Finding Julian Page 5

  Dropping my hands on my hips, I urged her on, “Well, what are you gonna do if I don’t?”

  Mackenzie strutted past me, snatched up her towel from the lounge chair and walked towards the screen door of the main house.

  “I’m not afraid of you!” I called out to her.

  She slowed and spoke over her shoulder, “You should be.” She hurried inside the main house. Her words left me with chills in the warm weather.

  *

  Later that day, Mr. Cornwell arrived at the guesthouse to offer me some legal advice. I poured him a glass of orange juice, and we both sat around the table in the nook.

  “So, you’ve decided to stay?” he asked, sounding hopeful.

  I drank some juice and relaxed back on the seat, then clarified, “Only until we find a way to turn it over.”

  Mr. Cornwell braced forward. He seemed more laid-back today than he did when he was reading the will, wearing a short sleeve shirt, jeans and loafers.

  “Ms. Rowell,” his dark brown eyes met mine, there were fine lines around them, “I hope you’re not thinking about giving it all to Mackenzie? There’s a reason why Cole decided not to.”

  “That’s exactly what I want to do.”

  His brows shot up. “She’s an inconsiderate, spoiled brat who needs to learn that she can’t have everything she wants.”

  I wasn’t surprised. Still… “She grew up here. She deserves all of this,” I gestured with my hand.

  “Is that so?” Mr. Cornwell smirked then fell back on the chair. “Did she tell you she told her father to burn it down, sell it, or leave it to rot for all she cared? Trust me, Ms. Rowell, Mackenzie doesn’t want this place. She’s only upset he left it to you. And don’t let me get started on that mother of hers.” He paused to have a drink. “Aside from being greedy, Marlene can be rather frightening as well,” he mumbled to himself.

  I was still stuck on his remarks about Mackenzie. “I thought…she seemed really upset, even asked me not to turn it over to her mother in case her uncle’s lawyer presented me with papers.”

  His eyes expanded. “No, don’t do that either. In fact, don’t do anything at this point. No one can be trusted.”

  Mr. Cornwell slouched, staring emptily at the marble-covered table. He was lost in some serious contemplation.

  “What do you mean?” I pressed him to go on.

  Meeting my gaze again, he continued, “I didn’t want to say anything, at least, not until I was completely sure…and certainly not to you, Ms. Rowell.”

  “Sure about what?” I rested my elbows on top of the table.

  Mr. Cornwell looked around to see if anyone was in the house. Then he took his glasses off. “Ms. Rowell…Julian, I think your father was murdered.”

  “Murdered!” I yelped, quickly slapping a hand over my mouth right after.

  “Yes. Murdered,” he whispered. “Cole was a healthy man. He was very strict about dieting and exercise. Before he got sick, he’d just had his annual check-up.”

  “And?” I muttered, nearly breathless.

  “And he was as healthy as a horse. Listen to me, you can’t tell anyone. Not until I have proof.”

  I nodded sheepishly, not sure how to take all of this. The thought of my father being killed had never occurred to me. Now that Mr. Cornwell had mentioned it, the idea didn’t sound so far-fetched. He was a wealthy man. There’d been cases on the news of people killing people for money. But if he really was murdered, who did it?

  “Ms. Rowell?” Mr. Cornwell nudged my hand. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, just wondering if it’s really true.”

  Getting up, he plucked his glasses from the table. “Well, for your sake, I hope it’s not, because the will certainly wouldn’t make the culprit very happy.”

  I gulped. He certainly wasn’t making me feel better about sticking around.

  “So, what do I do about the estate?” was all I could mutter.

  He paused by the living room sofa and turned slightly to say, “Don’t turn it over to any of them, Ms. Rowell. They don’t deserve it. Please keep your inheritance. I know it’s hard because you didn’t get the chance to know him, but he wanted you to have it all. I’m sure there's a reason for it.”

  Mr. Cornwell continued towards the front door. I sat in contemplation until he left the guesthouse.

