cornwell was clutching a paper with your name on it in his
hand.”

“Well, we would like to know why too,”
Seven retorted.

Dismissing us for the time being,
Detective Walters stepped away to speak with one of the officers. They eyed me
intensely as they discussed what happened.
Terrific
. I only wanted to
make a decision about my father’s estate, now I was a person of interest in his
lawyer’s murder.

I flinched when Seven placed his hand at
my back and asked, “You okay?”

Nodding, I answered, “Yeah, but…who
could’ve done this?”

He shook his head. “No idea. Mr.
Cornwell wasn’t a bad guy. Your dad trusted him a lot.” He looked up at the
building. “We should get out of here. I don’t like where that cop is taking his
investigation.” Seven started to walk down the street where his car was parked.

“Wait,” I said. “There’s something Mr.
Cornwell said to me a few days ago.”

Seven stopped at the driver’s door and
stared at me with anticipation. “What did he say? Was it anything that would
lead to this?”

Dropping my head, I stared down at the
concrete and muffled, “Yes…no…maybe…I’m not sure.”

Looking up again, I noticed Seven had
raised his eyebrows, trying to make sense of my words. “Well, which is it?” he
asked.

I swallowed, realizing I had to tell him
about Mr. Cornwell’s suspicions. “He said maybe my father was killed.”

“What?” two voices exclaimed in unison.

I looked behind and saw Detective
Walters had walked over to us.

“Who’s your father?” he asked.

“Cole Vanderson,” I said lowly.

“And why would Mr. Cornwell think he was
murdered?”

I shrugged. “He told me my father seemed
really healthy before he got sick. He said it all seemed weird and he was
trying to find out what really happened to my father.”

“Well,” the detective sighed. “This is
interesting.” He took a card out of his pocket and handed it to me. “If need
be, I’ll contact you again. So, try not to leave town.”

*

On the drive home, Seven and I stayed
quiet. I wanted to tell him about his father and Claire. Mr. Cornwell’s murder
left an uneasy feeling in my stomach, which made me want to confess everything
I knew.

“You should’ve told me,” he whispered.

I flinched. “You knew? Oh gosh…please
don’t be upset…I didn’t want to hurt you. I just—”

“What are you talking about?”

“What are
you
talking about?”

Seven looked at me for a beat. “This is
about what Cornwell told you, Jules, about your father being murdered.” He
brought his eyes back on the road.

“Oh,” I breathed an air of relief. My
heart started to beat normal again. “Sorry, I didn’t believe he was really
murdered. And Mr. Cornwell wasn’t even sure himself.”

“You can’t go anywhere now, do you
understand? You have to stay at the guesthouse, with me.”

That tickling sensation started to rise
again inside me. Seven turned protective now, cautious. He made me feel safe.

A smile crept across my lips. I never
had a man in my life before that wanted to protect me.

“Well, it’s not like I have a choice,” I
joked, trying to play it off.

He tightened his knuckles on the wheel,
and I could see the veins bulging in his neck. “There
were
a lot of
people jealous of what he had.”

“Mr. Cornwell?” I asked.

“No,” Seven blew hard. “Your father.”

“So, it’s possible then….” I thought,
training my eyes on the glove compartment.

“Well, after what just happened, I’m
thinking there’s a possibility your father
was
killed. That could’ve
been the reason for Cornwell’s murder.”

When we got back to the estate, there
were lurid voices echoing from inside the main house. Seven and I decided to
find out what was going on.

Marlene, Aunt Bev, and Mr. Monroe were
in the living room in an intense argument. They stopped as soon as we entered
the front door.

Aunt Bev scurried over to me. She
cloaked her arms around my body. “Julian, are you all right? I just heard the
news about Robert’s murder. A friend on the police force said you were at the
scene.”

“I’m fine. But I didn’t see him before
it happened if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Easing away, she looked at me with
concern in her eyes. “It’s just awful. Who could have done such a thing?”

“I wonder,” Seven jeered. I turned
around and stared at his expression. He seemed suspicious as he gazed at his
father and Marlene.

Looking over at them, they blinked
uncomfortably and observed each other.

Mr. Monroe scoffed. “Why are you staring
at us like that, son?”

Marlene crossed her arms and plopped
down on the sofa. “What are you insinuating?”

“Let’s stop this now,” Aunt Bev broke
in. She rested her hands on my arms and peered into my eyes. “Julian, why
didn’t you tell me about what Robert said to you?”

I guessed that was the reason for the
loud arguments we heard before.

“It just sounded crazy at the time and
he didn’t have proof. I guess I wanted to find a way to get out of my
inheritance, that I wasn’t thinking much about anything else.”

“Well, maybe if you’d said something
sooner, he wouldn’t be dead now.” Marlene shot up from the sofa. She glared at
me. “You’ve been nothing but an eye sore ever since you came and now you can’t
even leave.”

