“What does she have to do with this?” I questioned. “She’s not even the DA yet.”
“I know, but she might as well be,” Cole replied. “She’s putting pressure on the current DA, Mr. Hines, to make an arrest.”
“But that’s—” I moaned.
“Lee Hines doesn’t have a backbone,” Fern grumbled. “His wife wears the pants, and the Mitchell girl will walk all over him.”
My stomach started to churn, fearing what might be coming. It also could be that I ate whipped cream on an empty stomach.
“So, you’re saying that Fern might be arrested because this hotshot city lawyer wants to throw her weight around?” I fumed.
Cole nodded slowly. “It’s looking that way.” A phone beeped, pulling the sheriff’s focus to his belt. He reached for his phone and studied the screen. “Sorry, but I need to go.”
“But what are we—”
“Charlee…” Cole took a step toward me. “I’m sorry. We’re still investigating, and I’m doing what I can. In the meantime, you and Fern,” he looked pointedly at the two of us, “need to mind your own business. It’s for your own good,” he added, before he turned and strode to the front door. It shut with a click.
I let out an exasperated sigh. “Well, this is just peachy.”
“It’ll be okay, Charlee.” Fern squeezed my shoulder. “I haven’t been arrested yet, so let’s go talk to Walter.”
“All right, but let me change out of these pants first.” I took measured steps out of the kitchen. “They’re so uncomfortably tight, I don’t think I will make it past your driveway in them. And,” I turned back to glower at Fern. “You could have warned me that Cole was here!”
Fern lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “I’m sorry. I figured you’d heard him come in.”
“No, I was too busy trying to squeeze my butt into these stupid jeans!”
Laughter tumbled from my aunt’s mouth. “Oh, Charlee, the look on your face. It was—”
I shooed her with my hand, and turned toward the stairs. “It isn’t funny.”
Once I’d traded my impossibly tight jeans for faded, baggy gray sweats, Fern and I walked the block and half to Walter’s place. It was approaching nine-thirty, so I was hopeful that he would have his teeth in and his pants on. Walter must have been watching for us, as he opened the front door as we turned onto his cobblestone path.
“Took ya darn near long enough,” he murmured, and for a second, I wasn’t sure if he’d put his teeth in.
“The sheriff stopped by.” I felt that excuse was more legitimate than I couldn’t find any pants to wear.
“What did he want?” Walter didn’t bother to hold the door open for us, instead letting us trail behind him into the living room. He darted to his overstuffed recliner, reminding me of a child who calls shotgun and races to the car first.
I turned to Fern, unsure how much we should share with Walter, seeing he was the town gossip and all. Then again, I was the one who’d blurted that Cole had been over, all to save face since my jeans didn’t fit. Like Walter would care. Still, I didn’t want everyone to know that Fern was the number one suspect.
Fern’s mouth was set in a grim line, as she sat down on the opposite end of the couch from me. “He gave us an update on Earl’s cause of death,” my aunt answered.
“Oh.” Walter’s bushy white brows shot toward his receding hairline.
“Blunt force trauma to the head, with my shovel,” Fern relayed concisely.
“Didn’t we already know that?” Walter scratched his head.
“We suspected that was the case, but now it’s confirmed,” I reiterated. “We heard you might have a person of interest for us.”
“That’s right,” he nodded, and clicked his dentures. “Yesterday at Lulu’s, this gal came in, and folks started whispering.”
How awful. This poor woman. Made me want to steer clear of the Steamin’ Beans if people were just going to talk behind your back. This was unfortunate because they had the best coffee in town.
“Apparently, her husband was one of Earl’s clients. He died, but something happened with the policy, and the wife didn’t get jack squat.” Walter clicked his false teeth rapidly, before adding, “So, she sued.”
I pulled out a pen and notepad from my bag. With the people I’d talked to over the past few days, the details were becoming jumbled, so I’d begun to write things down. “What’s her name?” I asked.
He stroked his chin, thinking. “Weinberger. First name started with an F, I think.”
Well, that was a start. I bent my head and started writing.
Walter snapped his fingers. “Fanny, Fiona, Phoebe, Faith.” He paused to click his teeth again. “Phyllis. That’s it. Her name is Phyllis Weinberger.”
Phyllis started with a P, not an F, but close enough. “Fern, do you know her?”
My aunt shook her head.
“Phyllis isn’t from here,” Walter informed. “She lives in Gull Harbor.”
That explained why Fern didn’t know her. Gull Harbor was a small coastal community of about fifteen hundred people around forty-five minutes south of Rockfish Bay. It was doubtful that Gull Harbor had many insurance options, and it made sense that Earl would have had some clients from there.
“Do you know why she sued, Walter? You said something happened with the policy?”
Walter opened his mouth to speak, when the scanner blasted from the kitchen. He cocked his head in the direction of the staticky garble as if that would help him hear better. Good grief, the thing could be heard from outside. But hearing and understanding were two different things. I would have thought that Walter would be fluent in scanner speak by now.
“Ah, nothing important,” he turned his head back to us. “Where were we?”
I took a deep breath, trying to drum up some patience. “I asked what happened to the insurance policy.”
“Oh yeah,” he thought for a moment. “It relapsed,” he nodded affirmatively.
“I think you mean lapsed,” Fern clarified nicely.
“Yeah, same thing,” he said.
Oh boy… And we were relying on this
