Andrew Cranwell

Inheritance

James tugged at the jacket of the man lying face up in the snow, the eerie stillness of the cooling body, still pliable, something he hardly dared touch, but a place he had to go. The corner of the small black notebook edged out of the inside pocket and was just visible. James grasped the corner and slid it out, it was a small, black, leather-fronted notebook, with grubby page edges from constant handling, the leaves thickened by touch and held together with a thin fraying band as it was stretched with the content. He unwrapped the band and eagerly looked into the pages, the tantalizing hope of finally being able to solve the riddle of his fathers inheritance within his grasp.