Finding Julian Page 7

  “Just wanted to catch a bus to Wickford,” I said in a hushed tone, peering over at the guesthouse and hoping Aunt Bev was still fast asleep.

  “Oh, well, if you wait a sec I can take you wherever you want to go.”

  I could use the free ride, especially if I wanted to save the little money I had. And I had to admit, I also liked being around him. Seven was refreshing air I could never get tired of breathing in.

  “Okay,” I accepted. “I’ll wait by your car.”

  Not long after getting to the front of the main house and reaching Seven’s car in the driveway, Mackenzie came strutting out in a loose-fitted, graffiti t-shirt, knee length jeans shorts, tennis shoes, and a tote draped over her shoulder. Her hair was also let down, flowing freely down her back. This was the second time I’d seen her appear so dressed down, more subtle than the way she looked at the funeral. She still looked beautiful though.

  Spotting me, Mackenzie slowed in her tracks then picked up her pace again as she came over to the car.

  “What are you doing out here?” she asked with a questioning look on her face. Much to my surprise, she wasn’t wearing any makeup either.

  I straightened and answered boldly, “Waiting for Seven.”

  Mackenzie snorted. She leaned her weight on one side and fiddled with her cell phone. I was curious why she was just standing there so I asked, “Is there something else?”

  She scowled and looked down her nose at me. “If you must know, I’m waiting for my cousin, too.”

  Wonderful. He should have mentioned he was going to take Mackenzie somewhere. I would’ve refused his offer.

  “Don’t you have a car? Why are you using him as your chauffer?”

  Her eyes shot up at me. “Not that it’s any of your business, but my car’s in the shop. And, he’s my cousin. Who the hell are you?”

  Crossing my arms, I scoffed and looked away. What a bitch.

  Not a moment too soon, Seven appeared from around the side of the house. He took his keys out of his pocket as he walked over to the convertible.

  “Why is she driving with us?” Mackenzie snapped.

  Seven brushed her off, coming around to where I stood by the front door to open it for me. I wanted to shoot a mocking grin at my sister before getting in the car.

  “Relax, Kenzie.” He walked around the car and opened the back door for her. I winced, wanting his courtesy to be only for me. “She needed a ride too,” he added. “Besides, you get out first.”

  Fuming, Mackenzie collected herself and climbed in. Seven blew out a breath of relief as he hopped in around the steering wheel, backing out of the driveway shortly after.

  I couldn’t help glance in the rearview mirror at Mackenzie and at myself, regarding every feature of her face and mine. We looked so much alike, except her blonde was shinier and healthier, while mine was like a frizz ball brushed up into an unflattering bun.

  When I was in high school, I used to wonder what it would be like growing up with her, sisters sticking together. We’d talk about boys, clothes, and maybe even share makeup tips. There were sisters in the apartment building where my mom and I lived when I was growing up in downtown Manhattan. They were so close. Seeing them always made me think of Mackenzie in spite of how much she detested me.

  Sometimes I’d ask Aunt Bev about her when she’d call me. Like, whether or not she did well in high school and what she was studying in college. Truth be told, I was very impressed when I heard Mackenzie was majoring in Theatre.

  Seven finally drove out of the waterfront community, running over a bump as he turned onto Boston Neck Road. The car rocked and Mackenzie looked up from her cell phone, frustrated. She caught me staring in the rearview mirror. I quickly peered away.

  “What?” she jeered.

  “Nothing,” I said, turning to stare out the window.

  She didn’t say anything else, only sighed a few times.

  Seven laughed. “You know, maybe you two should try having a decent conversation. Who knows, you might actually end up liking each other.”

  “I don’t think so,” Mackenzie hissed. “What she needs to do is hand over what belongs to me and go back to wherever the hell she came from.”

  I peered around the seat at her in the back. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do. Happy?”

  Boasting a smug grin, Mackenzie crossed her arms and said, “Thrilled.”

  “What?” Seven asked, cutting in.

  Settling in the seat again, I stared ahead as I explained to him, “I’m going to see Mr. Cornwell at his office in Wickford, to see if I can get the legal papers to turn over the estate to her.”

  I looked over at him and met his disappointed gaze. He brought his eyes back on the road and sunk into his seat.

  Several minutes went by before Seven pulled over in front of an animal shelter. I wondered why we were stopping here.

  Then unexpectedly, he glanced behind at Mackenzie and asked, “Do you have a way to get home or do you want me to pick you up later?”

  “I’ll get a ride with Mom when she’s on her way home from the gallery.” Mackenzie stuck her phone in her bag and opened the back door, stepping out of the car and walked over to the shelter.

  After she went inside, Seven pulled onto the road and took off again. I couldn’t help but ask, “Why’s Mackenzie going into that animal shelter back there?”

  He smirked before answering, “Believe it or not, Julian, Kenzie spends the summer volunteering at the shelter.”

  Something told me Mackenzie wasn’t the type to actually scrub a dog. She was too posh to get down and dirty.