  With all that he’d said to me, I didn’t want to stay in Narragansett another second, trying to figure out why my father left me his estate, much less how to give it to Mackenzie. Right now, I wanted to go back to New York and away from all this craziness.

  Chapter Eight

  I wasn’t able to leave the next day as planned, because bright and early Monday morning, Aunt Bev dragged me out of bed and off with her to the Vanderson Publishing office in Newport. I’d read that the company was worth millions, even making Forbes top twenty most innovative list.

  Vanderson Publishing was home to three magazines. Their most successful was Travel Narragansett, a favorite for people visiting the town, particularly in summer.

  Arriving on Thames Street, Aunt Bev parked in her reserved spot then we entered the office from the back door.

  The place was much bigger than it appeared on the outside. The light blue walls were warm and inviting with pictures of my father and business associates taken at various landmarks.

  As we walked further inside, the employees came into view. Everyone turned their heads instantly and stared at us. Some regarded Aunt Bev with empathy, while others were preoccupied with me. They creased their foreheads, trying to decipher who I was.

  Aunt Bev stopped in the middle of the office and called for their attention, “Everyone, listen up.” I stood at her side, nervous. “This is my niece, Julian. She’ll be working with me for the time being.”

  Hearing her announcement, I swallowed a huge lump in my throat. I never agreed to working at Vanderson Publishing. Up until two hours ago, I was just about ready to leave.

  “Aunt Bev,” I whispered, tight-lipped. “I didn’t say—”

  She nudged my arm for me to be quiet then continued, “I hope you will make her feel welcome.”

  They all smiled approvingly at me as Aunt Bev proceeded on her way to her office around the corner, towing me behind her down the hall.

  When we got to her office, she walked around her desk and turned on her computer. I closed the door and moved closer to the leather chairs facing her.

  “Aunt Bev, I never said I was going to work here.” My words were steely.

  She looked up from her computer and frowned. “But you said you’d stay and try to figure things out.”

  “Yes,” I sat down in one of the chairs. “Only a day—”

  “But you’re still here, Julian,” she reminded, a sly smile on her face as she walked over to a file cabinet by the window. “I thought you could use the experience, being that you have a certificate in Marketing.”

  I didn’t remember telling her that. “Just how often do you and my mom talk?”

  Aunt Bev ignored my question, going back to her desk to sit down. She handed me a folder. “Here are some suggestions that I’ve collected from a few of our readers in the past five months. I’d like for you to help me on a little project, Julian.”

  Unexpectedly, I felt intrigued by the idea of working with Aunt Bev, and it suppressed my initial thoughts of leaving.

  “What kind of project?” I asked.

  She smiled. “There’s going to be a re-launch of our entertainment magazine in a few weeks. We’ve already worked on design and a majority of other contents, but I’d like to make some improvements on getting more reader interaction, find a way to make it more appealing, not only to the younger generation but to the older crowd as well.”

  I listened as Aunt Bev relayed to me her ideas. Her enthusiasm intrigued me. Shortly after explaining some things to me, she turned back to her computer and her fingers glided across the keyboard effortlessly. She was so focused, so poised. I remembered how sad she was
two days ago, sobbing at the funeral. Shouldn’t she have taken a few more days off to mourn her brother? Yet, observing her now, Aunt Bev seemed so put-together and excited about work.

  Could she have killed my father?

  No. There was no way she could have done such a thing, if that truly did happen like Mr. Cornwell assumed. Whatever the case, Aunt Bev was too kindhearted. She didn’t seem like she had it in her to even hurt a fly.

  I released a frustrated moan and peered up from the papers to see Aunt Bev looking at me with worry. My eyes broadened, utterly surprised at myself for considering she was a murderer, as those loving, hazel eyes relaxed and smiled at me.

  The door pushed open. I turned in the chair to see who it was. A man, about the same age as Aunt Bev, with jet black, low-cut hair and bright brown eyes looked in.

  Seeing she was inside her office, he entered. “Beverly, I can’t believe you’re back, working,” he said solemnly. His concerned voice sounded wrapped up with something else—something far beyond friendship.

