Winston Duggan drummed his
fingers on the arms of his chair in the
lawyer’s waiting room. I wonder what my brother left me? It
probably won’t be much. He was a music teacher who married into money,
but his wife didn’t like me. He lived for his music, and she lived for
her cats.
His brother’s attorney ushered a
woman from his office, said good-bye to her, and then invited him in. Am
I the only one inheriting anything? he wondered.
“Mr. Duggan, may I summarize
rather than read verbatim?”
“Certainly.”
“Thanks. Your brother’s wife
wanted to leave everything they owned to the Carsonville Feline Rescue
Mission, but their assets were jointly held, so everything became
Harold’s when she predeceased him. To honor her wishes and also give
you a sporting chance, he changed his will so that the cat mission gets
twenty-five percent and you get seventy-five percent . . .”
Hot dog! I’m a
multi-millionaire!
“. . . but there’s a catch.”
Oh, no! “What
is it?”
“He left a coded message for
you to decipher. As you know, he was a music teacher, so the code is
musical. Do you read music?”
“A little. I took a couple of
years of piano when I was a kid.”
“Good. There’s one other thing.
On his deathbed, he said I should tell you to ‘look for a Rosetta
Stone.’”
(Read
More)
|
