The Year Money Grew on Trees - Aaron Hawkins [5]
"Impossible? You're thinking like a child. There are 300 trees out there. They'll each produce several bushels, and at the grocery store a bushel of apples is $25 or more. That's a lot more than $8,000. It's practically like growing money on trees."
I roughly did the math in my head, and it came out to almost twice $8,000. I wasn't 100 percent sure of her or my math, but if the numbers were right, I'd make plenty of money plus whatever the orchard was worth. "It would be a lot of work, though," I finally said.
"It's supposed to be. I'm looking for the true heir, remember. If you do that much work, I'm sure you'll want to keep watching over those trees."
There she went with the "true heir" stuff again. It still sounded like there was a good chance I wouldn't get anything. "I don't understand why we can't just split the money, and then you can decide whether you want to give me the orchard or not."
"It doesn't matter if you don't understand. I understand and it's my orchard and I'm going to do what's best for it." Her voice got higher and took on a tone that meant I shouldn't argue. I could tell I was getting pushed around, but I had nowhere else to go.
"I guess it will be all right, then," I said quietly. "I'll just have to make that $8,000 somehow." I was mostly talking to myself, trying to quiet all the doubts raging through my head.
"We're agreed, then," Mrs. Nelson said, smiling for the first time.
"Shall we shake hands on it or something?" I asked sheepishly.
"I've got a better idea. Let's put it in writing. I've got a lawyer in town working on my will. We'll have him write something up. I told Tommy about our plan this morning, and he said I'd never do it. I can't wait to show him a written contract." A vindictive grin spread over her face. "We can still get there before the lawyer leaves for the day."
"Now? Go now?"
"Yes, now. Let me get my coat."
Mrs. Nelson stood up and I followed her. "Let me just run home and tell my mom," I said, a little dazed.
"Right, right. I'll meet you out at my car."
Mrs. Nelson didn't seem like the type of person to do things on the spur of the moment, so it was surprising to see how determined she was to act immediately. I wasn't about to argue, however, so I ran home and found my mom. She was talking on the phone, but I cut in.
"Mrs. Nelson needs me to go to Farmington with her. Needs some help with something," I said, out of breath.
Mom excused herself on the phone and then looked at me suspiciously. "What kind of help?"
"I dunno. Didn't really say."
"Okay. But you behave yourself." She gave me an annoyed look and went back to her phone call.
I could tell she wanted to say I couldn't go but couldn't think of a good-enough reason.
"Let's go before it gets too late," called Mrs. Nelson from inside her car as I walked up.
I got in the front seat. Mrs. Nelson had a 1982 Caprice Classic that was only a year old, and it was the nicest car I'd ever sat in. She drove it at two speeds: gas pedal to the floor and lurching stop. We pinballed through traffic all the way into Farmington. I had to keep my eyes on the road to keep from throwing up. Mrs. Nelson turned the heat on full blast, and I quickly regretted wearing a coat.
We reached the lawyer's office at 4:55. I jumped out and tore off my coat, relieved to be on solid ground and out of the inferno inside the Caprice. There was a sign in front of the building with large brass letters that read COLE, PARKINSON, AND PALMER. Mrs. Nelson walked right past the reception area without saying a word and began to weave through a maze of desks and chairs. Girls in skirts and dresses were getting ready to leave for the day. They looked at us curiously, but Mrs. Nelson just kept walking while I trailed with my head down. We reached a desk behind which sat a tall lady with bright red hair. She looked up and smiled very cheerfully.
"Hello, miss," began Mrs. Nelson, "is Mr. Palmer in?"
"Do you have an appointment with him?" the lady asked as she looked us over.
"Well, no, but I need to see him for a few minutes. He's been