Finding Julian by Shane Morgan Page B

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