  Raising an eyebrow, I turned and regarded my aunt. Her face turned sad, a vacant look in her eyes. She stood and walked from her desk towards the man.

  “I had to get away from the house, from everything. If I drown myself in work I don’t have to think about him being gone,” she said, placing her delicate fingers inside his outreached hand.

  Oh yeah. They were definitely more than friends. The way he held Aunt Bev’s hand was just too intimate.

  He embraced her, wrapping his arms around her petite body. She closed her eyes and pressed further into his chest. Then he began to stroke the back of her head, comforting her. The scene was too passionate for me. I cleared my throat so they’d remember I was there.

  Aunt Bev eased out of his arms and smiled innocently. “Oh, yes, I almost forgot.” She collected herself. “David, this is Julian, my niece. Julian, this is David. He’s our photographer and…” she trailed, looking into his eyes, “We’re…dating.”

  I jumped up to shake his hand. A nervous laugh came out as I said, “Nice to meet you.”

  David gave me a once over as he shook my hand. “You look just like…” his eyes shot back to Aunt Bev. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Julian.”

  “You didn’t come,” Aunt Bev said softly. There was an awkward silence.

  After a minute, I realized what she meant. David wasn’t at my father’s funeral.

  I kept my eyes on his face as he answered, not sure what I was searching for.

  “Beverly, you know I would’ve gone, but your brother hated me.”

  Hated? His remark somehow unnerved me.

  “How could I attend his funeral, knowing how he felt about me when he was alive?” David added.

  He had no idea how much he presented himself as a suspect to me right now.

  Aunt Bev dropped her eyes, deliberating. She stood quietly for a split second then her head shot up. “It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s gone. And I have to do my best to keep his work going.” She looked over at me. “Julian, do you mind grabbing that folder and giving me and David a few minutes alone?”

  I nodded and did as she asked. Once outside of the office, I closed the door and walked down the hall, clutching the folder to my chest. As I reached the end where it arched around to the entrance, I spotted a familiar tousled, brown-haired guy standing by the water cooler.

  Inching closer, I saw it was indeed Seven. He closed his eyes as he drank some water. I stood there, watching him. He looked especially handsome today in a white dress shirt and dark pants.

  Seven finished drinking his water, tossing the plastic cup into the trash. He turned to make his way down the hall, where I still stood, watching him. As his eyes glanced up and made contact with mine, a broad grin stretched across his face.

  “Julian, what are you doing here?” he asked, stopping in front of me.

  I snapped out of whatever odd spell I was under. “Hmm? Oh…Aunt Bev brought me here to help her with something.”

  “That was fast,” he said, looking pleased.

  I narrowed my brows. “Fast?”

  “You decided to stay and work with the company.” There was something in his voice that made him sound hopeful.

  “Actually,” I clarified, “I’m not staying past today. I have to leave tonight.”

  “Have to?” Seven’s smile turned into a frown and his emerald eyes drooped. “Why? Did you decide what you’re going to do with the house and the money? Is someone forcing you to leave?”

  I shook my head. “No…but…I don’t think I should stay here. It’s just…” I didn’t know how to explain it. I only knew I didn’t belonged at the house or in their lives.

  Looking away to the side, he stared into space. Then he brought his eyes back to mine and smiled sympathetically. “Okay. But, before you leave, let me show you the paintings.”

  I nodded and he walked past me, brushing my arm lightly. Once again, the connection was brief yet strangely intense. Whether or not he was intentionally doing it, his touch stirred something inside and made me shudder.

  I watched Seven, continuing down the hall. But then, as I was about to turn around and head for the exit, a tall, beautiful brunette of model physique came around the corner, walking right into him. They both laughed it off flirtatiously. I felt irritated, seeing them together. She clearly had a thing for Seven, with that uncanny ‘I want to eat you up’ expression all over her flawless face. And the way she lightly rubbed his arm with her long skeletal fingers was more than enough proof.

  There was a terrible feeling creeping around my stomach. Was I jealous?

  Irrepressibly, I stood there watching them. Her eyes caught mine and her smile ceased, replaced with curiosity. Screwing up her face, she nudged Seven in my direction and mouthed something to him I couldn’t make out.

