Read Online The Billionaire’s Curse by Richard Newsome - Free Book Online

this isn’t too weird for you—a letter from beyond the grave! By now you are my heir and worth a good deal of money. I hope you don’t mind.

    Bit late to be asking me that now! Gerald thought. He read on.
    I have a favour to ask. I am told you are a bright chap. I know we never met, but your mother kept me up-to-date on your achievements and whatnot in her letters. So I expect you’ve figured out that I was murdered. I want you to find out who did it.



C HAPTER S IX

    G erald’s eyes locked on the word murdered . As if the day hadn’t been bizarre enough. He continued to read:
    It’s a long story, and I’ve tried to explain it here as best I can. I’m afraid it has all been a bit of a rush. But the harsh fact is that if you are reading this, then I am dead. Murdered dead.

    Gerald was so tired he wasn’t sure what to think. Was this for real? A joke? The ramblings of a madwoman?
    You will meet a lot of people in the next few days, many of whom will claim to have been my friend. I advise you to trust no one, not even the police. Because, Gerald, I have been murdered for a reason—the same reason people will now want to get hold of you. Maybe even murder you.

    Had Gerald’s eyes bulged any farther they might have bounced onto the blankets like soggy Ping-Pong balls. Someone wanted to kill him? He turned the note over to read on, but the back was blank. On the edge of panic, he rifled through the papers on the bed hunting for the rest of the note. But among the mess of clippings and official-looking documents he could find nothing that matched. He shoved his hand back into the envelope. It was empty. He cast wild-eyed about the room, not sure what to do. Then he leaped off the bed and flew across to the door, pushing hard against the brass bolt to lock it. He gathered all the bits of paper, stuffed them back into the envelope and shoved it under his pillow. He lay back down on the bed and pulled the covers under his chin, his eyes still threatening to pop out of his skull. When he finally fell asleep, the bedside lamp was still on.
     

    Gerald woke with a start. He was in a strange bed in an unfamiliar bedroom. Sunlight seeped through a gap in the heavy curtains and the faint sound of birdsong rose from the street below. Gerald checked his watch: seven o’clock, Monday morning. He sifted through the random thoughts rattling around inside his skull. He remembered where he was: London. His great-aunt’s house. His murdered great-aunt’s house. He shoved his hand under the pillow. The envelope was still there. Gerald’s heart sank. He hoped it had been one of his ridiculous dreams.
    Sitting cross-legged against a pile of cushions, Gerald turned the envelope over and over, desperate to look inside but also petrified about reading any more about murder. About his great-aunt’s murder. About his murder. He swallowed hard and pulled out the sheaf of papers. This time he sorted them, building a number of small piles on the bedspread: a stack of newspaper and magazine clippings, some typed pages, the bundle of envelopes tied with string, and the handwritten note from Great-Aunt Geraldine that had shaken him the night before. He was relieved to turn up another page of the same floral notepaper, also in Geraldine’s handwriting:
    It’s all to do with this blasted diamond of course. You need to find Professor McElderry at the museum. He’ll point you in the right direction. Gerald, I have left you in charge of the Archer estate because in time you will learn to use its resources wisely. In time, you will know what to do—or not to do—as the case may be. Now, do an old woman a favour and find my killer. And do it quickly. Because rest assured, they are looking for you.
    Take care, Geraldine

    Gerald shook his head. School holidays weren’t meant to be like this. Who was this professor? What was this diamond? And how was he supposed to know what to do? Gerald read the note three times but it was still no clearer.