“It’s possible something changed with the policy or the premiums and maybe the Weinbergers weren’t aware of this and didn’t pay, but assumed the policy was still valid,” Fern conjectured.
“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Walter agreed.
“Okay, then her husband dies, and the wife thinks she’s going to get a settlement and finds out there isn’t one,” I thought aloud. “Then she goes after Earl. I guess it makes sense. Walter, do you know what happened with the suit?”
He clicked his teeth again. “Nope. Just that she didn’t get any money.”
I looked at Fern. “Do you think that’s enough motive to kill?”
“It depends. How much was the policy for?”
Walter whistled. “A lot,” he said. “I heard a million.”
Case in point, he’d heard. But that didn’t mean that was true. “Even if it was for a million dollars, it sounds like this happened a few years ago. The timing is off. Isn’t it more likely that Mrs. Weinberger would have gone after Earl right after she learned that she wasn’t going to get anything?”
“Not necessarily,” Fern said. “That would be too obvious. In many cases, people like to stew in their bitterness and anger for a while before formulating a plan for revenge.”
“I don’t disagree with that, I’m just not sure how likely that is. At this point, I don’t think we know enough.” I jotted down a few more notes. “If she still lives in Gull Harbor, she shouldn’t be too hard to track down. I can look up her address.”
“Anything else, Walter?” Fern asked.
He stared directly at me, an impish smile forming on his mouth. “What’s this I hear about you running away from your ex yesterday?”
“Excuse me?” I blinked several times.
“You know, the Miller boy you were sweet on back in the day. Word at Lulu’s is you had a lover’s quarrel.”
I was officially boycotting Lulu’s. Till the end of time.
Fern pushed herself off the sunken couch cushions and stood. “I’m sorry, Walter, but we’ve got to get going. Charlee’s helping bake for a fundraiser today,” she lied.
Shoving the notepad and pen back into my bag, I followed Fern’s lead.
“Walter, thanks for the info,” I gave him a fake smile, then made my way to the door.
“Anytime, Charlee,” he called out from behind me, still sitting in his chair. “I take it this means you’re still broken up. Not that I blame you. That boy doesn’t deserve a pretty thing like—”
Unable to listen to another word, I hurriedly left the house. Fern emerged a moment later after saying goodbye, and closed the door behind her.
“Well, that was unexpected. You want to talk about it?” Concern lit her face.
“Might as well.” I started with my conversation with Floyd, leaving out the part about him threatening to kill me if I talked to the cops.
By the time I finished telling her about Kenny, we were back in Fern’s kitchen where I was sipping on a large mug of hot chocolate with extra whipped cream. Today I didn’t feel as upset about what happened with Kenny. That could have been because I’d had time to sit on it for a while, or maybe it was just overshadowed in light of learning that Fern might be arrested for a murder she didn’t commit.
At the moment, I was most upset that Walter, a man I’d maybe met three times in my life, felt that he had the right to ask me something so personal. Although, it was apparent that Walter was a strange bird (to put it nicely), since he couldn’t seem to keep his teeth in his mouth and didn’t understand the correct definition of relapse.
Despite my frustrations with people gossiping about me, I didn’t have time to dwell on it. With the clock ticking on finding another valid suspect, I needed to go talk to Phyllis Weinberger.
Chapter Fourteen
Luckily, tracking down Phyllis Weinberger turned out to be easy. It only took me a few minutes searching Google on my phone to find her address. The potentially tricky part would be to get her to talk with me.
I tried the number that was listed, but it was no longer in service. This didn’t deter me, as I’d rather talk with her in person anyway. It just would have been nice to know if she was home before I drove the forty-five minutes to Gull Harbor.
I managed to wipe off the bits of frosting and batter from the one decent pair of jeans I’d brought with me. It wasn’t perfect, but I didn’t have time to wash them, and couldn’t go looking like a bag lady in my sloppy sweats that probably should have been thrown out years ago (yes, I do mean in the trash; they weren’t nice enough to donate). And I couldn’t sit in the car for two minutes, let alone thirty-five miles, while wearing the pants I’d barely squeezed into this morning.
After making Fern and myself a healthy green salad with chicken for lunch, I left in my SUV and made the trip to Gull Harbor. The drive itself was actually rather scenic as the highway ran along the Pacific Ocean, but it was a two-lane road for most of the way and with winding roads and slow-moving vehicles, it took me a full forty-eight minutes to get there.
I arrived in town shortly before one o’clock and followed the directions on my phone to Phyllis’s house. She lived in a neighborhood similar to Fern’s. In town, but up on a hill with a nice ocean view. Actually, her house and her view were both nicer than my aunt’s.
It didn’t appear that Mrs. Weinberger was missing out by not collecting the insurance money. Granted, what happened still didn’t seem fair, but it’s not like she was destitute. Far from it.
I pulled to