  “I guess that’s kind of her,” I said sarcastically, still having my doubts.

  “She’s really serious about it, Jules. You should see her, washing the animals, pens and all.” His tone proud.

  That was pretty nice of her. Still, it didn’t obliterate the fact that she wasn’t kind to me. I guessed we would never be like those sisters from my old apartment. Mackenzie and I would never be close.

  Chapter Twelve

  When Seven finally got to Mr. Cornwell’s office in the village of Wickford, he insisted on coming in with me after finding a spot to park.

  We approached the door and I tried to push it open but it was locked. Glancing over at the window, I noticed that the shades were still closed. I guessed it was still early.

  “Want to go get breakfast and come back?” Seven suggested.

  I nodded. We walked down the street and around the corner to a café. Sitting down at one of the tables, we ordered coffee and pancakes.

  While we ate, he pressed me about my decision. “I still think you should stay a month, like your father wanted.”

  I sipped my coffee and peered up at him from behind the mug. “I can’t. I have to get back to—”

  “What exactly is in Manhattan?” he questioned, shifting on the chair.

  “Reality.”

  “And what do you call this, Julian?”

  “I don’t know…a place where I don’t belong. Look,” My level of frustration rose, “They don’t want me here. I have to turn it over. If not, I’m going to just sell it.”

  His brows shot up and he eased forward abruptly. “I can’t believe you’d even consider selling the estate. Aunt Bev loves that place. Your father…” he paused, shaking his head slowly. “Don’t do that. There has to be another way.”

  “Right, which is to give it to Mackenzie,” I retorted, settling the mug back on the table to finish my pancake.

  His shoulders slouched. “I don’t think you should do that either. There has to be something else. If you want to leave so bad then why not just leave it in Aunt Bev’s care.”

  I stayed quiet for a minute then said, “How about you?”

  Seven snorted, thinking I had to be joking. “What, you want to leave the estate for me to take care of?”

  “Not only that,” I added. “How about I turn it all over to you?”

  “No!” he snapped. I peered aroun
d to see if the few other customers overheard.

  “Sorry,” he calmed down. “But you can’t do that, Julian.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because,” he said breathily. “I just can’t take it from you. It wouldn’t be right, and I don’t want you to give it to Kenzie or my aunt.”

  I fell back in the chair, eyeing him in wonder. My father was right about Seven. He was indeed modest.

  Silence nestled in between us, leaving the muffled sounds of pots and utensils clinking in the kitchen, and soft chattering from the other customers.

  We continued eating breakfast without looking at each other, when a loud, ear-splitting bang took us by surprise.

  Seven and I stopped eating instantly and began looking around. Everyone else was just as alarmed as we were.

  “What was that!?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  I looked behind and out the door of the café. “It sounded like a gunshot.”

  “Maybe hunters in the woods nearby,” he concluded.

  “But it sounded closer than that.”

  Getting up from the table, I walked outside the café and saw that there were a few people coming out of their businesses and homes nearby. They wandered about and questioned each other, but after a while they gave up on trying to figure out what the sound was.

  I went back inside the café. Seven finished paying then walked up to me. “Let’s go see if Cornwell is in now.”

  We made our way back towards Mr. Cornwell’s office. We were almost there when two police cars pulled up in front of the building, an ambulance right behind.

  Seven’s arm slipped around my waist, drawing me closer to him and slowing my footsteps. I yelped as police officers bounded out of their cars and eased their way up the steps, guns in tow. Another officer secured the area.

  “What happened?” Seven asked a spectator.

  “I’m not sure,” the startled man replied. “I think someone fired a gun in there.”

  Our heads whirled towards the building as the police officers came back out of Mr. Cornwell’s office, escorting a rather shaken up lady with them. She stood by the ambulance as the officer questioned her about what happened.

  Seven and I gathered around with the other individuals living or working in the area. One of the cops put up a yellow tape and just as he finished, another car pulled up.

  A man in a plaid shirt and dress pants came out. He spared no time after talking with one of the officers, before going over to the lady. Tears streamed down her face the more he pressed her for details.

  He went inside the building. Sometime later he came back out and gave the paramedics the go ahead. They came down the steps carrying a gurney with someone concealed in a black body bag.

  “Oh my God,” I covered my mouth in shock. I’d never witnessed this before.

  Seven walked up to the yellow tape and called out to one of the officers. “Tell us what happened here. I’m a friend of Mr. Cornwell.”

  The man that wasn’t wearing a uniform heard him and came over to us. He told the officer to let us through.

  “I’m Detective Walters,” he introduced himself. “You said you know Mr. Robert Cornwell?”

  Seven and I glanced at each other then back at the detective. He regarded both of us with caution.

  “Yes, what happened?” I asked, my lips trembled as the words came out.

  He observed our reactions as he continued, “I’m sorry to tell you this, but, Mr. Cornwell was just found dead.”

  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?”

  Se
ven 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.