What the hell! How could I have known
this was going to happen? This wasn’t my fault. Had my father not included me
in his will in such a huge way, I wouldn’t even be here. I should’ve listened
to my mom, put the house on the market and went home. Now, the lawyer who was
supposed to help me sort everything out was dead, and I was stuck in the middle
of it all.

Damn it!

“Look, the fact remains that Robert was
killed. We have to keep calm.” Aunt Bev clasped my hands in hers. “Why don’t
you go back to the guesthouse and lie down for a while? Claire will fix you
lunch later.”

My brows went up, remembering yesterday.
I peered over at Mr. Monroe—who was wandering around the room in deep
contemplation—just as the image of his inappropriate behavior with Claire burst
in my head. 

I looked back at Aunt Bev and nodded.
Then I made my way out of the living room, through the kitchen, and out the
back door of the main house. I wouldn’t say anything. I’d keep my mouth shut
and stay out of their business until I could find a way to get out of the
inheritance.

When I entered the guesthouse, Claire was
dusting. She gave me an innocent look and I forced a smile in return.

“Such a horrible thing, what happened to
Mr. Cornwell, isn’t it?” she said softly.

“Yeah, really horrible,” I said, walking
past her towards the room where I was staying.

Immediately after closing the door, I
dropped down on the bed and rolled onto my side, going over the morning’s
events.

My cell phone buzzed in my purse and I
glanced at the screen. It was Mom. I’d have to explain the situation, but that
would only make her want to come to Narragansett.

“Hey, Mom,” I answered in a flat tone.

“You didn’t call me back, Jules. That
prick of a landlord you had put your stuff outside the apartment. Good thing I
stopped by after work to get them before some homeless person did. Anyway, did
you talk to Mr. Cornwell?”

I had to lie to keep her away until the
whole thing was sorted out. “I did. But I have to wait until he takes care of
some paperwork. It’s easier to communicate with him in person so I don’t have
to end up making several trips back here.”

She drew a long breath and I knew she
fell for it. “Okay, Jules. Only a few more days. Call me when it’s all done,
okay?”

“I will, Mom. I promise.”

Chapter Fourteen

The next day, I got up
and
did laundry as well as made my own breakfast.
Claire was going on a
permanent strike where I was concerned. I didn’t want her doing anything for
me.

She appeared taken aback and sulked a
bit when she arrived at the guesthouse and found me already eating at the
table.
 
Then she quickly turned her frown into a smile when Aunt
Bev came down the stairs.

 “Good morning,” Claire greeted,
walking around the island and settled her bag on the corner of the kitchen
counter.

“Good morning,” Aunt Bev and I said in
one accord. She poured herself some of the coffee I made.

Aunt Bev beamed at me in appreciation as
she sat down. “Julian, I know you don’t really want to stay here any longer,
especially after yesterday. But I truly hope you’ll continue helping me with
that project for the time being. Maybe it’ll keep our minds off what happened?”

She was right. I could use a little
distraction.

“Good,” she placed her coffee mug down
and massaged her temple. “And as much as I don’t feel up to it, I know Cole
would want me to go on.”

Realizing there was more unsaid, I
asked, “What is it?”

She gazed out the window by the table.
“There’s this dinner coming up at the Anawan Cliffs Country Club that Vanderson
Publishing hosts every year. I’d like to showcase the magazine then.”

“Oh,” I sank into the chair, taking in
her body language. It was important for Aunt Bev to keep the family business
going. She seemed determined on making her brother proud.

So, here I was again, doing something to
make someone else happy. “I’ll work on the project with you, Aunt Bev, don’t
worry about it.”

She patted my hands then sat up when
Claire brought her breakfast over. Finishing up, I excused myself and went for
a walk down on the beach.

I took my slippers off and walked
barefoot along the shore, rolling up my jeans as the water splashed on my legs.
Lifting my head towards the sky, I closed my eyes and cleared my mind. The
smell of salt, the whistling wind, seagulls crooning overheard, and waves
crashing ashore gave me a sense of peace. This was a feeling I hadn’t
experienced before in Manhattan. Suddenly, I welcomed the idea of staying in
Narragansett, only because of this fleeting yet trance-like feeling of comfort.

Sitting down on the sand, I brought my knees
up to my chest, resting my chin on them as I watched the waves. Much to my
surprise, a body thrust up and out of the water. Seven. He glimpsed me and
immediately started over.

As he approached, Seven combed his hand
through his soaking wet hair. His movements made my heart race. I noticed every
drop of water that fell onto his shoulder and streamed down his muscular chest
and well-toned abs. The very sight of him filled me with lust. I’d never
experienced such a strong desire for any guy before. Not even Clyde.

As he stood before me, his lips moved. I
didn’t hear a sound, my thoughts lost in him. Only when cold droplets tumbled
off his swim trunks onto my bare arms did I snap out of his seductive trance.

