Clouds without Rain by P. L. Gaus Page B

eighth-grade love affairs ever truly lasted, you’d be the one, Britta. You’d be the one.”
    With a triumphant smile, she spun around and swayed back to her desk. Once on the other side of the desk, however, she seemed to stiffen and lose some of her sparkle. She motioned for Branden to take a seat in a red leather chair, pointed at the leather pouch on the table by the lamp, and said, “What do you have there?”
    Branden retrieved the pouch, eased himself into the plush chair, and said, “John R. Weaver’s trust.”
    “Oh,” Britta said, pensive. She sat behind her desk and said, “Somebody’s been working overtime down at the sheriff’s.”
    “They want me to ask you about the trust. We got the papers out at his house, and there are a lot of other papers out there that indicate you and Weaver had a land deal or two going on. They’ll want to know about that, too.”
    “That’s awfully nosy,” Britta scolded, “sending you over here like that.”
    “You’re Weaver’s trust officer, Britta, and his death might not have been an accident.”
    Sommers’s eyebrows arched, and she asked, “Not an accident?”
    “We don’t know yet.”
    “I suppose you’re working for the sheriff again.”
    “For the sheriff’s office. The sheriff himself was injured at the accident scene.”
    “Bull in a china shop, if you ask me.”
    “It’s a delicate matter, Britta. It’s only me. And for now, I just want a sketch of what Weaver’s trust will do, now that he’s dead. And some background on his land dealings.”
    “His latest deal was the big one,” Britta said. “I’ve got a little piece of the action. It’s my ‘walk-away’ money, Michael. The land sales, that is. I’m selling out everything I’ve got invested in this county to a developer in Cleveland and moving to Nashville.”
    “Selling out everything?”
    “Land, house, job, and furniture. It all goes. I’m moving south to live with my son. Take care of him.”
    “How is he?”
    “He’s autistic.”
    “I know that, Britta.”
    “He’s been living in an institution near Vanderbilt, in Nashville, since I divorced Arden. Now I think it’s time to put a stop to that. I’m selling off everything and moving down there to be with him. To take care of him myself.”
    “Will you have enough?” Branden asked.
    Sommers laughed spiritedly. “Since you, Michael, all the men in my life have been losers. Not me. I invested all of Arden’s alimony payments in the stock market in the nineties. I learned about land deals from watching John Weaver work. And I started a little company with him. Sommer Homes. Kinda catchy, don’t you think? It’s only a portion of what Weaver had going throughout the county, but the profits have been marvelous.”
    “I’ve seen some of the documents on Weaver’s land deals,” Branden said. “He was good at it, if his ledgers tell the truth.”
    “The best,” Britta said. “That’s why I threw in with him. I showed him how to invest money, and he showed me how to make it.”
    “With Sommer Homes?”
    “That was the core of it, but I need to have a little privacy, Michael.” She winked at him.
    “So it’s the Sommer Homes holdings, plus some?” Branden asked.
    “More than just the land, Michael,” she said. “Like I said, I’m getting out quick and moving south. All of the deals haven’t closed, but with Weaver dead, I collect another half-million, with partner’s insurance.”
    Branden leveled his gaze at her pensively, aware that she was toying with him.
    “Oh, come now, Michael,” Britta said. “You wouldn’t expect a woman to go unprotected. I work partner’s insurance into all of my companies. Gonna make out pretty well on this one.”
    “All of the deals haven’t closed?”
    Britta smiled and said, “We signed a binding agreement on the land sales to Holmes Estates last week.”
    “When?” Branden asked.
    “Friday. Why?”
    “I’m just trying to figure why anyone would want