  I spun immediately before his gaze caught mine, heading towards the exit of the office. Not sure where I was going, I simply wanted to get out of there, fast.

  Chapter Nine

  The sunlight stung my bare arms the moment I stepped out of the building. Going down the steps and out onto the sidewalk, I felt drained of energy, so I decided to cross the street to Dunkin Donuts and get myself a strawberry coolatta. With every sip I felt refreshed and invigorated.

  I sat down by one of the side windows, looking out at the boat dock, and skimmed through the folder Aunt Bev gave me. I barely made it through one of the feedback sheets provided by a reader of the entertainment magazine, when someone came over to the table.

  “Hey,” the raspy voice said.

  I looked up into two beautiful shades of blue that beamed with nervousness.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, seeming embarrassed. “I thought you were someone else.”

  I snorted, “Really?” I’d heard that line plenty of times in the city.

  Smiling sarcastically, I leaned my head to the side and said, “So now you’re going to think up a way to get me to have lunch with you, because you feel really bad about the mistake?”

  He creased his forehead and a smirk appeared. “Um…no, you really look like my friend from a far.

  “Oh.” I bit my bottom lip, feeling silly for making the assumption.

  “It’s okay. It’s my bad, anyway.” He turned and started to leave.

  Slightly, I eased out of the seat and considered calling after him to apologize, but decided against it.

  Settling back down, I started to go through the folder again. I must have read over fifty feedbacks and collectively they all said the same thing: the lack of modernism. Compiling the papers together, my cell phone buzzed in my pocket. I took it out and saw that it was Aunt Bev calling. Not Mom, thankfully.

  “Julian, where are you?” her voice sounded tired.

  “At Dunkin Donuts. Be there in a sec,” I said.

  I stuck the papers properly inside the folder like they were before. Then I hurried across the street to Vanderson Publishing. Aunt Bev was chatting with Seven when I entered her
office.

  She took the folder from me when I got close. “Julian, Seven’s going to show you where we print the magazines then drive you home. I’ll see you at the guesthouse later.” She patted my arm and nudged me on my way.

  “Okay,” I obliged. “See you.” I felt guilty, knowing I probably wouldn’t see her again after today.

  I followed behind Seven, as he led me out the back exit and across the parking lot to the dark brick building beside Vanderson Publishing’s headquarters.

  Once we entered through the side door, he paused at the top of a flight of stairs and peered back at me. My heart thumped.

  “You didn’t tell her you’re leaving?” he asked.

  It took a minute for me to swallow the tightness in my throat and retrieve my voice. “No. It’s better to leave her a note and call her when I get to Providence, because if I tell her now she’s going to try and stop me.”

  Without uttering another word, Seven continued down the stairs and through a green door, nudging me into a huge open space with three sets of printing presses and a few supervising employees making sure everything was working smoothly.

  I stared about in awe. I’d never been in such a productive environment before and it fascinated me.

  “This is where it all started,” Seven chimed. “When Vanderson Publishing took off, your father bought the building next door and terminated his contract with Monroe Printing.”

  My curiosity was piqued. “Monroe Printing?” I asked.

  Seven nodded. “Yep, my dad’s company. He wasn’t very happy about that.”

  “I bet he wasn’t.” The words escaped my lips before I’d given any more thought to them. “Oh,” I straightened, biting my lip. “Sorry.”

  He shrugged. “Don’t be. My dad has other clients with deep pockets. He got over it.”

  Did he? Mr. Monroe didn’t strike me as the type to get over anything. I was still anticipating the arrival of the so-called lawyer he said he was hiring for Marlene.

  I eyed Seven as he moved past me and observed the machines. He continued to elaborate on how everything worked as I nodded and shook the hands of each employee Seven introduced me to. At first, it gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling inside, hearing him say unabashedly that I was Cole Vanderson’s daughter. After a while, the fuzzy turned uncomfortable by their stiffed-face reactions, which consisted of mostly ‘I see’ and ‘oh’.