“
Wh
-what?” I
asked.

Seven smirked, before he lowered himself
to the ground, sitting mere inches from me. “Are you all right? You didn’t come
out again yesterday.”

“I kept dreaming about the gunshot, and
seeing that bag with his body inside.”

He crossed his wrists and stared at me,
concern in his beautiful eyes. There was something else within them, possibly
longing. I was usually too shy to look at a guy I was attracted to, but with
Seven it was different. I wanted to drown myself within his gaze. Did he feel
the same?

“Julian,” he said my name so sweetly a
tremor raced down my spine, intensifying my lust. “Is there someone waiting for
you back in Manhattan, besides your mom?”

That question again. I had no idea he
was still thinking about that.  

 Turning shy, I distracted my
racing mind by digging my fingers into the sand. “No, there’s no one else.” I
recovered the strength to peer into his eyes again, wanting to know his reason.
“Why do you ask?”

“Because—”

“Ms. Rowell,” a firm voice interrupted
Seven.

We turned at the same time and looked up
at the man casting a shadow over us.

“Detective Walters?” I answered.

I shot to my feet. Seven stood as well.
Brushing the sand off my jeans, I asked, “What are you doing here?”

Detective Walters looked at Seven then
nodded in the direction of the house. “Mind if we talk alone?”

Clenching his jaw, Seven touched my arm
briefly before walking past the detective in the direction of the guesthouse.

The detective brought his eyes back to
me. “Let’s walk.”

Silence dragged out a bit as we walked
up to the lawn. The detective made me nervous. “So, what do you want to ask
me?” I hurried him.

He stuck his hands inside his pockets.
“Mrs. Vanderson already explained to me about the will. But what I’d like to
know, Julian, is whether or not you knew Mr. Cornwell before coming to
Narragansett.”

I cringed. “No.” It infuriated me,
hearing the implication in his tone. “I hadn’t met him before the day of my
father’s funeral.”

The detective openly observed my body
language. He brought his brows together as he said, “Yes, about that. You seem
really okay for someone who hadn’t known her father, Ms. Rowell. You even came
to his funeral.”

Folding my arms across my chest, I bit
down on my bottom lip. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just that not many people would have
done that. They probably would’ve been too angry at the father who neglected
them.”

My reaction was very important to him.
It either declared me a non-entity or a prime suspect. I understood his
motives. He made perfect sense. My mother had even asked me the same thing.

I parted my lips and repeated the words
I said to her, “I didn’t want to regret it later on, and…” I looked away from
him and up at the main house.

“And?” Detective Walters prompted.

“I wanted to fill the missing part of my
life,” I concluded.

He stood silent for a few seconds then
confirmed once again, “You really didn’t know Mr. Cornwell before last
Saturday?”

I shook my head. “I’m telling you the
truth.”

“I can see that.” Detective Walters
slanted towards the main house. “Well, you should know we’ve found numerous
photos of you inside his briefcase. It’s possible either Mr. Cornwell or your
father had someone take pictures of you in Manhattan. Either way, I just wanted
to cover all the bases. It’s still odd though, along with the paper he had in
his hand when we found him.”

“Detective Walters.” My words stopped
him before he walked off.

“Yes?”

“How was Mr. Cornwell murdered?” I’d
been curious but too spooked to ask.

“A bullet to the head,” he stated. “The
secretary, Ms. Vaughn, said there are some things missing from his office, and
it was in quite disarray when I saw it so, possibly an armed robbery gone
wrong. That kind of thing is rare around here.”

He turned to leave. “Well, have a good
day.”

I hurried up beside him. “Maybe someone
wanted it to look like a robbery?”

Slowing down, Detective Walters gave me
a sidelong gaze. “Looks like someone is watching too many cop shows. Whether or
not it was, there’s not much evidence to point to any involvement of you or any
other member of this family, or to anyone else for that matter. No finger
prints—absolutely nothing.”

I nodded then shifted the subject away
from Mr. Cornwell. “What about my father?”

“Your father?” Detective Walters raised
his brows.

I folded my arms. “I told you, Mr.
Cornwell said he was murdered. I thought you’d look into it—”

“Mrs. Vanderson said her husband was
experiencing a lot of chest pain months prior. He died of a heart attack.”

It was still unsettling for me. “How
about an autopsy?”

Detective Walters scoffed. “Aren’t you
listening, Nancy Drew? There’s no evidence of foul play with your father so
there’s no need for that. Only Mrs. Vanderson can request one anyway.”

He walked up the side steps and around
the main house. I stood in thought, considering all he’d said.
No evidence
to indicate my father was murdered. Armed robbery that went bad in Mr.
Cornwell’s case
.

Shaking my head, I tittered and walked
back to the guesthouse. Instead of playing detective, I should drop all of this
and spend my time looking for another lawyer. I need to get my hands free of
this place and all involved with it.